Bo Burnham makes teenage social anxiety funny and painful without dismissing it as a phase. Elsie Fisher makes it worth every uncomfortable pause, even when the writing and music insist too firmly on our sympathy.
Eighth Grade takes middle-school loneliness seriously, and still finds room to be funny. We recommend it warmly, with a small reservation about how firmly it sometimes tells us to care. Writer and director Bo Burnham treats Kayla Day as someone worth getting to know, without asking her to become unusually entertaining first. The task is to make ordinary embarrassment matter for 94 minutes, and Elsie Fisher does most of the work.
Kayla’s online confidence gives the film its clearest way into her predicament. She can speak about the person she would like to be, then struggle to manage the same ease around other people. We felt painfully exposed watching her try to sound assured in her videos. Elsie Fisher makes us hear how much effort goes into seeming casual, and Bo Burnham’s writing allows the words to be hesitant and untidy. The humour comes from recognising that effort, so we can laugh without needing her to fail.
Elsie Fisher is particularly good at making Kayla’s wish to belong seem reasonable. Her speech does not arrive polished into neat observations, and we are allowed to hear someone thinking about what might be acceptable to say. Josh Hamilton, as Mark Day, brings warmth to the father-daughter scenes without making parental concern seem sufficient to settle anything. The affection is persuasive because the film makes room for the difficulty of receiving it.
Andrew Wehde’s cinematography works best when it lets us study Kayla’s face: the effort of looking untroubled is visible. Sam Lisenco’s production design helps by keeping the school surroundings unremarkable. The rooms never look as though they have been dressed to explain Kayla to us. We can concentrate on how uncomfortable she feels in them.
Jennifer Lilly’s editing is willing to let an awkward exchange stay awkward, rather than rush to the next joke. The pauses give Elsie Fisher space to make the next words seem difficult, even when there is nothing remarkable about them. Anna Meredith’s music makes the anxiety harder to shrug off, treating small social pressures as something that can feel physically overwhelming. We like that respect for Kayla’s fear, but occasionally the music presses harder than the performance needs.
That occasional overemphasis also affects Bo Burnham’s writing. The affection can grow a little insistent, particularly when a scene seems determined to reassure us that Kayla deserves kindness. We have already reached that conclusion, and the reminders make the film less sharp. It is a modest reservation, but the quieter passages give us more room to feel something for ourselves.
Against the coming-of-age comedy’s habit of rewarding a shy child with sudden charm, this is refreshingly patient with someone who cannot simply switch awkwardness off. It understands that social media offers Kayla somewhere to speak, as well as more opportunities to feel inadequate. That makes it worth an evening even for those of us with no wish to revisit school. Watch it when there is room for a little discomfort alongside the laughter.
