My favorite episode of BoJack Horseman is “Free Churro” and no other is even close. Quite famously, “Free Churro” consists of BoJack (Will Arnett) giving a eulogy for effectively the entire episode’s runtime. After a short opening scene, there are no other characters or voices: it’s just BoJack talking about his grief and wrestling with his history with the character who died.
I was about to make dinner when that episode automatically started playing on Netflix. I continued what I was doing for a few minutes until I, without premeditated thought, set everything down and took a seat on the couch to watch and listen. Everything BoJack says is hyper-specific to himself and his relationship with the deceased, but I felt like I was reliving every funeral and loss of my life along with his words. The character’s emotion and my emotion became synced. I was entranced by every word of “Free Churro” as it amplified feelings from my own life.
That experience is the closest parallel I can offer to the experience of watching The History of the Downward Spiral in which YouTube creator and historian EmpLemon chronicles his personal history on the platform en route to reaching one million subscribers. Having watched nearly every video on his channel across the last two years, I knew the rough beats of his story, with the major chapters he identifies lining up well with the conception I drew out of watching his work. But, just like with “Free Churro”, there was something hypnotic and moving about listening to that story told in raw, honest terms by the man himself and, just as with BoJack Horseman’s finest episode, I reached a point where I simply surrendered, pulled out my chair, and sat down to watch and listen.
The film podcast I listen to says over and over that creating something ultra specific allows it to become universal and, counterintuitive though that is, there was something universal in The History of the Downward Spiral that magnetized my own experiences with his. EmpLemon seemed to only jokingly refer to this as a movie, but a 99-minute video with a clear arc and story produced thoughtfully sounds like a documentary film to me—and damn was it a good one that didn’t even aspire to be.
Describing the film would amount to me summarizing his summary which is weird but here’s the gist. EmpLemon began as a kid remixing TV shows and Pixar movies into YTP (YouTube Poop) but his success and early monetization opportunity led him to a hostile community and vocal, unforgiving audience. Still in high school, he posted an explosive response to the negativity and torched his own channel, losing 99% of his viewership. But that culling led to reinvention that included some early missteps but that, over time, brought Emp back into the spotlight as a video essayist whose work allowed him to pursue the rewarding work and career he‘d wanted all along.
Although framed as a therapy session, make no mistake: 95% of The History of the Downward Spiral is static shots of Emp talking while bathed in his classic green Simpsons glow. Nevertheless, that device creates a strange feeling of intimacy: it’s as though the viewer is smuggled into someone else’s reflection. Even though the stories he tells are not new to me, hearing them again but spoken by the person rather than a disembodied narrator feels different. Without a face, there exists a wall; this video removes that wall.
The reflection does not spare any subject. There’s an extended meditation about his incident with the channel Behind the Meme that showcases both a defiance and a matured perspective; it’s a situation in which he fully reiterates that he meant what he said but that he also wishes the outcome had been different from. There’s a discussion about embracing power and influence built around his piece on the problematic but innovative early YouTube personality Leafy as well as frank criticisms about YouTube itself and how often its inconsistency has threatened creators’ artistic goals. Emp often notes the continued presence of a chip on his shoulder over particular situations and that comes through unambiguously—there are flare-ups where his former anger burns on-screen—but he adds extra context to those tough situations and, in the process, lends authenticity to the emotions he explored in the original works.
Emp shares numerous powerful insights throughout the piece as well. While known as a meticulous researcher, one opinion really stood out from his revisiting his “Frying Nemo” series that pushed him out of YTP. “It’s too much mentally to deal with,” Emp says while addressing his previous focus on feedback and comments. “I don’t think that the human mind was designed to deal with this many people talking to you.” Although his point is focused around the creator-audience dynamic, I find wider truth present. As a teacher, I am constantly told to seek feedback and listen to everything my students, my colleagues, my administrators, my district, education experts, researchers, books, and the union offer in order to craft instruction and perform my duties. While this is a far cry from thousands of commenters criticizing Emp for artistic projects he created for free in the early era, it taps into that overwhelming sensation of being bombarded by demands and ideas from others who don’t see my extensive, invested process behind each decision or strategy. There’s no pleasing everyone, a fact Emp eventually accepts by refusing to peruse the comments…and yet there is a built-in expectation that one strives to please everyone. I admit to feeling almost relieved to hear that because I too have come to realize that too much feedback, especially from the wrong sources at the wrong times, erodes what might be sub-optimal but still successful and, most importantly, enjoyable. It’s strange to think of but I’m not sure I’ve ever heard this sentiment expressed before, let alone with such clear concision.
The other insight that stood out to me relates to the titular downward spiral, a visual and metaphorical representation of Emp’s own mind-space after an explosive rebuke of his audience years ago. His “therapist” (Rusty Cage) asks Emp directly if he still feels like he is on a downward spiral; although he holds in his hands his one million subscriber plaque, a seeming testament to ascension, he hesitates.
“Based on my experiences on YouTube, and just how close I was at some many points to the edge of control, I’m of the philosophy that it can all just go away in an instant…I think I’ll always have that fear.”
That honesty speaks to me. After years of struggling to gain traction, that he has finally “beaten the game” is rewarding but not pixie dust. It doesn’t magically vanquish the awareness of how fragile everything is. There isn’t a plateau to be reached after which everything else is smooth sailing and eternal happiness. He even acknowledges that reaching the greatest heights means stumbling can lead to a more painful fall. And I think this might be why Emp’s “film” speaks so powerfully to me: he acknowledges how all of his life and work—bad and good—have led him to this moment of overwhelming success, but laments that reaching success does not erase the scars and echoes of what it took to arrive.
I listen to a lot of people talk on YouTube but few do I value as much as EmpLemon. I’ve not liked everything that he’s made but I have enjoyed and learned something from most of it. And yet this film brought all of that together and left me really admiring the man himself, for his work, of course, but also for the person he became creating it. I love stories of people and I enjoyed getting EmpLemon’s deep probing analysis on a subject he knows better than anyone else: himself.
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