Toward the end of Jane Schoenbrun’s unsettling coming-of-age film, We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, there is a shot where the camera rests from a distance on a man alone in his room, his hand pressed against the glow of his computer screen. This cold, distanced shot brings to mind the opening scene of Ingmar Bergman’s 1966 masterpiece, Persona, in which a young boy reaches out to a screen, placing his hand on an image of a woman whose face shifts between those of two different people. The use of this similar imagery in World’s Fair reflects the struggle of reaching out into the unknown and being unable to connect to another human because of the limitations of one’s persona projected by another, and Schoenbrun’s allusion to Persona holds more weight to it than there may appear to be on the surface.
The man in this scene goes by the pseudonym of “JLB” on the internet, where he spends time collaborating with other users who are taking part in the “World’s Fair Challenge”: a large-scale internet roleplaying game that involves a “Blood Mary”-like ritual in which players must prick their finger, wipe the blood on their computer screen, chant “I want to go to the World’s Fair” and stare at a video of strobing lights which will supposedly cause them to undergo a metamorphosis of the mind and body in the following weeks. This challenge thought of by Schoenbrun takes inspiration from “Creepypastas”- folkloric horror stories collaboratively built upon by internet communities. In World’s Fair, this horror challenge exists as a gateway to a version of the self that one might not have known or understood before. The protagonist of the film, who may or may not be named Casey, takes this challenge at an especially vulnerable time in her life as she struggles with her circuitous path through adolescence. She spends time documenting her changes after taking the challenge on her YouTube channel, talking to her camera about her unsettling experiences and recording herself sleeping; she mentions her love for horror films like Paranormal Activity and says she wants to try seeing what it would be like to live in one. Casey, like most people on the internet, seems to be looking for an escape. She’s using the World’s Fair challenge to explore different versions of herself, possibly putting on a performance for the camera in an attempt to make something out of her internal struggles through her own form of storytelling.
JLB watches all of Casey’s videos; he tells her he wants to collaborate with her in this game, so they play along together, essentially pretending to be characters in a horror film. What JLB sees in Casey is unclear. He’s decades older than her, so perhaps he is seeking out an opportunity to have a paternal role over someone. He may see this vulnerable teenager and want to protect her, or maybe he’s just a typical creep hanging out with kids online and forming inappropriate relationships because he doesn’t have anything better to do. When he sits in front of his computer near the end of the film, the sound of the Skype ringtone that plays while he waits for Casey to answer echoes through his bedroom, eventually fading until he is enveloped by the silence of the four dark walls that surround him. Schoenbrun thoughtfully captures this lonely feeling of the moment when one finishes their business on their computer where they are immersed in a community, and then they are just sitting, completely alone, only them and their screen in the dark. There is only JLB’s palm pressed against cold glass- this meeting point of human flesh and the impenetrable force of technology shutting him out from Casey. All that he knows of Casey is what she chooses to show him through her videos. He has pieced together his own image of her with the scraps she leaves him, and it is this moment of longing that evokes the painful feeling of reaching out to the unknown that is presented in Bergman’s Persona. World’s Fair examines these ideas of identities and performances and interrogates what it means to be perceived by another. Persona does this through subject matter related to theatre and film, while Schoenbrun’s film uses the lens of the internet to reflect upon how screens and barriers affect the representation of versions of oneself. Casey’s entire existence to JLB is a performance, and perhaps it is even a performance for Casey herself as well. Casey likely doesn’t know who she really is, and it is this outlet which she has created for herself online that allows her to express the dysphoria that challenges her.
It’s the way in which Casey is drawn to this horror community on the internet that I resonate with so much as a queer man. Her fascination with genre storytelling, horror aesthetics, metal bands (as seen on her Skullshitter t-shirt), and the supernatural is all inextricably tied to queerness and transness. She carves out a space on the internet to explore feelings that can’t necessarily be expressed in a way that is found acceptable to a heteronormative and binary-driven society. Casey and JLB are looking for different things with the game of the World’s Fair. With Casey, there is a search for an outlet, and with JLB there seems to be a search for some sort of self-fulfilling power dynamic which he can find with other players like Casey. They do relate though in the sense that they both have this desire to be lost in the algorithm- the desire to give themselves to that black void within a screen and to surrender to the comforting depression of an endless auto-play loop on YouTube.
There is an element of sacrifice through the World’s Fair Challenge- first seen when Casey literally sacrifices her blood to the computer screen in the opening scene. Ultimately, she is sacrificing herself to the challenge in hopes that her experience will uncover and make things clear surrounding her dysphoria for her, but of course these are subconscious desires. JLB also subconsciously seeks to find answers by sacrificing himself to the game, hopefully discovering whatever it is that he is missing in his life that has caused him to form this strange relationship with Casey.
Schoenbrun structures the film by starting with a focus on the external forces which shape Casey’s identity, and as they move along, they shift this focus onto the loss of her identity. They first show us Casey from the objective view of a third-person camera, but after Casey takes the challenge, this comforting view is lost and is slowly replaced with clips that Casey has filmed herself on either her computer or on a camcorder. As the viewer begins to lose sight of the Casey which they know to be authentic, Casey’s identity is broken down into these fragments scattered throughout liminal spaces within the algorithm of YouTube. She is lost in this hazy shuffle of images and sounds and the only thing that connects each version of her to the next is the brief appearance of the loading symbol between videos. The logic of World’s Fair exists in a space that lies between the surface of a computer screen and the fuzzy membrane of the subconscious desires of internet users. In simple words: it's queer. Descending into this never-ending abyss of internet clips functions almost like a dream. The lo-fi aesthetic of the webcam videos cultivates these spaces that transcend the boundaries of the screen and open up a window to new possibilities. These spaces are about breaking down walls and binaries, acting as spaces of liberation for queer and trans people- where they are detached from their bodies and can exist as anonymous profile pictures or figures obscured by digital noise. There are no rules that constrict identity or expression of that identity. As Casey is pulled closer to the "heart of the fair", the boundaries between fiction and reality continue to blur until her presence in the world becomes inhabited by a sort of unreality.
Casey’s haunting words reverberate through the screen from one video into another and linger long after she is done speaking; she says, “I swear, someday soon, I am just gonna disappear, and you won’t have any idea what happened to me.” By the end, Casey has disappeared into the screen and come out on the other side in JLB’s room, in the form of words. JLB records himself telling the story of what supposedly happened months after Casey stopped talking to him. He describes meeting her in person and apologizing to each other, presenting a neat resolution to the story, but this recording is likely just a performance. Casey’s persona unravels from this tightly controlled performance presented on a screen, to merely being a part of a story told by mouth- almost as if she never even existed in the first place. Her story is just one tiny portion churned into the mythology of the World’s Fair and lost in the algorithm to be discovered by a random person on their laptop in the middle of the night years from now.
In a way, Casey loses her voice, much like the main character of Elisabet in Persona becomes mute while she is acting. Through a screen recording of a Skype call, the viewer sees Casey tell JLB that Casey isn’t even her real name, and then she hangs up. As she disappears, the viewer learns that they may not be able to trust any of what Casey has presented to them through her videos for the whole movie. Her words are rendered meaningless; when she speaks, she isn’t really saying anything at all. If Casey, as the viewer now knows her, is like Elisabet, voiceless and hollow, that must mean that JLB is the equivalent of the character Alma from Persona. As JLB progressively grows more attached to Casey throughout the film, we see him fight for control over their shared narrative of the World’s Fair Challenge. He identifies Casey’s persona as a deeply troubled young girl who he needs to help, and he views himself as a sort of potential savior in this narrative. He guides Casey through the mythology of the World’s Fair on his own terms and attempts to steer her in the direction of his liking. In this sense, he is like Alma who takes advantage of Elisabet’s voicelessness.
The craft of World’s Fair focuses on a perspective more concerned with texture and integrity than binary resolutions and linear plot structures. Like Bergman, Schoenbrun utilizes a tight grip on their creative control to make the viewer aware of their role as a spectator. In Persona, Bergman immediately reminds the audience that they are watching a film with the sound of a projector running, the sensation of a bulb crackling, and the image of a film reel spinning. At one point in the film, Bergman even includes the image of celluloid burning and dissolving in the middle of a scene. By putting the viewer in their place as a spectator, Bergman is establishing a barrier between the audience and the film, reminding them that they can only perceive what is shown to them on screen. In World’s Fair, Schoenbrun uses a similar technique through the presence of the found footage medium which establishes the viewer’s perspective as confined to the trappings of the screen.
Since JLB fights for control over Casey’s narrative, he also has control over the viewer’s narrative because the clips from Casey’s YouTube channel that the viewer watches, are being perceived through the perspective of JLB’s computer screen. The shifting power dynamics between this young girl and an older man become about more than control over the narrative, but also control over Casey’s persona. With JLB’s story in the end, Casey becomes a part of him. Casey is in his lungs as he breathes and, in his mouth, as he speaks. He internalizes her persona, and they merge into one, just as Elisabet and Alma seem to merge in Persona. He absorbs her fears and anxieties and dysphoria and redefines her as a new part of himself.
In the beautiful conclusion of We’re All Going to the World’s Fair, there is a reconciliation of Casey and JLB’s opposing feminine and masculine forces that leads to a conclusion that cannot be pinned down in a binary sense. Schoenbrun deliberately avoids clear answers, and everything is left hidden within this hazy mist. The way in which the camera and the found footage medium toys with the viewer’s perception of events is inherently queer, and this lens prevents any singular binary narrative reading. No person, no camera, and no screen can be trusted.
Perhaps the answers lie within the screen, to the planetarium, across the crowds, into the heart of the fair.
Written by Owen Felton
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