Netflix’s Atypical imperfectly shows autism
Accessible and enjoyable, dramedy is also too broad, clichéd and one-dimensional
Stereotypical, tone deaf, insensitive.
Those are the usual complaints when large media companies get their hands on sensitive subject matter — in this case, autism — and work it for commercial gain.
There are no autistic writers on Atypical, the Netflix dramedy about an autistic teenager who, obsessed with penguins and Antarctica, ventures tentatively into the dating world.
There are no autistic lead actors and only one minor one (though they did have an autism consultant on set).
And sure enough, the autism community is tying itself in knots over whether or not to support it. The comedy elements are too broad, they insist, the characters too clichéd, the representation of autism too one-dimensional.
I understand their disappointment. It’s not the edgy groundbreaker people were hoping for. It’s not the Emmy-winning Amazon series Transparent.
But as the parent of an autistic child, it seems self-defeating to slam a show intended for mainstream consumption because it fails to successfully navigate the provocative touchstones people in real life have been unable to do.
Especially when it’s as accessible and enjoyable as this one and normalizes, in its own quirky way, the fastest-growing and most commonly diagnosed neurological disorder in Canada.
I’m gonna get blasted for saying this, but I couldn’t turn it off. “When you told me we were having dinner in the Techtropolis parking lot, I thought you were kidding,” says the amused date of the show’s autistic high schooler (non-autistic Keir Gilchrist), determined to find a “practice girlfriend.”
He shifts uncomfortably and looks at his hands. “No, I don’t do that.”
Probed about his interests, his answer is equally blunt.
“I’m really good at fixing computers,” he notes in his unpunctuated, stream-of-consciousness monotone.
“Biology is my favourite subject in school, girls don’t like me, I love penguins, but I’m not supposed to talk about it, I’ve never had sex before and I have a pet turtle named Edison who’s named after Thomas Edison but is not that smart.” She cracks up: “You’re hilarious.” He looks at her, confused. Is it realistic? Is Westworld realistic? Is anything on TV realistic?
I’m happy with the fact it’s not making the autistic kid the butt of every joke, that he has people who support — and respect — him, that he yearns for self-determination, and that it sympathetically demonstrates the challenges for someone whose brain is wired in a different way.
My son, age 9, is too young to watch this show, but I know — because I asked — he would be offended at the portrayal of an autistic teen by an actor who is no such thing.
To him, it’s like Al Jolson in blackface or Emma Stone as an AsianAmerican in the rom-com Aloha.
“These stereotypes are damaging to autistic people, their families and their friends,” writes essayist Haley Moss, diagnosed at age 3. “Instead of helping us, the show hurts us by falsely portraying us as creepy, insensitive and just really awkward.” I dispute this characterization. To me, the show’s autistic lead is both endearing and sympathetic.
But let’s be honest: this is not a show for people on the spectrum. They don’t need mass media entertainment to explain the nuances of their brainwaves.
But for people who have never heard the word “autism” or consider it a source of fear and dread, Atypical is like Tom Hanks playing an AIDs patient in Philadelphia, a reassuringly laid-back, occasionally moving primer on a contentious topic that, if it were presented in its true complexity, would please the purists but draw zero audience share.
“One of my favourite things about this show is I think it’s relatable for people with family members who have special needs,” creator Robia Rashid told the Chicago Tribune.
“But ideally I want it to be relatable for anyone because it’s about universal things: the search for love, the search for independence and what it feels like not to be normal, which everyone on the show is sort of grappling with.”
Rashid is not on the spectrum herself, is coy about her connection to the disorder (is there one?) and rose to fame writing for cheesy sitcoms such as How I Met Your Mother and The Goldbergs.
To expect cutting-edge insight into the complexities of autism is prob- ably unfair. But give it credit. At least it uses the word “autism,” unlike The Big Bang Theory, which would have us believe nerdy physicist Sheldon — who displays every textbook symptom of the disorder — is simply a quirky eccentric.
And like the film comedy Juno and TV’s This Is Us, it presents a quirky, dysfunctional family that’s believable, hilarious and, despite the challenges tossed their way, brimming with optimism.
Is the show perfect? Of course not. It’s farcical at times, hectoring at others and sometimes the jokes fall flat.
But it’s still early going in the autism playoffs, the first inning in a series destined to run into overtime.
Just like Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner begat — 20 years later — Do the Right Thing, and Ellen begat Will & Grace, so will Atypical spawn other, more nuanced shows that will stand on its shoulders to break new ground.
At some indeterminate point in the future, there will be a show about autism that is scientifically valid, respects the diversity in its ranks, that no one has to feel bad about.
In the meantime, Atypical will do just fine.