Netflix’s dramedy ‘Atypical’ works despite itself
Autism community is tying itself in knots over whether to support new show
The reviews came in — mostly mixed — and I thought it was gonna suck.
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 then work it for commercial gain.
There are no autistic writers on “Atypical,” the Netflix dramedy series 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 cliché, 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 (nonautistic 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.
“Olive Garden says they have unlimited bread sticks,” he obsesses, struggling with the lack of clear parameters before a dinner date.
“But what does that mean? There HAS to be some kind of limit!”
My son, age nine, 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.
I get this. To him, it’s like Al Jolson in blackface or Emma Stone as an Asian-American in the rom-com “Aloha.” Silly. Offensive. Demeaning.
“These stereotypes are damaging to autistic people, their families and their friends,” writes essayist Haley Moss, diagnosed at age three.
“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. They already know what the hell is going on.
But for people who have never heard the word “autism” or consider it a source of fear and dread — which, frankly, is a lot of people — “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.
“Jesus, what the hell is wrong with him?” shouts a teenage boy when the show’s beleaguered subject — in full sensory overload — runs out of the house screaming “TWAT!” at the top of his lungs.
“Hey, nothing’s wrong with him,” fires back his protective younger sister, stepping instinctively forward. “GET AWAY FROM HIM!”
It only lasts a moment, but in its depiction of selfless family devotion by the same sib who teases him mercilessly for being “weird” — yet treats him like a real person — it’s a gutpunch both moving and real.
“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, of course, 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 like “How I Met Your Mother” and “The Goldbergs.”
To expect cutting edge insight into the complexities of autism is probably unfair.
And keep in mind, this show is not being produced as a public service.
Autism is a hot topic right now, a growth industry, hence the glut of film and TV projects cashing in on the fact the diagnosis rate has more than doubled in 10 years and affects one kid in 68, mostly boys.
“Parenthood,” “Power Rangers,” “The A Word,” “The Accountant,” “Community,” “The Good Doctor.”
They’re selling soap. And like Fonzie representing all ’50s greasers on “Happy Days” and music retrospectives of the ’90s that focus exclusively on grunge, it’s about the broad strokes. 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.
It calls out the politically correct “people first” doublespeak that insists autistic people — many of whom prefer the term “autistic” — be referred to as “persons with autism.” Responds the show’s patriarch: “He’s still autistic. It doesn’t change how he is in the world.”
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.
“My brother has ASD,” confides an autism therapist in a speech that sounds pedantic on paper but comes across as touching and heartfelt.
“My parents didn’t acknowledge he was on the spectrum until he was 16. They kept insisting it was a speech issue and that he would grow out of it. They were afraid of the social isolation that comes with having a kid who’s different.
“The saddest thing in my life is wondering what he would have been like had he gotten interventions early.”
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.