‘Atypical’ may offend, or enlighten, with its take on autism
For high school senior Sam, dating is a deep mystery, like Stonehenge or crop circles.
The tacit social cues. The subtle body language. The veiled conversation. It’s all Greek to the autistic teen who’d rather talk about the migration habits of Antarctica’s chinstrap penguin population, but funnily enough, it’s not the best chick bait.
Yet if Sam (played with humor and sensitivity by Keir Gilchrist) ever hopes to have a girlfriend, experience his first kiss or “see boobs,” he must decode this odd courtship ritual between humans. Complicating things is that he’s like any other “normal” teen on the precipice of adulthood—confused, irritated and dismayed.
Those who’ve raised, loved or cared for someone autistic will recognize their story in Netflix’s “Atypical,” a series that understands the minutiae and big picture of living on the spectrum, or living with someone that others may see as weird, odd or “not all there”
But this is not a sob story, or autism explainer, or after-school special about the importance of tolerance.
“Atypical,” which is available today on the streaming service, is a fast-moving family drama that often borders on comedy. Created by Robia Rashid, the series is as compassionate as it is snarky, pairing a deep understanding about everyday life on the spectrum with a sense of humor rarely found in productions that deal with autism. “Atypical” risks offending some, but it does more good than harm by demystifying a sensitive and painful subject with an unapologetic candor.
Jennifer Jason Leigh and Michael Rapaport play Sam’s supportive parents, Elsa and Doug, and the impressive Brigette Lundy-Paine is his protective, tomboy sister, Casey. Together, they are a working-class family that has devoted the last 18 years to helping Sam cope.
This whole family of life-long protectors is left wondering who they are, or what their role should be, now that Sam is seeking some autonomy. Casey explains it best during a college entrance interview when she must take an incoming call from her brother:
“Mom and Sam always used to say neurotypicals to describe everyone who wasn’t on the spectrum,” she says. “They called them NTs. But I thought they were saying ‘empties’ because Sam takes up so much space, everyone around him is empty.”
But Gilchrist’s performance makes up for it. Sam’s not an easy character to play—his black-andwhite take on things could prove too narrow for viewers, and his literal take on sayings such as “Go get ‘em!” “Go where and get who?” could get annoying, but that doesn’t happen.
Sam’s robotic tone, idiosyncratic behavior and social ticks are lovable, his unfiltered comments refreshingly honest.
Most charming, or at least entertaining, is his obsession with the South Pole. He can recite, with encyclopedic knowledge, stats on penguins and ice shelves. He sketches glaciers and penguins in his notebooks.
When he makes a pros and cons list about a schoolmate he is thinking of asking to be his girlfriend, the pros column includes: Thick hair like arctic fox.
We all like to say we’re a little weird. Being different is a badge of honor in post-everything America. Be yourself, right? But most of us have a choice of when to let our freak flag fly, and when to reel it in.
Sam doesn’t. He’s odd 24/7, and will be the rest of his life. “Atypical” doesn’t attempt to show how Sam is “just like us,” mostly because he’s not. And that’s what makes him a complex and unique television character worth watching.
‘ATYPICAL’—Netflix, starts today. Rating: TV-MA (may be unsuitable for children under the age of 17)