A few years back, an acquaintance reached out wanting to discuss The Good Doctor. Learning I was an autistic culture writer, he was eager for my take on the popular ABC medical drama and its fictional portrayal of a young surgeon with autism.
My response, by that point, was well-rehearsed: As a primetime drama, I found it watchable, though not particularly to my taste. However, as a representation of an autistic individual, it was deeply flawed. Lacking openly autistic voices in its writing room or cast, the show, and particularly Dr. Shaun Murphy (Freddie Highmore), felt like a collection of non-autistic assumptions and anxieties about autism, rather than a genuine exploration of autistic experience. It was isolating to witness widespread admiration for characters like Dr. Murphy or Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory, while facing indifference or worse towards actual autistic people and our stories.
He then declared that The Good Doctor was a valuable show, educating him about autism and fostering empathy for autistic individuals and their struggles.
As The Good Doctor, once the highest-rated new show of the 2017-2018 season and a consistent top performer for much of its seven-season run, concludes, this anecdote perfectly illustrates how a show claiming to explore the humanity of its autistic doctor often reduced real autistic people to mere props. The writers, showrunners David Shore and Liz Friedman, and Highmore enjoyed creative license to portray a character vastly different from themselves, without the burden of lived experience or significant concern for how autistic viewers might perceive their creation. Even their autism consultant was not autistic. Non-autistic audiences consumed this fictionalized portrayal for entertainment and supposed education, congratulating themselves on their supposed open-mindedness, and occasionally lecturing autistic individuals on their newfound “awareness.”
Even the brief backlash following a widely circulated clip of Shaun experiencing a problematic autistic meltdown was largely driven by non-autistic individuals. A notable exception was a thoughtful article in the Washington Post featuring autistic experts in medicine, advocacy, and culture. The line between those mocking The Good Doctor’s autistic representation and those mocking autistic traits themselves blurred considerably. Yet, non-autistic individuals were quick to reassure me they were laughing with me, not at me.
Over its initial six seasons, The Good Doctor failed autistic viewers by presenting Shaun as a pastiche of autistic stereotypes – a “cardboard cutout,” as activist Lydia Brown described in the Washington Post article – rather than a complex character. Dr. Murphy’s behavior often misrepresented autistic people and our interactions with the world. For example, Shaun displayed transphobia and ignorance toward a patient, seemingly attributed to his autism by the show. Given that transgender and nonbinary individuals are significantly more likely to be autistic, Shaun’s reaction was illogical. An autistic person in his profession would likely have some understanding of trans people.
Cast members Kayla Cromer, Chuku Modu, Freddie Highmore, and Christina Chang in a scene from The Good Doctor TV show
The final season offered a glimmer of hope by introducing Kayla Cromer, an autistic actor, as Charlie Lukaitis, an autistic medical student inspired by Shaun. This was a positive step toward genuine inclusion and offered potential for a broader exploration of autism. Having multiple autistic characters could have allowed for a deeper dive into the diversity within the autistic community. However, this potential largely remained untapped.
While Shaun and Charlie frequently clashed, there were moments where Charlie understood Shaun in ways others didn’t, offering support. This dynamic hinted at the reality that autistic people are individuals capable of both conflict and connection on a unique level. Yet, for every such glimpse of complex autistic humanity, there was another scene reinforcing non-autistic misconceptions and biases.
For instance, the rationale behind Charlie’s comparison of support for autistic children to gastric sleeve surgery for teenagers remains baffling. A subplot concerning Shaun’s anxiety about getting his infant son tested for autism in an episode titled “The Overview Effect” echoed common fears among non-autistic parents, missing the more nuanced and often conflicting emotions experienced by autistic parents. Autistic parents, who are rarely depicted on screen, often have complicated histories with evaluations and interventions, and grapple with determining what truly benefits their children. These fleeting, superficial scenes represented a deeply disappointing missed opportunity. Similarly, Shaun’s reaction to his mentor and father figure’s terminal cancer diagnosis in the finale, while realistically showing him channeling pain into work, lacked a genuine exploration of the emotions a real autistic person would struggle to process within a neurotypical timeframe. Autistic grief is profoundly misunderstood, and this could have been a powerful opportunity for both education and drama.
By the finale, “Goodbye,” which concluded with Shaun delivering a TED Talk about living and working as a doctor with autism to an audience beaming with patronizing admiration, the most positive thing to say about The Good Doctor was that it had finally ended. Its conclusion, along with Young Sheldon, The Big Bang Theory’s spinoff, which drew nearly 9 million viewers for its finale, marks the close of an era where popular TV shows treated autistic characters as objects for non-autistic consumption.
Enthusiastic audience reacting to Dr. Murphy's Ted Talk during The Good Doctor series finale
However, I am cautiously optimistic about the future. While no major U.S. network shows centered on autistic characters are immediately on the horizon, several streaming options offer hope. Autistic actor Chloé Hayden’s portrayal of a queer autistic student in the Australian series Heartbreak High on Netflix is considered by many autistic writers as one of the best autistic characters to date. A Kind of Spark, a British/Irish/Canadian/American family drama based on Elle McNicoll’s book, provides insights into the lives of its autistic characters and the perspective of its autistic creator. Dinosaur, a Scottish dramedy starring autistic co-creator Ashley Storrie, streaming on Hulu, is both heartwarming and demonstrates autistic people’s capacity for self-deprecating humor. While these shows are promising, they are just the beginning of the autistic stories that deserve to be told on screen.
With autism prevalence at 1 in 36, autistic individuals represent a substantial and largely untapped audience, and a significant talent pool, given appropriate resources and opportunities. We are also a far more diverse population than mainstream media has shown. Autistic people exist across all races, genders, sexualities, and socioeconomic backgrounds, with varied interests, subcultures, and artistic inclinations. This diversity offers a wealth of perspectives and narratives that could enrich future television.
For seven seasons, millions of viewers were willing to embrace the idea that an autistic man could be a capable doctor. Perhaps they can now make space for the idea that we can also be writers, actors, consultants, and engaged viewers who want to see authentic representations of ourselves on TV.
