When a friend of a friend once sought my perspective on The Good Doctor, it wasn’t just a casual inquiry. As an autistic culture writer, I’ve navigated countless conversations about media portrayals of autism, and the ABC medical drama, with its central character Dr. Shaun Murphy, always seemed to surface. My response had become almost automatic: while competently produced as primetime entertainment, its depiction of an autistic individual felt fundamentally lacking. The absence of openly autistic voices in both the writers’ room and cast meant that Dr. Murphy, portrayed by Freddie Highmore, often came across as a collection of neurotypical assumptions, anxieties, and idealized notions about autism, rather than a genuine exploration of lived autistic experience. It’s isolating to witness widespread adoration for characters like Dr. Murphy or Sheldon Cooper from The Big Bang Theory, while encountering significantly less enthusiasm for actual autistic individuals and the stories we wish to share.
This particular acquaintance, however, countered with the assertion that The Good Doctor was, in fact, a valuable show. It had, he explained, educated him about autism, fostering greater empathy for autistic people and their struggles.
With The Good Doctor, a series that once reigned as the highest-rated new show of the 2017-2018 season and maintained top viewership throughout much of its seven-season run, concluding its broadcast, this anecdote perfectly encapsulates a central issue. Despite its premise of exploring the intricate humanity of its lead character, the show frequently relegated real autistic individuals to the role of mere props at every level of production. The creative team, including showrunners David Shore and Liz Friedman, along with Highmore, enjoyed complete artistic license in shaping and embodying a character profoundly different from themselves, without facing the realities of autistic life or demonstrably prioritizing the perspectives of those who actually live it. Even the show’s autism consultant was not on the spectrum. This allowed non-autistic audiences to consume these stereotypical portrayals for entertainment and purported enlightenment, congratulating themselves on their supposed open-mindedness, and occasionally even lecturing autistic individuals on their newfound, improved “autism awareness.”
KAYLA CROMER, CHUKU MODU, FREDDIE HIGHMORE, CHRISTINA CHANG
The backlash that briefly erupted following a particularly jarring scene of Shaun experiencing an autistic meltdown, widely circulated on social media, further highlighted this disconnect. Even this critique largely remained within non-autistic circles, save for an insightful article in the Washington Post featuring voices of autistic experts in medicine, advocacy, and culture. The line blurred between those purportedly mocking The Good Doctor‘s depiction of autistic traits and those simply ridiculing the traits themselves. Yet, non-autistic voices were quick to reassure me that their laughter was with autistic people, not at them.
Across its initial six seasons, The Good Doctor arguably failed its autistic audience by presenting Shaun as more of a pastiche of autistic clichés – a “cardboard cutout of what people believe an autistic person should be like,” as activist Lydia Brown aptly described in the aforementioned Washington Post article – than a fully developed, nuanced character. Dr. Murphy’s behavior often deviated significantly from the realities of autistic experience and interaction. A particularly egregious example involved Shaun displaying ignorance and transphobia towards a patient, with the show seemingly attributing this to his autism. Given the established fact that trans and nonbinary individuals are up to six times more likely to be autistic, Shaun’s reaction was illogical. An autistic person in his professional position would likely possess at least a basic understanding of trans identities.
However, the series showed a glimmer of potential for improvement in its final season by introducing Kayla Cromer, an autistic actor, as Charlie Lukaitis, an autistic medical student inspired by Shaun. This casting decision was a positive step toward genuine inclusion of autistic individuals in the show’s creative process, and offered an opportunity to broaden the exploration of autism itself. Theoretically, having multiple recurring autistic characters could have provided writers with greater latitude to delve into the diversity of the autistic spectrum. Regrettably, this potential largely remained untapped.
Shaun and Charlie frequently clashed in early episodes, yet there were also instances where Charlie demonstrated a unique understanding of her fellow autistic colleague, offering support and insight. This dynamic of both conflict and camaraderie offered a glimpse into the reality that autistic individuals are, indeed, individuals, capable of both disagreement and connection on a level often inaccessible to neurotypical individuals. However, for every moment hinting at the complex humanity of autistic people, another scene would emerge, reflecting little more than non-autistic biases and misunderstandings.
For instance, the intended message behind the scene where Charlie favorably compared support for autistic children in schools to gastric sleeve surgery for teenagers remains baffling. Similarly, a subplot in “The Overview Effect” episode, focusing on Shaun’s desire to have his infant son tested for autism, resonated more with anxieties commonly voiced by neurotypical parents than the far more intricate and nuanced emotions experienced by autistic parents. Autistic parents often have their own complex histories with evaluations and interventions, grappling with uncertainty about which, if any, might genuinely benefit their children. Considering the scarcity of autistic parents depicted on screen, the superficiality of these brief scenes felt profoundly disappointing. Shaun’s response to his mentor and father figure’s terminal cancer diagnosis in the finale was similarly wanting. While his attempt to channel his grief into work felt realistic, the show missed an opportunity to explore the internal emotional landscape of an autistic individual navigating profound loss, within a timeframe and expression that might differ from neurotypical norms. Autistic grief is a deeply misunderstood experience, and this storyline could have provided a powerful opportunity for both education and dramatic depth.
By the time the finale, “Goodbye,” culminated in a TED Talk delivered by Shaun, where he discussed living and working as a doctor with autism to an audience beaming at him with expressions akin to those reserved for a dog performing a particularly impressive trick, the most positive sentiment I could muster about The Good Doctor was relief at its conclusion. Its ending – alongside that of The Big Bang Theory‘s spin-off Young Sheldon, which attracted nearly 9 million viewers for its finale – signifies the close of an era in which successful, widely beloved TV shows often treated their autistic or autistic-coded characters as objects of non-autistic fascination and consumption.
WILL YUN LEE, WAVYY JONEZ, FIONA GUBELMANN, CHRISTINA CHANG, ELFINA LUK, CHUKU MODU, BRIA SAMONÉ HENDERSON, ANTONIA THOMAS, PAIGE SPARA
However, I maintain cautious optimism for the future of autism representation in television shows. While no major autistic-centric network series are immediately on the horizon in the U.S., several streaming options offer hope. Heartbreak High, an Australian series available on Netflix, features autistic actor Chloé Hayden’s portrayal of a queer autistic student, lauded by many autistic writers as one of the most authentic autistic characters to date. A Kind of Spark, a family drama originating from Ireland, Britain, Canada, and America, based on Elle McNicoll’s book, provides viewers with genuine insights into the lives of its autistic characters and the imaginative world of its autistic creator. Dinosaur, a Scottish dramedy starring autistic co-creator Ashley Storrie, currently streaming on Hulu, is both genuinely moving and a testament to the autistic community’s capacity for self-deprecating humor. While these series represent significant progress, they are merely the beginning of the vast spectrum of autistic stories deserving of screen time.
With current prevalence rates indicating that 1 in 36 individuals are autistic, autistic people constitute a substantial, largely untapped audience – and a potentially significant talent pool, provided access to appropriate resources and opportunities. Furthermore, the autistic population is far more diverse than mainstream media has thus far acknowledged, encompassing individuals of every race, gender, sexuality, and socioeconomic background. Autistic people possess a wide array of interests, subcultures, and artistic inclinations. This translates to a wealth of unique perspectives and narratives that hold immense potential for compelling future television shows.
For seven seasons, millions of viewers demonstrated a willingness to open their hearts and minds to the concept of an autistic man excelling as a doctor through tv shows the good doctor. Perhaps it’s time to extend that openness to embrace the idea that autistic individuals can also be writers, actors, consultants, and engaged viewers who seek authentic representation on television screens.
