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accidentally autistic

Accidentally Autistic: Marcus Brewer, About a Boy

June 6, 2021 by valneilbooks

Welcome to my Accidentally Autistic series, in which I discuss headcanoned autistic characters — characters not formally declared autistic by the creators, but heavily coded that way, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

Will and Marcus

Am I watching old favorites because I’m in a funk? Maybe.

About a Boy is about a snarky, self-centered man named Will who gradually learns to open up and make genuine connections with people. I love characters like this, so it’s not surprising I like this movie. The second main character is Marcus Brewer, a twelve year old boy who meets Will on the day that his depressed mother attempts suicide. He stalks Will and forces him into a mutually beneficial friendship.

Marcus reads as autistic to me. He’s described as a “weird kid.” He randomly sings or talks aloud without realizing it, and spouts out inane facts in conversation, like that dolphins can kill sharks with their noses.

Marcus misses a lot of social nuances. When Will offhandedly says, “see you soon” as a generic parting phrase, Marcus takes him literally, calling him up to ask when they’ll be hanging out next. Will tries to get out of it, but Marcus doesn’t take the hint.

“I’m super busy at the moment.”
“I thought you did nothing.”

When Will finally acquiesces, Marcus insists his mother come along and bluntly tells Will they’ll either have to go someplace cheap or Will has to pay. Will remarks on the bluntness and Marcus reiterates, “You’re rich, we’re poor, you’re paying.”

When Marcus invites himself over to watch television, he abruptly announces his departure and leaves once he’s had enough. It feels very scripted to me. Marcus offers a hand for Will to shake and says, “Thanks, see you.” Then just leaves before Will can reply. In another scene, Will holds up a hand and says “high five.” Marcus doesn’t react and just walks past him. When Will attempts to talk about his attraction to Rachel, Marcus interrupts him to talk about his own girl problems. He also doesn’t understand slang like “taking a piss.”

Marcus seems to get along better with adults than with kids, understanding them better. He does try with other kids, but his conversations come off as forced or odd. He’s bullied horribly at school. When he’s confronted with another bully at Rachel’s house, he leaves without even announcing his departure to the adults. To me this reads as both overwhelm and unconsciously breaking a social convention.

Fiona, in her “yeti costume”

One could argue that Marcus is nerdy and weird because of his mother, who is, in the words of Will, a “daft fucking hippie,” but most kids don’t look to their parents for how to fit in past a certain age. When Marcus tries to set his mother up with Will, he had a hand in making her look less than presentable: “At least she looked good. I made her put on that nice furry jumper, and those earrings she got from a friend who went to Zimbabwe.” Even though he’s socially ostracized, he doesn’t seem to understand that his own fashion sense is as bad as his mother’s.

There were no signs of sensory issues that I saw, but most accidental portrayals have them.

So what do you think? Is Marcus autistic?

Filed Under: accidentally autistic, autism, blog Tagged With: accidentally autistic, actuallyautistic, hugh grant, Marcus Brewer, movies, Nicholas Hoult

Accidentally Autistic: Curdled

November 23, 2020 by valneilbooks

Welcome to the second installment of my Accidentally Autistic series, in which I discuss headcanoned autistic characters — characters not formally declared autistic by the creators, but heavily coded that way, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

I wanted to go with a well-known character for my second post, really I did. I’ve even got two Harry Potter characters lined up. But no, my brain has been on a nostalgia kick rewatching old favorites. Rrewatched Curdled the other night and said, “holy shit, there’s another one!”

For those of you who don’t know (I’m assuming all but two of you), Curdled was originally a short. Tarantino saw it and thought the concept was interesting (it involves a murder clean up service, which is one of those things you never think about but definitely exists), but what he really loved was Angela Jones as Gabriela. Tarantino’s studio remade Curdled as a full length movie, recasting Jones alongside William Baldwin. Jones makes another appearance as Gabriela in Pulp Fiction. She’s the cab driver who interrogates Bruce Willis about how it felt to kill a man. If you didn’t like her in the cab scene, don’t let you put that off Curdled. Gabriela is far more captivating when she’s in her element.

Curdled is basically a movie about an autistic woman taking her special interest in murder a bit too far. Gabriela latches onto this SI at a young age. The opening credits are a cool sequence in which you see images of her scrapbook — newspaper clippings alongside young Gabriela’s illustrations, which get more talented as the credits progress. Aside from the subject matter, it’s the kind of innocuous thing any kid might do.

Lots of people have things they’re interested in. What separates us autistics is the intensity of our interests. We don’t half ass this shit, and Gabriela is no exception. When she sees an ad for a post forensic cleaning service, she applies for a job . . . even though they’re not hiring. The owner is initially confused at her application, but decides to take a chance on her as “the busy season” is coming up. Did I mention how much I dig this movie?

Gabriela is aware enough to know that her SI is off-putting to most people. She smiles when talking about it and then immediately masks, though the mask frequently slips again. It’s enough to unnerve her co-worker Elena, who describes her as not taking the job seriously. “She’s weird. Like a little girl. She acts like a little girl.”

Gabriela’s two expressions: masking serious and smiling despite herself

Autistics are often accused of being immature or childish, either because we’re considered socially delayed or because our SI is deemed inappropriate for our age. Gabriela’s mannerisms and dress are more childish than her peers. She continues to wear her long flowing dresses to work, even though they’re not practical for the work she has to do.

Gabriela misses social cues. When interviewing for the job, the owner asks, “You had a job like this before?” He’s trying to find out if she had a job dealing with death or another emotionally heavy topic before. Gabriela completely misses the point, thinking he wants to know about her cleaning experience. “Yes. I used to clean up in a bakery — the floors, the pans, the ovens.”

Another time, a coworker somberly talks about how much she hates the execution jobs. She finds it incredibly disturbing that these people knew they were going to die. Gabrielle chimes in with a brief infodump about beheadings during the French Revolution. She’s excited to tell everyone that sometimes the heads would talk.

Gabriela is worried when her love interest discovers the scrapbook. He’s kinda weirded out but tries his best to show support and interest. He even brings her a new clipping. Pro tip: this is definitely how you court an autistic.

WARNING: SPOILERS BELOW

Re-enacting the murder at the actual crime scene, as one does.

Gabriela’s tendency to infodump and fixate gets her into trouble. She takes her love interest to see her latest cleaning job. Gabriela is excited finally share her passion with someone and doesn’t notice his clear discomfort.

When he leaves, she re-enacts the whole murder, trying to figure out every move and motivation. The killer sees and finds it intriguing. They bond for a time, her showing him what she knows and him correcting her with the facts. Gabriela is nervous, but interested to finally get answers.

Things come to a head (no pun intended) when they get to the body’s resting place. They have a moment of bonding, which Gabriela ruins by repeatedly asking if the severed heads talk. The killer is annoyed at her fixation and he decides to kill her. Gabriela is so engrossed in her analysis that she fails to notice when he takes her weapon. I won’t give away the full ending. You’ll have to see it for yourself.

If he wasn’t so impatient with her I’d ship them.

Is it great representation? No. But that doesn’t make it any less accidentally autistic.

By the way, the movie has a nod to the Gecko brothers (From Dusk Till Dawn), as well as a bonus scene after the credits.

© Val Neil All right reserved. Images belong to A Band Apart.

Filed Under: blog, Uncategorized Tagged With: 90s movies, a band apart, accidentally autistic, autism, autistic character, autistic representation, curdled, movies, quentin tarantino

Accidentally Autistic: The Queen’s Gambit

October 30, 2020 by valneilbooks

Welcome to the first installment of my new series, Accidentally Autistic, in which I discuss headcanoned autistic characters — characters not formally declared autistic by the creators, but heavily coded that way, whether intentionally or unintentionally.

(Minor spoilers)

The Queen’s Gambit is a Netflix series about a fictional chess prodigy in the 1960s. The main character is Beth Harmon, an orphan who spends her nights staring at the ceiling and imagining chess pieces moving on a giant board. I was immediately struck by how autistic she seemed, and watching further episodes only strengthened that perception. When I brought it up with a group of autistic women, everyone who’d seen the show had the same reaction. Autistic vibes all around.

But what makes Beth autistic?

It’s not any one thing, but a multitude of small things. Beth is intelligent, socially awkward, and often seemingly distant. She’s reserved and you get a sense that she’s evaluating her words before speaking. When she does speak off-the-cuff, it’s obvious she’s not saying what is expected of someone her age and gender. It would be easy to chalk up her behavior to the loss of her mother, but even there, she doesn’t react in a typical way. Standing beside the car crash which had just taken her mother’s life — a crash she herself survived — Beth’s non-reaction is striking. It’s clear to any autistic watching that she’s having a shutdown, which is an internalized version of a meltdown. “Sure, anyone would be upset in that situation,” you might say. Yes, but it doesn’t stop there.

Beth Harmon demonstrating the spectacular resting bitch face so many of us have.

When Beth arrives at the orphanage she initially sticks to the rules, taking her pills as prescribed instead of listening to a fellow orphan and saving the green pill for later. This may be due in part to the directions themselves, which aren’t exactly clear:

Beth: What are they?

Jolene: Vitamins.

Second girl, laughing: Magic vitamins.

Jolene: If I were you, I’d save the green ones till the nighttime. Otherwise they turn off right when you need them to turn on, if you know what I mean.

Clear as mud if you’re an autistic kid, and Beth is obviously puzzled. Should she take them or not? Are the girls playing a trick on her or trying to help her? Beth is often puzzled by the actions of others. Jolene, a fellow orphan, is the one to initiate a friendship with Beth, who doesn’t show any real interest in others. Beth is happy to be alone and doesn’t really seem to fit in, especially once she starts attending a typical high school. She spends her days and nights hyperfixating on chess. It’s all she thinks about and really all she wants to talk about. As is the case for many of us, it is only through her special interest that Beth starts to make friends on her own, though the male players are initially put off by her confidence and lack of social decorum. (Side note: It is incredibly refreshing to see the interactions between Beth and the other female player. When it’s obvious that Beth has never been to a tournament, the other girl patiently answers all her bluntly-asked questions. It would have been easy to make her snide over Beth’s delivery and I’m very happy they didn’t do that.)

When Beth’s chess skills win her notoriety, the previously dismissive girls at her high school make an attempt to include Beth in their circle. Beth attends one of their gatherings. She tries her best to fit in, picking an outfit she thinks will impress the girls, a black formal dress. The other girls sit together on one big couch, in more casual, somewhat-matching outfits. Beth sits alone on a stool, posture rigid, hands clasped. They ask her about boys. Beth doesn’t understand the purpose of the question and then misses an innuendo about “trading Rooks.” When the girls turn on the television and start singing along, Beth stares at them like she just walked into a musical and flees the party.

Still got it!

Beth cares deeply about her adoptive mother, though she doesn’t demonstrate this emotively. Her care is shown in small gestures—cautioning her about drinking too much and joining her to watch a show. Initially I was concerned this would turn into a predatory relationship, but Mrs. Wheatley shows real affection for Beth. Once she truly understands Beth’s passion for chess, she listens to Beth infodump and watches her games to show support, even though she can’t follow all the moves. When a reporter starts asking Beth inappropriate questions, Mrs. Wheatley promptly hustles her out.

Episode five contains very striking examples of what it’s like to navigate romantic relationships as an autistic woman. An old colleague, Harry, takes an interest in Beth and offers to help her practice. He’s been following her career and has gone to great lengths to make himself more attractive, fixing his teeth, but Beth doesn’t seem to notice or send any of the usual cues of someone who’s interested. She’s not gushy or romantic. When Harry becomes discouraged decides to move on, Beth logically suggests he move in with her.

The first time Harry kisses Beth she’s momentarily stunned. He interprets this as a lack of interest. Beth quickly corrects him, clarifying that she simply wasn’t ready, but that she is now. Being mentally prepared for physical contact is totally in autistic thing, as we have a lot of sensory issues and a strong need for knowing what to expect (after a decade of marriage, my spouse has learned to verbally ask permission before initiating a hug). Post-coitus, Beth sits up and immediately starts reading. Harry tries to engage Beth in conversation, and while she does talk, her focus is on the book, leaving Harry confused and feeling dismissed. He can’t see that Beth is happy with the relationship and enjoys his company, that her reading the book means she’s comfortable enough to be herself around him. Harry’s not getting the emotional connection he wants and so he leaves.

Beth is an exceptional example of how to write autism well. It’s not the focus of her story, but you clearly see how it impacts her relationships. I doubt the writers had autism in mind when they wrote Beth, but she’s so strongly coded that autistics can identify with her.

© Val Neil All right reserved. Images belong to Netflix.

Filed Under: accidentally autistic, autism, blog Tagged With: accidentally autistic, actuallyautistic, autism, autistic character, beth harmon, netflix, queen's gambit, the queen's gambit, the queen's gambit netflix

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