Editorials
Autism Within Horror: ‘Come Play’ and the Next Steps for Representation
Spoilers ahead for Cube, The Predator, and Come Play. Proceed at your own risk.
When describing the feeling of being considered “the other”, it has occurred to me how often this feeling is used to accurately process the horror genre. Horror has never truly felt like a “niche” aspect of cinema in terms of general appeal to mainstream audiences. Even people who claim to not stand horror movies are at least familiar with some of the genre’s most iconic titles like The Exorcist, Halloween, Scream, and more.
But horror has always felt like “the other” in terms of its place in the hierarchy of cinema. Despite its immense profitability, horror will always be closely tied to the label of B-movie status; the genre is the red-headed stepchild of cinema of which only a select few “elevated” ones are allowed a seat at the table. The rest are left to flounder in their own clique, separate from the nuances that audiences see in non-horror movies.
Maybe that’s why somebody on the autism spectrum like me has always found horror to be fascinating. I speak purely from my own experiences, but despite the lengths I went to in order to not scare myself from a horror movie when I was a kid, I still came back to the genre. I never understood why it just started clicking for me the older I got. Was it puberty? A large part of it, for sure. But there was something bigger in play.
When I watched them, I felt as though they were my companions, even the shitty ones that our family would sometimes rent from our local video store. They felt like creations that were forced away when in the presence of company or strangers. No matter how much we loved them, there was always a hint of shame when other people and family came by and realized that we were much more partial to films that depicted things like disembowelment, murder, demons, an undead Snoop Dogg, etc. We loved them, yet they existed in our home as “those” movies that sat beside serious movies that we were more likely to be open with our admiration about.
It’s the kind of feeling that has long been associated with the stigma surrounding people on the autism spectrum. Despite existing on the same plane as the rest of humanity, there is something about their disorder that inspires curiosity from people not familiar with them. The reaction isn’t universal nor would I say that it leans towards negative (at least in the US), but they are often singled out regardless for their behavior and how out of the norm it appears. No matter how well we aim to treat someone on the spectrum, a subconscious part of ourselves will associate them as part of “the other.”
It’s a lonely feeling even when millions of people are reported to be on the spectrum because the deficiencies in our social skills often get in the way of us branching out and making new friends. It can be difficult even for someone with mild symptoms like myself, but severely autistic people are likely to have one of the hardest experiences in socializing with people that aren’t their immediate family. They’re on the inside, but looking in from the outside.
Horror movies serving as the middle-man between loneliness and companionship for autistic people may seem odd on the surface. Autistic people are often raised with this perspective early on while movies have the opportunities to change themselves up long before release. But a genre that has thrived as a part of “the other” almost feels like a match made in heaven for autistic people to not only enjoy, but potentially even see themselves in.
It’s a nice concept to center a horror movie around an autistic character to learn about a new perspective, but representation of just this has been limited in the world of cinema in general, even more in horror. A person on the spectrum becomes open to filmmakers taking the most base-form idea of what the disorder entails and twisting it into a distorted adaptation that veers into shameless exploitation.
The excuse of it being “movie magic” only works for so long before the traits being forced onto autistic people that were once quirky and unique become their defining features in future films. Autistic characters with personalities become a living checklist for filmmakers who, good intentions or bad, add to this attitude of extremism that mainstream audiences may associate with autism.
‘The Predator’
A common trope for autistic characters is the savant, meaning that they are written as highly intelligent people whose skills seem borderline superhuman despite their social limitations. Savants exist in real life and are heavily associated with people on the spectrum, yet you’d think that most autistic people are some kind of savants based on their common portrayal as these fascinating beings on another plane from “normal humans.” On its own, exploring the life of a savant is fascinating, but under the horror genre, it has given way for filmmakers and studios to borderline weaponize it by consistently implying that extraordinary abilities are just expected for someone on the spectrum.
Even when an autistic character in a horror film isn’t considered a savant, their disorder is still singled out as something potentially “extraordinary” in the film’s universe. Examples of these include films like Rose Red, The Predator, Cube, Dark Floors, and Bless the Child. Their stories may differ, but the idea behind them is strikingly similar: a person (normally a child or in the case of Kazan in Cube, an adult man with a childlike attitude) possesses either immaculate talent in a certain field, such as vocabulary or mathematics, or their disorder makes them “special” and a target of interest, often existing as the key towards overcoming the main conflict of the stories.
It may sound complimentary to regard these characters as special in a positive manner to imply that their disorder is some sort of blessing in disguise, but at best, it’s a well-intentioned, yet misinformed portrayal of a real disorder. At worst, it’s a tired stereotype of both autistic people and savants, the latter in which only crosses over with roughly 10% of the amount of people officially diagnosed as being on the spectrum. Around 50% of savants have some form of autism, but the latter is considered more common, yet that hasn’t stopped filmmakers and studios from teaching audiences that autistic people are special beings different from normal people.
The portrayal of Rory in The Predator comes to mind as one of the most prominent examples of this “special” phenomenon. The boy is shown to be autistic and while that itself seems like a nice chance for genuine representation, the true purpose of his character written to be autistic becomes clear when the Predator believes that his disorder is actually the next step of human evolution, prompting Rory to be kidnapped to be saved by the actual main characters of the film.
Representing autism as a necessary next step towards human evolution speaks volumes towards the filmmakers having next to no clue how to portray this type of disorder for the screen. Fetishizing autism as some sort of brilliant biological coincidence ignores the general factors of autism, such as repetitive behavior, lack of social communication, restrictive ways to maintain organization, etc. I may be harping too hard on a movie about alien warriors slaughtering hapless humans, but if the filmmakers are going to bring a very real disorder to the forefront, a little research can go a long way into making sure that they don’t look silly and misinformed in the end.
Worse yet is filmmakers using the “special” or “savant” card to supplement writing a genuine character with flaws, goals, and some semblance of realism. Even in a great horror film like Cube, Kazan exists less as his own character and more of a prop used by the others to solve the mystery of the cube when he is revealed to be able to decipher the numbers of each room. By no means is he a horrible character nor am I implying that filmmakers are maliciously writing their autistic characters this way. But when nuance is gone from a subject that requires loads of it to even understand, there comes a risk of exploiting a real disorder as an aesthetic choice.
It’s especially a shame when the horror genre, known for tackling our darkest fears in a straightforward manner, has not been taken advantage of to accurately illustrate the fears of autistic people. “The other” in horror films often have this stigmatic aura to them, making even characters (particularly lonesome villains) meant to garner sympathy for being so different feel more like cases of pandering. It doesn’t help that many horror villains intended on being tragic characters are still viewed as the antagonists for our heroes to overcome.
This trend bleeds over into writing horror movie protagonists as awkward social outcasts, which can only go so far when the characters have enough of a blank slate to never truly pinpoint a specific feeling of loneliness and otherness. That in and of itself may be a sign of some progress in the horror genre to try and include everyone, but the fears of otherness and loneliness exist in a different context for people on the spectrum. Our fears of being a burden may be shared with many different people who are not diagnosed, but generalizing it all under one roof can lead to widespread misunderstanding for a delicate subject.
Children are often considered sponges based on their ability to retain almost anything surrounding them in their youth, but I think this applies to adults as well. We gather information from what we view, hear, and are taught by the people around us. Therefore, when our exposure to autism includes limited and stereotypical portrayals such as these, this misunderstanding is liable to cause greater harm in establishing a true connection with someone on the spectrum.
‘Come Play’
With that being said, the complicated history of autistic portrayals in film is why I was cautiously excited for the new monster horror-thriller, Come Play. In it, a young autistic boy named Oliver (played by Azhy Robertson) is shocked to discover that a monster called “Larry” lives inside a mysterious story app on his phone and desperately wants to meet Ollie in the real world. However, this already unbelievable story doesn’t sound real coming from him since he’s non-verbal and requires a communication app to speak.
Right off the bat, Come Play messes around with the rules of horror movie structure by writing not only an autistic character as the main lead, but one that cannot even communicate through physical talking. Characters like him are often destined to be slotted as the child/driving force of the adult main character and while Ollie’s parents play a big role here, this is his show for a nice change of pace. We are exposed to Ollie’s way of life instead of it being insisted/explained by other characters.
The idea of this autistic boy being the one person that Larry needs in order to break free from his digital prison has small hints of “savant” stereotyping, considering that Ollie’s presence somehow motivates him to try and make friends with him. But it becomes clear that Ollie’s disorder in the film is not ultimately shown to be this unpredictable and dangerous force that exists as the unexplained kryptonite to the villain. He is simply a lonely boy whose autism has caused great pains to both his parents and his ability to easily make friends.
Come Play is honest in how autism could potentially affect a family’s home and social life without pinning the blame on the disorder itself. Ollie’s mother, Sarah (played by Gillian Jacobs) displays some of that shame I mentioned earlier, such as letting small incidents with Ollie embarrass her in public to forcing him into having a “normal” sleepover with kids from school despite knowing how withdrawn he is from others. The desperation for “normalcy” can often confuse and even scare an autistic person, driving them into a deeper state of isolation in order to feel safe from these fears.
Though I personally don’t find the film to be outstanding in how it tackles these themes, Come Play still stands as a step forward for autistic representation not just in horror, but film itself. A character’s autism is not used as vehicle to drive the plot forward nor is it implied to be this mysterious otherworldly presence. Rather, it is a part of Ollie’s life and the film navigates this tightrope by properly exploring Ollie and his interactions with others. Despite being a supernatural film, his autism isn’t on the dissection table to be torn and exploited; the effects of his disorder are kept grounded in reality.
Progress is being made, but it would be foolish to stop here. With the age of the internet allowing us to view content from around the globe, the opportunities to broaden our perspectives are practically banging on our doorsteps. The stigma surrounding autism and its need to be “fixed” can begin to change with something as seemingly innocuous as a horror film about a monster that lives inside a smartphone. The seeds regarding the more honest truths about life with autism can be planted and movies and shows in the future taking autism representation to the next level is the water needed.
This is not to say that I am advocating for all horror films to suddenly pivot to autism-heavy stories to make us feel included out of pity. It is not the responsibility of the filmmakers to force representation of autism into their films if the core of their stories does not call for it. A filmmaker and/or screenwriter putting it in solely as a ploy to get our hard-earned money is much more disrespectful than a film that simply doesn’t have any autistic character in it. But autism in horror movies has greatly suffered from inaccurate and stereotypical portrayals that either subtly demonize or fetishize it for mainstream audiences.
Life with autism is complicated, whether it is with a mild, moderate, or severe form of it. It is a disorder that can help families grow closer together or be torn apart from the stress. For future horror stories centered around an autistic character (or characters), they shouldn’t be exactly like Come Play. Filmmakers can tell different stories and approach the subject from other informative and engaging perspectives. Casting autistic actors in more common roles, gradually removing the fetishization of the disorder while still exploring savant characters in a different manner, etc.
Horror is unique in its versatility and filmmakers should feel empowered to go beyond the structure and tropes that audiences are used to. Autism is deeply connected to the heart of many real-life stories that are shocking, heartwarming, and terrifying in some cases. Seeing them and similar stories portrayed in such an accepting area of film can serve as steps towards transforming the topic of autism into something that can be discussed in a more open manner.
Autism representation may generate some eye-rolls on first glance, but it is imperative in helping us all understand, empathize, and even contribute support in our own manner. Film is a storytelling medium and it feels like it should be about time that the roughly 25 million people diagnosed to be on the spectrum worldwide can have their stories told in the crazy world of horror.
Tales from the Crypt has been influential in keeping EC Comics alive in the public conscience, even after going off the air thirty years ago. That classic horror show pulled from multiple stables within the iconic comic publisher, but it also didn’t adapt everything. Even the ones the producers did pick weren’t always faithfully retold on screen.
So while it might seem like Tales from the Crypt covered plenty of EC Comics’ works, a lot still remains unadapted.
These ten great stories would have made fine additions to the series.
“Bats in My Belfry!” (Tales from the Crypt)
When an actor named Harry began to lose his hearing, a friend put him in contact with a special “doctor”. After receiving the gift of super-hearing—a taxidermist implanted a bat’s auditory system inside of Harry—the protagonist learned about his wife’s affair. On top of that, she and her paramour were planning to kill Harry. Of course, they didn’t realize Harry had transformed into a humanoid vampire bat.
Something Tales from the Crypt didn’t do enough of, on account of whatever reason (budget and time restraints seem most likely), was stories about monsters. But Crypt once had the best contacts in the business, so you can bet that were-bat would have been in good hands.
“The Beast of the Full Moon!” (The Vault of Horror)
Tom and his girlfriend, June, were fearful of the werewolf who’d been on a recent murder spree in their area. Tom already suspected his brother Andrew, who may have been infected after a trip to Corocoa. And when Tom had an encounter with the werewolf, he stabbed the creature’s right paw before it could flee. Later, Tom’s suspicions were all but confirmed when he saw Andrew’s bandaged right hand.
So, Tom laid a trap for the monster—a pit—, and he waited nearby with a gun full of silver bullets. One thing led to another, and Tom ended up in the pit with the werewolf. Luckily, someone above shot and killed the beast. That’s when Tom saw Andrew above ground and June in the pit, the latter dead from her gunshot wound.
While Tales from the Crypt did have lycan episodes, like “Werewolf Concerto” and “The Secret”, there was still room for one more. With the comic having such a small cast, though, it may have been too easy to figure out the culprit. But surely someone on staff could have punched up the original story for television.
“Pipe Down!” (The Haunt of Fear)
Lila hated her older husband, Andrew. After beginning an affair with a handyman named Howard, Lila plotted Andrew’s death. She and Howard got away with Andrew’s murder, but now they couldn’t marry for a year; otherwise, it would look suspicious. In the meantime, Lila purchased a pet monkey that was born on the same day that Andrew died.
When Howard found what looked like evidence of Lila having another lover—he spotted a lit cigar and two half-empty glasses—Howard flew into a rage and murdered his girlfriend. That’s when the cops arrived, saying a phone operator reported the disturbance. However, all she heard on the other end of the phone was an animal’s shriek. Once Howard was arrested, Lila’s monkey went back into the house, picked up a book, and smoked a pipe. Just like Andrew used to do.
This story would have fit in with the wackier episodes of Tales from the Crypt. There are quite a few of those—especially later on as the series moved away from the more macabre material. “Pipe Down!” also spices up the typical adultery-and-murder plots that were so common in EC’s output.
“Swamped” (The Haunt of Fear)
Deep in the Okefenokee Swamp, a cannibalistic hermit fed on those who traveled near his shack built over the water. He fed on visiting hunters and then disposed of their remains beneath his home. Anyone who revolted or came after him only ended up in the quicksand. Finally, though, the hermit suffered the same fate as his victims; he, too, slipped into the muddy graveyard below his crumbling shack. Yet now waiting for him were the hungry souls desperate to get back at their killer.
It’s unclear who the writer was behind “Swamped”, but their work here is intense. The insight and colorful descriptions are unexpected for that mere tale of the cannibal who got his just desserts. That kind of writing, along with Reed Crandall‘s artwork, makes this one of the most engaging stories from EC’s horror run.
“The October Game” (Shock SuspenStories)
Mitch, a deeply resentful and growingly mad father and husband, hosted his young daughter’s Halloween party. Kids and other parents soon all piled into the basement. The night of fun then ended with one last parlor game: Mitch passed around the body parts of a witch (an arm, her heart, and so on). One of the young guests assumed these were really things like chicken innards.
Mitch’s wife, Louise, looked for her daughter among the crowd, wondering if Marion was scared. That’s when Louise realized the girl wasn’t there—or alive. She begged everyone not to turn on the lights in the basement, out of fear of them seeing what Mitch had done to her poor daughter. Unfortunately for Louise, her plea was in vain.
Tales from the Crypt usually refrained from child-endangered stories, and it much rather focused on adult characters. But the show also lacked Halloween entries, apart from Season Six’s “Only Skin Deep“. Perhaps the need for Halloween, as a validation of any eerie goings-on, was unnecessary.
This Ray Bradbury adaptation (originally a short found in Weird Tales) is well deserving of a read. It’s a glowing example of suspense storytelling. The comic also never shows a lick of violence, yet it feels incredibly violent.
“Strictly from Hunger” (The Vault of Horror)
A posse of men stood before a cave, awaiting something horrible inside. One of the men, Doc, explained the uncanny and dangerous creature; he’d seen it before. Doc told everyone about how his patient, Pete, was diagnosed with a malignant, cancerous lump on his arm. There was nothing Doc could do to help him. Pete then sought assistance from an old witch in the mountain. Using magic, she made sure Pete would never die, although his cancer remained intact and unhealed.
Over time, the cancer cells in Pete’s body consumed all his healthy cells. To keep living, Pete turned into a giant blob that ate others’ healthy cells. Back in the present story, the posse fought the emerging creature until it retreated into the cave. The characters all finally blocked the entrance to prevent Pete from ever escaping again.
Obviously, Tales from the Crypt didn’t have the budget to support a story like this one, but imagine if it did. A body horror episode of this degree could have been fantastic, not to mention outright disgusting.
“Marriage Vow” (The Haunt of Fear)
Martin and Eva’s marriage was no longer a happy one. Eva, who’d become controlling and slovenly a few years after their wedding, refused to let Martin out of her sight. “Till death do us part,” she would always say. Eventually, Martin killed Eva; he loosened the wrought iron bars on the balcony where Eva liked to spend time, and she fell to her death. However, Eva didn’t stay dead, as she came back as a zombie intent on honoring the “till death” part of their vows.
EC did more than its fair share of stories like “Marriage Vow”, as did Tales from the Crypt. Spousal murder was pretty common. This comic, though, delivers a strong implication as the zombified wife tells her husband to “come to bed”. That line makes a reader’s imagination run wild.
“Dog Food” (Crime SuspenStories)
A prisoner named Tom swore revenge on the warden, Lester, after a fellow prisoner was tortured and killed under his command. However, to get past Lester’s voracious guard dogs, so that he could enter his house and kill him, Tom started saving meat from his meals. The other prisoners also contributed to his collection.
Tom set off on his journey to Lester’s dog-guarded house, but he ran out of meat before reaching his destination. So, Tom did the next best thing and fed parts of his own body to the dogs.
Once again, Reed Crandall elevated a gruesome, vengeful story with his realistic style. It’s so lurid. At any rate, it was just too graphic for Tales from the Crypt to adapt—and that’s really saying something here.
“Master Race” (Impact)
Carl Reissman was on a subway, remembering his “bloody war years” in Germany. Even after a decade had passed, he remained paranoid. And as he spotted a certain other passenger coming his way, a man in all black, Carl became afraid and started running. His mind flashed back to the events of the Holocaust during this “chase”.
Finally, before Carl fell on the tracks and in the path of an oncoming train, he revealed he wasn’t a prisoner in a concentration camp; he commanded one. The stranger in black said to those onlookers, asking what happened; he didn’t even know the victim. This Carl had simply run from him on the platform.
While Tales from the Crypt did occasionally go beyond what was available in their more horror-centric source material—the war-themed Two-Fisted Tales, for instance—it didn’t ever go near Impact. This short-lived series is considered toned down for EC. Even still, that didn’t make “Master Race” any less shocking. It’s a potent entry that wouldn’t have fit in with the Tales from the Crypt show we now know, but nonetheless, it’s a thought-provoking piece of storytelling.
“Forty Whacks!” (Crime SuspenStories)
A twenty-two-year-old woman named Fanny was frustrated by her parents; they flipped out when she put on makeup. However, when the daughter discovered a mysterious hatchet in her attic, she became possessed by a strange power and did the unthinkable. One after the other, Fanny used that hatchet to kill her parents.
The detective assigned to Fanny’s case was interrupted by his wife and son. The former had an out-there theory: the hatchet belonged to the infamous Lizzie Borden, and it was now capable of causing children to kill their own parents. The detective didn’t buy his wife’s idea, but that was until his entranced son picked up the murder weapon and took a swing at his pop.
Here, EC dipped into historical crime for a ghoulish story that sounds like something out of Friday the 13th: The Series. Maybe it’s a bit in bad taste, but that has never stopped Tales from the Crypt—which is why we love it.
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