Editorials
His Name Is Samuel: ‘The Babadook,’ Autism, and Me
Every once in a while, a meme shows up online along these lines: on the left is a picture of Franklin (Paul A. Partain) from The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974), on the right is a picture of “the boy” (Noah Wiseman) from The Babadook (2014) and the caption says, “You can only kill two.” Now, of course, I understand it is meant to be a joke and that they are both fictional characters, but as the parent of autistic children, I can’t help but feel a twinge of pain in my chest when I see it or something like it.
These memes are, after all, coming from the horror community, a group that at least claims to take pride in being misfits. One who flies the flag of acceptance of the outcast. But I am not here to scold. Rather, I’d like to attempt to reframe the conversation.
As we near the end of this year’s Autism Awareness, or better yet, Autism Acceptance Month, I’d like to make the case for “the boy” from The Babadook being one of the most important representative characters of recent years and one of the great heroes of modern horror. To begin with, let’s start by calling him by his name.
As his mother Amelia (Essie Davis) says to his teacher and principal in the film, “Please stop calling him ‘the boy.’ His name is Samuel.”
Though it is never overtly stated, it is clear from Samuel’s behavior, interactions with other people, and dialogue from the film that he has Autism Spectrum Disorder. That said, it should be made clear that ASD is a spectrum and manifests differently in each person. It has been well said, “If you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person.” My own children are a good example of this. Though all are autistic, you could not ask for three more unique individuals. Each of them handles personal interactions, their environment, and emotions in vastly different ways. That said, the portrayal of Amelia and Samuel is, to me, the most realistic depiction I have ever seen of what it is like to be the parent of an autistic child.
First, the film sets up the challenges. As much as well-meaning people have tried to reframe autism as being just a different way of looking at the world and not a disability, it is, by definition, a disability. If it is not disabling, it is not diagnosable as autism. In Samuel’s case, he is unable to read social norms and adhere to them, something that is common for people with autism. The “unwritten rules” of society that come naturally to most neurotypical people don’t always make sense to the neurodivergent. As a result, Samuel’s cousin Ruby (Chloe Hurn) tells him people don’t like him because he’s weird.
I can relate to this personally. My oldest son makes noises and flaps his hands when he is excited, something that has been known to make classmates and the children of family friends uncomfortable. In fact, the word “weird” was used by a peer to describe him to others. For the most part, however, my oldest also comes across as the most emotionally detached of my children and is generally able to let things like that just roll off his back. I sometimes describe him as the Mr. Spock of our family—the logical and unemotional one. That said, if he sees those close to him being harmed or people suffering injustice, he is extremely passionate and emotional.
The difficulty in understanding social norms also leads to Samuel’s tendency to say exactly what he is thinking. He freely shares with a stranger in the grocery store that his “dad’s in the cemetery. He got killed driving mommy to the hospital to have me.” While spending some time with their elderly neighbor, Gracie Roach (Barbara West), Samuel loudly declares to his mother, “Mrs. Roach has Parkinson’s; that’s why she shakes like this,” before imitating the kindly woman’s tremors. Amelia’s answer is, “Samuel, you don’t have to say everything that goes through your head.” I have experienced much the same in my own life, and it can come across as a shocking lack of tact. In reality, however, it is an expression of pure honesty. Unfortunately, that honesty can sometimes be hurtful and alienating to people, who then, in turn, alienate the autistic person who said it.
Bullying and ostracization are all-too-common aspects of life for many people with autism. In Samuel’s case, it comes largely from his cousin Ruby and indirectly from Amelia’s sister Claire (Hayley McElhinney). In one sequence, Claire suggests that Ruby and Samuel not share their birthday this year. This one hits close to home for me. Though the situation is different from the film, I will never forget the year that no one came to my daughter’s birthday party. To this day, I cannot enjoy Paddington 2 the way most people seem to. It just hurts too much.
At Ruby’s party, Samuel hides away in a treehouse, and a gut-wrenching dual scene takes place. In one location, Claire tells Amelia that she doesn’t come around her house anymore “because I can’t stand being around your son” and twists the knife further by saying, “you can’t stand being around him yourself.” At the same time, Ruby tells Samuel, “Your dad died so he didn’t have to be with you…and your mom doesn’t want you. No one wants you,” which unfortunately leads to Samuel injuring Ruby.
This culminates in the film’s most notorious scene, the one that is usually pictured in the memes—Samuel’s meltdown in the backseat of the car. This is an example of sensory overload. People with autism thrive on routine and concrete plans. When those routines are unexpectedly interrupted, the brain fights back with uncontrolled levels of activity, and what appears to be a tantrum or meltdown occurs. I have experienced multiple overloads with my children, and they can be frightening and frustrating. One of my children would regularly kick the seat in the car, just like Samuel, when what, to a neurotypical brain, would be a minor change in routine became a moment of extreme overstimulation. Another reacts with tears, and another has put occasional dents in the walls. And Amelia’s reaction in this sequence brings us to the nature of the film’s monster.
So, what exactly is the Babadook? There are many interpretations, the most common being a personification of Amelia’s grief over the loss of her husband. This is perfectly valid, as is the idea that the Babadook represents trauma. But allow me to suggest an idea that is rarely mentioned because it is too dark to name. The Babadook is a parent’s resentment toward their own child. It is the intrusive thoughts, the unwelcome voice in the mind that says, “if you weren’t here…” That clause can be completed in infinite ways:
“…I wouldn’t have these problems.”
“…I could do whatever I want whenever I want.”
“…I wouldn’t be tired all the time…embarrassed by his behavior…I’d still have my husband.”
“If you weren’t here, I would be free.”
During Samuel’s overload episode, she utters a phrase that cuts me to the bone every time because I know it has crossed my mind, if not my lips—“Why can’t you just be normal?!”
These are intrusive thoughts and feelings at first, unwelcome, unprompted, and unbelieved, but Amelia lets them in and allows the Babadook to take her over and lashes out at Samuel. This is not entirely new in horror. Think of Katherine Thorn (Lee Remick) in The Omen (1976) calling for someone to take Damien away as he noisily plays at the pool table. Or even more potent, Jack Torrence in The Shining (more book than film) was possessed by the evil spirit of the Overlook, chasing down his young son to kill him. But Sam can see what Amelia cannot, “I know you don’t love me, the Babadook won’t let you. But I love you, Mom. And I always will.” And that is ultimately what breaks the power of the Babadook—love.
The Babadook is not only internal but external. It is the resentment and lack of understanding that society has for people like Samuel. Early in the film, Amelia is called in to her son’s school to learn that he has created a homemade crossbow. “The boy has significant behavioral problems,” the principal says. Autism is not a behavioral disorder; it is a complex neurological divergence. In Samuel’s case, his inventions come from his sense of protectiveness for his mother and classmates and his acute ingenuity, not from a place of malice as in a behavioral issue. The principal plans to assign a full-time monitor for Samuel, which in the United States would typically be called a 1-on-1 paraeducator. As someone who works in education, I have seen the great benefit that these wonderful workers bring to my students with autism.
Unfortunately, the approach taken by the principal and the teacher in the film is not effective because they see Samuel as a problem to be fixed rather than as a person to be cared for. Amelia puts it best when she tells them that “he needs some understanding.” She follows this up by telling them, “I’ll go find a school that sees my son as a human being and not just as another problem to be gotten rid of.” Many well-known personalities in the world today are looking at the Autistic community as a problem to be fixed rather than people to be accepted. This has set the cause of autism acceptance back years, if not decades, and has re-stigmatized a large and diverse group that was just beginning to come out of the shadow of that stigma.
So, what is the solution? It may sound simplistic, but I think the neighbor, Mrs. Roach, says it best when she comes to Amelia’s door one evening just to check on her. “I just wanted you to know that I’d do anything for you and Sam. I love you both,” she tells Amelia, unaware that the young mother is currently possessed by a monstrous hatred for her child. But this is the beginning of what breaks the Babadook’s spell over Amelia. Empathy, compassion, and the search for understanding are powerful weapons in the fight against all that the Babadook represents.
Soon after Gracie’s visit, Amelia expels the spirit and all that it entails from her body, and the mama bear within her is unleashed. One thing I’ve seen to be true, fighting off the Babadook in all its forms creates in parents of disabled children an unparalleled fierceness that refuses to be ignored. Amelia’s defiant primal scream, “If you touch my son again, I’ll fucking kill you!” is world-shaking. I do not mention this as a threat of violence in any sense, but the parents of autistic children that I know have more fight in them than most people can imagine. They will persistently and tirelessly stand up for their kids to give them the best opportunities available, no matter the cost to themselves.
The story of a mother raising a disabled child alone and learning to face the fight has been told again recently in a very different form in the film If I Had Legs I’d Kick You (2025). Just as occurred with Samuel ten years ago, many viewers went after the disabled child again, naming her the villain of the film. It has been a case of the memes once again. So, it is once again clear, The Babadook does not die.
But as the film so eloquently demonstrates, it can be kept at bay. The grief, the trauma, the resentment, the guilt will always be there. Sometimes it is in a weakened state, sometimes it fights hard to overtake. It throbs like a bruise festering under the skin. But it need not overwhelm. It need not consume. In the end, Amelia sees Samuel for who he is: a deeply caring and protective soul, a lover of magic and whimsy, a free spirit who dances to the music his mind creates. Like Amelia, moments like those at the end of the film make my heart soar. When my children are accepted for who they are and given freedom to escape from the boxes imposed by cultural norms, they blossom and offer the world expressions that no one else can.
I think it all comes down to one simple idea in this Autism Acceptance month: we would all be better off with a lot fewer Claires and Rubys in the world and a lot more Gracies. What a perfect name for a person that shines that kind of light into a dark world—Grace. May we all learn to extend the dignity, compassion, and acceptance that she does.
After fifty years of continuous writing, Stephen King has become a genre unto himself.
The unrivaled Master of Horror made a splash in 1974 with his debut novel Carrie and has been terrifying readers ever since. Two years later, Brian De Palma brought this shocking story to the screen with an equally electrifying horror film that remains a genre classic and a prototypical example of “Good For Her” horror. This dual debut seemed to open the floodgates, unleashing endless waves of Stephen King films.
From the highs of Misery, Cujo, and The Shawshank Redemption to the schlocky fun of Cat’s Eye, Creepshow, and Children of the Corn, the last five decades have seen just about every notable horror creator take a stab at the author’s massive collection.
In recent years, this singular subgenre has begun to burst at the seams, expanding to include Stephen King-esque fare. In 2016, brothers Matt and Ross Duffer debuted Stranger Things, a sci-fi series heavily inspired by two of King’s most famous books. The Netflix series remixes Firestarter and It by following a little girl with psychic powers and an intrepid group of kids on bikes who must battle an otherworldly foe and a sinister government agency. With its clever blend of modern effects and comforting nostalgia, this gateway horror series paved the way for Andy Muschietti’s It adaptation which remains the highest grossing horror film of all time.
Four years later, Mike Flanagan would create Midnight Mass, a spiritual adaptation of King’s second novel Salem’s Lot. Published in 1975, the book sees a tiny New England town torn apart by a centuries-old vampire. Though Flanagan’s story is perhaps more tender, both iterations of the classic horror tale follow close-knit communities shaken to their core by the presence of an ancient evil.
In addition to these recent hits, 2025 was a banner year for the Master of Horror. Audiences delighted in six mainstream adaptations, including the massively popular It: Welcome to Derry which chronicles earlier cycles of the titular clown’s reign. With this boost to King’s cultural cache, it’s no surprise that we’ve begun to see more unofficial adaptations of the author’s work and horror creators who build their own unique castles in King’s creative sandbox.
So what defines a Stephen King-esque story?
For the past fifty years, the prolific author has dipped his toes in nearly every subgenre from supernatural stories and grisly gore to western fantasy and science fiction. Including his vast catalogue of short fiction, King has tackled ghosts, demons, werewolves, zombies, aliens, mutants, and self-driving cars, not to mention bizarre monsters of his own creation. But what truly unites this vast array of horror is King’s focus on relatable characters. In his 2000 memoir/instructional text On Writing, the prolific author describes the amusement he finds in writing disparate characters, placing them in horrific scenarios, then exploring the ways they try to survive.
An unofficial Stephen King adaptation may take place in the author’s native New England — bonus points if it’s set in Maine — and reference his well-known heroes and villains. But what makes the King connection unbreakable is a character-driven story about average people who band together in the face of abject terror.
Weapons Captures Small Town Stephen King
Following his 2022 shocker Barbarian, Zach Cregger returned with Weapons, a sprawling story that begins in a doomed elementary school. On an otherwise ordinary day, Justine (Julia Garner) arrives at her desk to find that all but one of her students have disappeared. As the mystery grows increasingly violent, Justine and Archer (Josh Brolin), the father of a missing boy, find their way to the home of Alex (Cary Christopher), the class’ only surviving student. In some ways reminiscent of Salem’s Lot, Weapons swings wildly through the unfortunate town, introducing us to its flawed inhabitants as we watch their lives fall apart.
Cregger’s setup nods to a pair of King short stories. Both “Suffer the Little Children” and “Here There Be Tygers” tackle monstrous presences in elementary schools, but as Weapons reaches its final act, Constant Readers may remember another Stephen King tale. Featured in his 1985 collection Skeleton Crew, “Gramma” introduces us to George, a little boy tormented by an aging witch. On an afternoon alone with his sickly grandmother, the frightened child gradually realizes that the imposing old woman has been waiting for an opportunity to cast a spell that will extend her own life by possessing his body.
Alex finds himself similarly tortured by his aunt Gladys (Amy Madigan), a garish witch who orchestrates a desperate plot to sustain her own strength. Transforming humans into mindless weapons, Gladys has taken over Alex’s family home and lured his classmates to the basement. Holding them in a comatose state, she syphons off their energy to extend her own supernatural life.
Vastly different in many ways, both “Gramma” and Weapons hinge on a sinister witch who uses horrific magical spells to sacrifice the bodies of her vulnerable prey.
Hokum Echoes The Shining and 1408
It’s nearly impossible to watch a film about a haunted hotel without thinking of King’s third novel, The Shining. This icy story follows Jack Torrance, an angry writer struggling with his sobriety and a shameful incident haunting his past. Accompanied by his wife and young son, Jack has taken a job as the winter caretaker for the Overlook, a haunted hotel situated high in the Rocky Mountains. Snowed in, Jack finds himself tormented by dangerous ghosts who amplify his greatest fears.
Damian McCarthy’s Hokum follows a similarly troubled figure. Ohm Bauman (Adam Scott) is a surly writer who travels to the Bilberry Woods Hotel in rural Ireland to spread his parents’ ashes. Haunted by his own tragic past, Ohm finds himself trapped in the honeymoon suite, a decaying room that’s been permanently closed to protect visitors from a dangerous witch trapped within its walls. Visual nods to King’s text abound with woodcut figurines and an animated clock, mirroring ominous descriptions found in King’s text.
Another terrifying sequence sees Ohm staring with horror at a closed door, the only thing separating him from the approaching witch. As the door knob slowly turns, Constant Readers remember Jack’s narrow escape from the ghostly woman in room 217. And Ohm’s popular Conquistador books directly reference King’s long-running fantasy series The Dark Tower which follows a gunslinger named Roland Deschain tasked with protecting the nexus of the universe.
In addition to these thematic comparisons, Hokum bears striking resemblance to King’s terrifying short story “1408.” Collected in 2002’s Everything’s Eventual, the terrifying story follows Mike Enslin, a dejected writer who’s risen to fame penning essays about his adventures in haunted locations. Mike arrives at the Hotel Dolphin and bullies his way into the titular room, despite the manager’s dire warnings. McCarthy nods to this story with an ominously misplaced hotel room door, reminiscent of King’s entry to 1408, an unsuspecting portal that appears to move each time Mike looks away.
However, McCarthy’s most direct reference lies in a minicorder Ohm uses to capture notes. Trapped inside the dreaded honeymoon suite, this device offers well-timed messages while sitting next to a decomposing corpse. Mike records his time in 1408 with his own trusty minicorder. Described for the reader, his tape has captured the man’s slow descent into madness as the room prepares to swallow him whole. With conclusions that differ wildly in tone, both Ohm and Mike find their lives irrevocably changed by encounters with the supernatural realm.
Widow’s Bay Builds Its Own Version of Castle Rock
Katie Dippold’s Widow’s Bay has taken the idea of an unofficial King adaptation and turned it into an art form. The Apple TV series sees the residents of the titular island plagued by a curse that dates back centuries. Not only does the picturesque hamlet not accommodate wifi connections, those born on the island face certain death should they ever try to leave. Desperate to modernize the tiny town, Mayor Tom Loftis (Matthew Rhys) draws in waves of tourists just as a new cycle of terror begins.
Blending horror with deft comedy, Dippold makes cheeky references to King’s body of work. Tom warns that, “there’s something in the fog,” reminding readers of King’s 1980 novella The Mist. And Loftis’ own stay in the town’s haunted hotel sees him tormented by the ghost of a murderous clown. We even spy a vintage King hardback peeking out of a local book trade box.
In many ways Widow’s Bay feels like a new iteration of the author’s Little Tall Island, a tiny village off the coast of Maine. In addition to the 1992 novel Dolores Claiborne and a handful of harrowing short stories, this quaint fishing village is also the setting for King’s 1999 teleplay Storm of the Century. Premiering on ABC primetime, this tragic tale follows a terrified group of islanders who batten down the hatches for a dangerous Nor’easter only to find a more sinister threat lurking within.
Constant Readers may also be reminded of Castle Rock, the author’s favorite fictional town.
First introduced in the 1981 novel Cujo, the charming village becomes the star of Needful Things, King’s satire about consumerism. After several Castle Rock stories, we’re reintroduced to its residents as they gossip about the arrival of Leland Gaunt and the grand opening of his curio shop. Anything their hearts desire can be found in his varied inventory, so long as they’re willing to pay the price. Pitting cantankerous neighbors against each other, Gaunt ignites a wave of grisly violence by exploiting long-held resentments and feuds.
The town’s only defense against this supernatural threat is beleaguered sheriff Alan Pangborn. Still grieving the deaths of his wife and younger son, Alan struggles to connect with his older child and pick up the pieces of his shattered life. Also a widower, Loftis struggles to raise his own restless son and explain the strange details of his wife’s tragic death. Attempting to unravel the island’s dark secrets, Tom is aided by quirky residents including a surly fisherman named Wyck (Stephen Root) and Patricia (Kate O’Flynn), an earnest Town Hall employee. King’s own novels feature many of these proactive alliances with disparate characters combining their strengths to overcome insurmountable odds.
With Widow’s Bay renewed for a second season and Mike Flanagan’s Carrie series on the horizon, the future seems bright for new King adaptations, both spiritual and directly pulled from his catalogue. The prolific author also shows no signs of slowing down with two publications nearing release. His upcoming novel, Other Worlds Than These, is the long-awaited third Talisman book which teases direct ties to his Dark Tower world. Holly Forever will be a new installment of his crime series, offering a different kind of genre fare.
This embarrassment of riches spawning multiple worlds seems ripe for spiritual adaptation and will likely inspire horror creators for decades to come.
Kate O’Flynn, Stephen Root and Matthew Rhys in “Widow’s Bay,” now streaming on Apple TV.
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