I believe that media representation is important. As the most common way in which people take in information, it has the power to persuade and even create empathy given the subject’s ultimate goal. That is why I celebrate when a movie connects so greatly with me, allowing me to share something that I couldn’t properly express in my own way. In some ways it makes the conversation easier, hopefully showing that maybe there are ways to understand what was previously restricted to those outside of the main group.
I have self-identified as autistic since 2019 and in that time have been eager to explore how representation compares to my own personal experience. I’ve interacted with other autistic creators and learned not only how rich and diverse this spectrum is, but that certain tropes were in some ways limiting and harmful. I have been eager to celebrate art that was created by clearly neurodivergent voices, reaching an authenticity that is much more satisfying than mere caricature. I think of examples like Kayla Cromer in Everything’s Gonna Be Okay, who broke ground by simply showing an autistic woman as a regular human being. I think of Loop (2020), which featured a non-verbal autistic as the protagonist of a Disney+ short.
Adding to that list of phenomenal representation is now The Reason I Jump (2021). Directed by Jerry Rothwell, this documentary is adapted from the eponymous book by Naoki Higashida. Subtitled “The Inner Voice of a Thirteen-Year-Old Boy with Autism,” the conceit is to reflect the internal life of his experience with autism in hopes of allowing neurotypical audiences to understand what goes on inside his head. I have not read said book, but based on reviews it’s clear that it does an amazing job of creating this insular world, allowing audiences to see inside Higashida’s day-to-day and realize what was once mysterious is normal. Yes, he still has support needs and goes through various struggles, but at the end of the day, it makes sense of a condition that has largely been reduced to white male savant stereotypes in film and TV. Like the best of literature, allowing the reader into a person’s internal soul one hopes to come away with a little more compassion.
I was both excited and concerned about The Reason I Jump. After discovering it via The Aspie World, I went on a personal mission to track down the film. This was January 2021 when early trailers dropped and it started a digital theatrical run that was difficult to track. There wasn’t any available information regarding a conventional digital release that would’ve helped raise more of a focused awareness. There were points where I began to worry that it would fade into obscurity and never stand to reach the audience eager to see better autism representation. In fact, I got lucky when discovering that it had finally hit Netflix (which even then didn’t feel heralded so much as just existed). The long journey that technically began at Sundance in 2020 was finally over. Ladies and gentlemen, you can now watch it from the comfort of your own home and I’m so glad I did.
While the documentary pulls extensively from Higashida’s novel, this isn’t about his personal journey. His quotes are spoken in voice-over as Rothwell follows a variety of autistic people throughout the world as they go about their lives. Outside of ASD, there is very little to connect their experience which helps to begin breaking down myths about the spectrum.
More than anything, what makes The Reason I Jump at times groundbreaking is reconstructing how the viewer perceives autism. For most going in, there is an initial fear that a different way of thinking is associated with some tragic curse, a disability that one should be ashamed of. It is true that some struggles are more difficult than others (in this case, non-verbal autistics with difficulties communicating), but Rothwell’s goal to create empathy becomes successful when he uses an artful technique not only to explain what is going on but to create a better sense of how they see the world.
The most cathartic thing about the documentary was its inclusion. While there are thousands more that may differ from these selected stories, it creates a nice cross-section of perspectives. There is one teenage boy who uses repetition to communicate with his family. Even if what he says may seem like an insignificant observation, there is something to what he sees that awakens his soul. Even as he goes about his life, there is something interesting about his struggles to connect with the outside world. While his family comes across as caring and compassionate, the story is about trying to make sure that he feels secure, avoiding potential meltdowns, and doing everything to make him feel comfortable.
From here the story jumps cross-continent to Europe, Asia, and even Africa. Rothwell’s stroke of genius comes when exploring the societal struggles of being a mother with an autistic child in Africa. In most western media, this is a perspective that is largely ignored despite feeling a tad tragic and familiar. Despite having a support group, there are those concerned that the child is possessed by a demon, in need of some major healing. Still, those who recognize compassion do what they can to give the child a proper education and make them feel wanted.
Rothwell’s vision is ultimately compassionate because it allows the autism community to be the central focus. Whereas most media is presented from a neurotypical perspective, this is a story that centers on the non-verbal children, allowing Higashida’s words to inform these artful scenes of children roaming through parks and cities, observing the world. His prose talks about their overactive imagination, how sensory needs can be complicated. The language is empathetic as the images affirm their personal desires. This isn’t belittling or infantilizing. Even those with more obvious support needs are treated with dignity, allowing their everyday struggles to evolve and show that, yes, they are capable of learning and adapting.
Another highlight comes in a man with a major speech impediment. With the help of a speech therapist, he spends hours trying to learn how to annunciate words. Rothwell takes the viewer through the process, watching him select letters as the therapist encourages him. In the subtitles, the letters appear. At first, the words appear without spacing, helping the audience to comprehend how he sees language. As the final letters appear, the words finally separate, showing the sentence that he had been spelling out. Even if the struggles to be understood by neurotypical people still apply, the audience comes away with understanding him. He’s also friends with an autistic woman who is stimulated by a soundboard. While he calls her annoying but likable, there is something endearing about their friendship, accepting each other’s small differences.
At its core, that is what makes The Reason I Jump a phenomenal watch. It validates many ideas about the autism community that has been ignored. For starters, not everyone is the same. At the same time, the sense of otherness that usually plagues media representation gets shattered by showing how accepted these people are in their worlds, finding places that offer support needs to help them live normal lives. Most of all, it doesn’t treat any of it as weird or freakish. It’s in some ways celebrated and shows, without falling into dull inspirational tropes, that this isn’t a hopeless case. Autism is a disability, but one that shouldn’t stop you from seeing them as normal.
The one detail that may be lost in Rothwell’s vision in the home experience is how he uses sensory details. The most obvious comes in the visuals, which are often stunning in how they transform to Higashida’s prose, finding the camera emphasizing aesthetics that may seem minor but speak to the autistic individual. It’s at times breathtaking, finding art in the everyday.
However, the sound design may be more difficult to fully convey. A missed opportunity of this playing during a pandemic is that audiences couldn’t experience the impeccable sound design meant to create a better understanding of how they hear the world. Loud noises clash with the sound design while softer ones are soothing, creating an almost meditative experience for the audience. Much like Sound of Metal (2020), the sound is essentially another character in the story, deserving of its own recognition. Rothwell’s ability to understand autism on this level helps to elevate it into a greater understanding that words couldn’t. It’s instinctual.
Again, autism is way more complicated than anything that can be discussed in an 80-minute documentary. As it stands, this is at best a look into a side of neurodivergence that is often misunderstood entirely in large part because the central voices have difficulties communicating. That is what makes Higashida’s book ultimately helpful. While I cannot speak to the accuracy in the nuance of the non-verbal experience, I can say that this is one of the most successful and empathetic documentaries I’ve seen about autism. The goal is genuine, breaking apart stereotypes and showing how much more there is to learn in the world. By the time everything ends, there is a sense of acceptance and hope.
With all of that said, I am a sucker for documentaries like this and Changing the Game (2021) that capture a subject with so much honesty and vulnerability. Rothwell not only helps me understand autism but how it impacts everyone throughout the world. It’s not a condition that impacts one type of person, and it’s not always debilitating. Sometimes it’s a minor change in perspective. Even the way that the documentary explores services helps to explore a world that is invisible to neurotypical audiences, showing that things aren’t as hopeless as the greater media suggests.
Ideally, The Reason I Jump will benefit from word of mouth now that it’s on Netflix. In a time where media representation is still contentious, often finding neurotypicals taking major roles for clout, it feels important to remember that autism is so much more. There is a need to change the discussion and recognize something more authentic and human, if not for the quality of the story than to start having an honest conversation with audiences. Once they begin to see autistic characters as something other than white male savants, then they’ll begin to understand how interesting they can be. This is a great place to start. It encapsulates the audience into their world in such a way that will hopefully leave the viewer curious to learn and, more importantly, recognize how great autistic people actually are.
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