I'm a father of a young child on the Autism spectrum. I rewatched Rain Man for the first time in 20 years to see how it held up

(Sorry for the length, I had a lot of thoughts)

Recently, I did something I had been nervous and frankly a little scared of doing. I rewatched the 1988 movie Rain Man. I have watched it before, a very long time ago, and long before I understood neurodivergence and autism spectrum disorder. Ever since my son's diagnosis I’ve always been curious about revisiting the film, and viewing through the lens of knowledge I have now about the disorder and seeing how what was known about it in the 1980s differs from what is known now. But it also made me nervous, for reasons I will summarize at the end of this. But first, let’s talk about the movie itself.

If you haven’t seen the movie, there will be some spoilers about the plot points here. I’d highly recommend watching or rewatching it if you haven’t seen it in a long time. It’s still a terrific film that deserves all the accolades it got and holds up all these years later. To briefly summarize the movie, Charlie Babbitt, a wheelin ', dealin’ high strung businessman played by a young Tom Cruise, finds out his estranged father has died and left the 3 million dollar estate to an unknown beneficiary. This beneficiary turns out to be his older brother Raymond (played by Dustin Hoffman) who is an “autistic savant” as the movie describes him. Raymond lives in an institution and was sent there when Charlie was only a toddler. Charlie has very vague memories of his brother, whom he thought was an imaginary friend named Rain Man who would sing to him when he was afraid. Charlie, miffed at losing out on the inheritance money, kidnaps Raymond from the institution and sets off to bring him to his home in Los Angeles, intending to use his custody as a bargaining chip. As it is a movie, many complications ensue, mostly originating from the impatient and temperamental personality of Charlie clashing with the extremely habitual and inflexible personality of Raymond.

Dustin Hoffman won the oscar for best actor for this film, and it is his incredible performance upon which the soul of the movie hinges. Hoffman spent a year prior to filming observing and spending time with real people on the spectrum and with other similar disorders such as savant syndrome. But he was still nervous about the role, and who could blame him? It’s the type of role where you either nail it, or you become a caricature, and even worse, actively hurt the public image of the people you are trying to portray. In the early days of filming, Hoffman panicked, and told the producers “This is the worst work of my life. I can’t do this.” Luckily he stuck with it, and by the end of filming his performance had improved so much that they had to go back and reshoot earlier scenes to make them consistent.

Hoffman’s award winning performance and the success of the movie would ultimately come as a double-edged sword however. Its success meant the exposure of a wider audience to the relatively unknown disorder that was ASD at the time. In fact, several scenes in the movie contain expositional dialogue describing the symptoms of the disorder. They exist mostly to educate the audience. But on the flip side of this, the film’s success would lead a lot of viewers to falsely assume that all people with autism had savant-like abilities, especially with math and memorization, like Raymond in the film. Or that they all shared the exact same personality quirks as Raymond. What we know now is that the spectrum is much wider and encompasses many different personalities and levels of severity across individuals.

Despite this, the script and the performances make some very smart decisions to avoid caricature, educate the audience, and remain an enjoyable film to watch:

One of the big traits Hoffman introduces into his performance is the usage of the old “Who’s on first?” Abbott and Costello comedy routine. Raymond doesn’t view it as funny, however, and thinks it’s a riddle to be solved. But more importantly, he recites the routine ad-nauseum whenever he gets nervous or overwhelmed. This type of stress-response is very common in those on the spectrum, and is known nowadays as “stimming.” Stimming is a repetitive behavior with a predictable outcome, and is a coping mechanism that allows neurodivergent (and to some extent, neurotypical as well) people to shut out stressful, unpredictable stimuli and reduce anxiety. For many people this manifests as physical movements such as spinning or flapping, tactile sensations, or even self-harm. For Raymond, this is Abbott and Costello. Hoffman does a great job portraying this behavior, and the movie does a great job explaining why the behavior exists.

The film makes the brave choice to make the character of Charlie, portrayed by the likable, handsome, and charismatic Tom Cruise, pretty much a complete asshole for most of the film. He comes off as extremely greedy, arrogant, and selfish. This is smart because it makes the audience really emphasize with Raymond, and not just because of his disorder. We emphasize with him because he’s trapped with a narcissistic jerk against his will. We don’t pity him for his condition, we pity him as a human being. Then, by proxy, the audience views Raymond as a human being, worthy of love and respect as any other would be. Charlie does go through a redemption arc in the film, but it avoids being cliche. Though he does gain a better understanding and patience with his brother, he avoids transforming into a completely different person in a single week, which would break our immersion. Instead, his character journey feels much more realistic and grounded.

Susanna, Charlie’s girlfriend, has a small but very important role in the movie, acting as a foil against Charlie’s worst traits. But with her character, the filmmakers made a very smart decision to make her a foreign immigrant, for whom English is a second language. Charlie, who is already a bad communicator, gets frustrated with her for not understanding him sometimes. She, in turn, is frustrated with him for keeping his emotions and his past bottled up, and keeping them at a distance from her. The point of all of this is to show that all people are capable of difficulties with interpersonal communication, and that comprehension comes through patience and understanding, whether neurodivergent or not.

There are no real villains in this movie, which of course, is a good decision. Villains would feel out of place and unnecessary. The closest thing is Dr. Bruner, the head of the Wallbrook institute, who does genuinely care for Raymond’s wellbeing, and Charlie himself, who is definitely guilty of kidnapping his brother but does grow to care about him in the end. In the penultimate scene of the movie, Dr. Bruner and Charlie argue with a mediator over Raymond’s future, and both of them have both good points and bad points. Dr. Bruner is probably correct when he says that Wallbrook is the safest place for Raymond, but Charlie is also correct when he says to him that “my brother came further with me in a week than he did with you in 20 years.” Charlie is mistaken when he assumes that he can properly care for Raymond for the rest of his life after spending only a week with him, but so is Dr. Bruner for saying that Raymond is incapable of having that type of relationship with Charlie. Both characters show a flawed understanding of what it means to care for someone with autism, despite both caring for Raymond.

I have mixed emotions about the ending of the film. In the end, Charlie decides that the best thing for Raymond is to go back to Wallbrook, but promises he will visit him in a very touching scene. The ending is honestly probably realistic, and it’s good that we don’t get an out of place fairytale ending. But it also makes me sad because I fear it perpetuates an idea that people with ASD must be institutionalized (especially when we know that many institutions like Wallbrook in real life are not idyllic and can be full of abuse and neglect.) I wonder how many children and adults were unjustly committed to institutions when all they really needed was a safe home and understanding parents.

I think, more than anything, the ending shows how vitally important early intervention is for children on the spectrum. Raymond is an adult, and has lived in the safe comfort of his routines for decades, and is suddenly ripped out of that on a road trip to California with basically a stranger. And though he has his breakdowns and outbursts, he shows remarkable flexibility and adaptation for someone on the spectrum. And this goes to show that neurodivergent people are very capable of overcoming and coping with their deficiencies, especially if this is learned early in their life. They are not pitiful, they are not disabled, and should not be condemned to an eternity in a safety cage society builds for them. They are capable of everything neurotypical people are, and if they get help from a young age, they can flourish. In my head, I like to picture an extended ending where Charlie moves back to Cincinnati, visits Raymond frequently, and brings him outside the institution where he can learn how to live in the outside world and shows the growth possible within him.

I also want to mention a couple scenes that were very poignant to me personally and really affected me in my experience with my own son:

At one point, driven to a breaking point over K-mart underwear, Charlie stops the car, gets out, and has a shouting match with Raymond. At one point he ignorantly says “You don't fool me with this Ray, I know you are in there somewhere!” Boy, did this hit me hard. And not just because of the abject cruelty of the statement. But because I’ve been there. I’m only human, and there have been some tense episodes in the past with my son where I’ve thought in my head “Why can’t you just be normal?” I always immediately feel ashamed about it, too, and loathe myself for going there. But I say this because it’s important to recognize that they ARE being normal. What you see, and hear, and talk to, is them. Autism is not a disease or a cover, it’s not something to be cured or taken away. For an analogy, back in 1870s Colorado, there was a town named Leadville, so named because when the miners were looking for gold, they were hampered by a heavy black sand they assumed was lead and tossed aside. Later they discovered the sand contained large amounts of silver. By focusing on their expectations of gold, they had missed out and tossed aside the riches all around them. By focusing on what someone with ASD should be, instead of what they are, you too miss out on the richness of their being.

It’s almost a throwaway line, and is immediately followed by a very intense scene so most viewers probably don’t even remember it, but in one scene Charlie asks Raymond how he was able to immediately count the exact number of toothpicks that fell out of a box and onto the floor of a diner. Raymond simply replies, “I see it.” I find this simple answer very profound. Consider that to us, such a feat is an impossibility. For Raymond, it’s as simple as sight. He just sees it. How can he describe such a gift to us? It’s like trying to describe color to a blind person. How the minds of neurodivergent folk work will perhaps always remain a mystery but we can appreciate them all the same, and not just the ones with savant syndrome. They all “see” things that others cannot.

Towards the end of the movie there is a tender scene where Charlie teaches Raymond how to dance. It’s one of their first real bonding moments and a feel good portion of the movie. Afterwards Charlie asks the physical contact-adverse Raymond if he can hug him. And though Raymond replies in the affirmative, he cries out in agitation when Charlie tries to hug him. However, during the penultimate scene with the mediator, when Raymond becomes distressed during some questions, Charlie immediately puts a stop to it. He then tells Raymond that he will be going back to the Wallbrook institution, but that he likes having him as his big brother, and truly enjoyed spending time with him. And in that moment, Raymond silently leans in and puts his head against Charlie’s. For Raymond, who finds physical touch supremely uncomfortable, to make this gesture is remarkable. My son also displays aversion to physical touch sometimes (though not quite to that degree), but will also sometimes give me a big hug. Those moments mean so much more to me because I know it’s probably causing him some degree of stress. For me to know I am a safe enough space to override that stress reaction, well, it makes me emotional every time, because hugs from him truly are special. And I also think about the parents of children on the more severe end of the spectrum, who may never get to experience that, and I feel such an overwhelming amount of sadness for them.

To conclude, Rain Man is not a perfect movie and certainly not a perfect depiction of neurodivergence but I think the value it had in educating more of the populace about the disorder outweigh any negative or inaccurate perceptions it may have caused. I also know that some will disagree with me, and that’s a perfectly valid opinion too. To circle back, I think the reason I was afraid of watching this movie is because when I first watched it a long time ago, I remember feeling pity for Raymond. Feeling sorry for him. And I’ve spent the short years of my son’s life trying not to do that. Trying not to view him with pity, but with wonder instead. And, maybe part of me was afraid because I would get a glimpse into what kind of future he would have in the world, and I remember pitying that too. But in hindsight, I think the movie just shows how far we’ve come as a society in our understanding of our neurodivergent brothers and sisters, and it shows how, whether it’s counting toothpicks or simply giving a hug, they are all people of remarkable ability.

P.S. - The casino scene still holds up and is one of the greatest movie scenes ever in my opinion.

Submitted August 11, 2023 at 12:36AM by Tommithy1686 https://ift.tt/ANJ4PR3