Ezra (2023)

Tired Tropes and Missed Opportunities

Oh, Ezra, you had the makings of something powerful. At times, you even flirted with real insight—but in the end, this film falls back on worn-out, often harmful clichés about autism. As an adult-diagnosed autistic woman, I was especially frustrated with this view of autism.

Ezra doesn't want to let autistic characters be who they are in their world. Instead, it insists on dragging them into a "real" world, where neurotypical ideas of normalcy are the only standard.

Spoiler alert: he's already in this world—it's the people around him, and this film itself, that block his access to it.

Take this cringeworthy line, spoken by Max, Ezra’s father: “Autism means being in their own world… I want him in this one.” That tired trope goes beyond laziness—it’s damaging. The film doesn’t challenge this misconception; it leans into it, and it’s uncomfortable to watch. This isn’t a heartwarming “road trip of self-discovery” for father and son. It’s more like a kidnapping. The father drags his son on a journey that respects no boundaries, teaches nothing of value, and somehow expects us to feel inspired by the end. The only thing they find on this trip is further misunderstanding and frustration.

Max is a problematic character on multiple levels, and the film only digs him deeper into his own self-centered bubble. The troubling part? Max is portrayed in a way that subtly suggests he, too, may be undiagnosed autistic. Rather than offering a nuanced view of someone managing similar traits to his son, he’s written as a man who never learned distress tolerance or boundaries. He either masks so much that he loses himself or demands that the world revolve around him—a dangerous portrayal that borders on narcissism and leaves a bad taste. The movie seems oblivious to how harmful this portrayal is for the idea of autistic empathy.

And then there's the mother. While she's easier to sympathize with, dealing with her own issues of emotional neglect and manipulation, she’s not off the hook. She contributes to the missteps, failing to recognize her son’s boundaries in ways that are often just as harmful. There's a moment where her son clearly doesn’t want a hug—and she insists anyway, as if his consent and comfort don’t matter. It’s like the film is on a mission to deny his autonomy at every turn.

One of the most frustrating moments is when the characters insist, “He can’t communicate!” Oh, but he can—and he does, in ways that the people around him refuse to acknowledge as valid. They want him to communicate on their terms, and anything else is dismissed. It’s exhausting to watch. The film treats his unique expressions as things to “fix,” rather than aspects of who he is. Imagine if Ezra had paused to appreciate the many ways autistic people communicate, instead of forcing conformity.

There’s also this bizarre, unsettling emphasis on so-called “special schools,” which are supposed to teach distress tolerance. Don’t get me wrong: distress tolerance is essential, and it’s something that’s valuable for everyone, neurotypical or not. But the film confuses distress tolerance with “masking”—that practice where autistic people suppress their traits to fit neurotypical norms. It’s a form of survival, not a cure, and certainly not the empowering growth moment the movie makes it out to be. Masking is exhausting and harmful over time, but here, it’s framed as the gateway to the “real world.”

There were moments when Ezra could have offered something profound, something that challenged the audience to see autism through a different, more accurate lens. But instead, it fell into the same neurotypical-centered traps. It rewards “masking” as if that’s what autistic people should strive for, rather than celebrating distress tolerance as a means of embracing differences in a way that doesn’t erase them. It goes so far as to treat autism like a “superpower,” which sounds nice in theory but ultimately ignores the very real challenges autistic people face. Sure, autism brings unique strengths, but it’s also a disability. To ignore that fact is to miss the whole point.

At the end of the day, Ezra tries to tackle autism, but it ends up prioritizing neurotypical comfort over autistic authenticity. The film doesn’t bridge any gaps; it widens them by promoting a fantasy that autistic people can be molded to fit a neurotypical mold, even if it’s painful. And that’s more than just disappointing—it’s harmful.

Can I sink my teeth into it? Honestly, I'd rather bite through a metal spoon.