When The Good Doctor first aired, it was widely praised for its portrayal of a young autistic surgeon, Dr. Shaun Murphy, played by Freddie Highmore. At first glance, the series seems groundbreaking—placing a neurodivergent protagonist at the center of a mainstream medical drama. And there’s no denying the cultural impact of seeing someone like Shaun navigate high-pressure surgical environments with a mix of brilliance, vulnerability, and struggle. But as the show gained popularity, a deeper and more uncomfortable conversation began to emerge: does The Good Doctor offer a realistic portrayal of autism, or does it present an idealized version that glosses over the brutal truths faced by many autistic individuals—especially those who were failed by the very systems meant to support them?
In The Good Doctor, Shaun is portrayed as a “high-functioning” savant, someone with extraordinary medical skills and photographic memory, but with difficulties in social communication. His character challenges biases, proves doubters wrong, and repeatedly saves lives in the operating room. His story is one of perseverance, growth, and triumph. For many viewers, especially those unfamiliar with autism, Shaun’s journey is inspiring and educational.
But herein lies the tension.
Autism is a vast spectrum. While Shaun’s character represents a narrow and exceptional experience, many autistic individuals—especially those without savant abilities or institutional support—face lifelong challenges that are far more complex, often without resolution or redemption. In reality, the support structures that enable Shaun’s success—a patient mentor like Dr. Glassman, understanding colleagues, and access to advanced education—are far from the norm.
Many autistic children and teens, particularly those from disadvantaged backgrounds or those diagnosed later in life, are systematically failed by healthcare systems, school environments, and social safety nets. They are misdiagnosed, misunderstood, or completely overlooked. These are the children who are excluded from classrooms, punished for behaviors they cannot control, and too often pushed into institutions, the juvenile system, or lifelong unemployment.
Shaun’s character, though beautifully written and acted, can inadvertently perpetuate a myth that autism, if recognized early enough, always leads to some form of brilliance. This narrative is comforting—it suggests that with the right combination of love, patience, and opportunity, autistic individuals will thrive and integrate fully into neurotypical spaces. But for many families, this doesn’t align with their lived reality. For some, the daily struggle is not about reaching elite professions, but about finding basic accommodations, understanding friendships, and mental health support.
This disconnect is not new. Media representations of autism have long leaned toward the savant stereotype. From Rain Man to Atypical, characters are often depicted as quirky geniuses whose emotional struggles are endearing, not debilitating. This makes for engaging television—but it also makes it easier for society to ignore the harder truths. The assumption becomes: if Shaun can do it, why can’t your child?
Critics of the show have pointed out that The Good Doctor rarely addresses the systemic failures that real autistic individuals face. Where are the long waits for diagnosis? The special education classrooms that are underfunded? The therapists that only the wealthy can afford? Where are the autistic adults who never receive job opportunities or are left isolated due to a lack of community integration?
Moreover, Shaun’s ability to “overcome” his autism—or at least function in a way that makes neurotypical people comfortable—sets a standard that is both unrealistic and harmful. It subtly reinforces the idea that value comes from productivity, intelligence, and conformity. Those who can’t meet those benchmarks are left invisible. The show rarely explores the lives of autistic individuals with co-occurring intellectual disabilities, communication challenges, or sensory issues so severe they can’t live independently.
This isn’t to say that The Good Doctor is without merit. In many ways, it has sparked important conversations. It encourages empathy, highlights the need for workplace inclusion, and shows that people with autism are capable of leading fulfilling lives. Freddie Highmore’s performance is layered, nuanced, and never mocking. His portrayal of Shaun is deeply human, and moments of frustration, meltdown, and emotional disconnection are treated with respect.
The show’s problem lies not in its intentions, but in its focus. By zeroing in on a single, exceptional case, it risks reinforcing the notion that autism needs to be exceptional to be accepted. That unless you’re a genius, your struggle doesn’t matter. That if you can’t contribute in obvious, spectacular ways, society has no place for you.
Parents of autistic children often voice their frustration that shows like The Good Doctor present a false hope. They worry that teachers, employers, and even extended family members will expect their child to follow Shaun’s trajectory—or else label them as failures. The pressure to live up to this ideal can be suffocating, both for the children and their caregivers.
What The Good Doctor could do—should do—is expand its lens. There is room in the story to explore other kinds of autistic lives: those who are nonverbal, those navigating intersectional challenges like race and poverty, those who are autistic women (often underdiagnosed), and those who live fulfilling lives that don’t revolve around professional achievement. Autism is not a monolith, and its representation should reflect its vast diversity.
The show has made strides in showing Shaun’s romantic life, emotional breakdowns, and ethical dilemmas—elements often excluded from portrayals of neurodivergent characters. But more can be done. By adding secondary characters on the spectrum, introducing less “exceptional” examples, and addressing the role of social systems in either supporting or failing autistic individuals, The Good Doctor could evolve from a feel-good drama into something truly revolutionary.
