Janet Kay Zaborek doesn’t mind in the least sitting up close in a movie theater. At a recent screening of “Despicable Me,” the bubbly 13-year-old’s neck was craned upward. Her eyes were fixed on the zippy action, and there was a sweet smile on her lips as she watched an anti-social villain become a surprisingly loving dad.
Robin Zaborek had wheeled her youngest into Auditorium 3 at the Westminster AMC 24 on a recent Saturday morning. Son Tom, 22, wearing a John Lynch Broncos jersey, took a seat nearby. He’s an avid film buff. Like his sister, he has Down syndrome. Unlike Janet Kay, he wasn’t diagnosed with autism, a “spectrum disorder” that affects the brain’s normal development in terms of social and language skills.
The trio were early arrivals at July’s installment of Sensory Friendly Films, a collaboration between Kansas City-based AMC Entertainment and the Autism Society.
Soon, other families joined the Zaboreks. And while the youngsters scampering or lumbering into the theater might have varied in age, ethnicity, and degrees and types of autism, a common thread remained: The folks filling the seats were there because they felt safe, relaxed, wanted.
“We can’t go see regular movies,” said David Bukovinsky, whose 6-year-old son, Connor, has autism (younger sister Megan does not). Connor “can be disruptive. It’s yelling. He likes verbal stimulation. Megan sees a lot of movies, but then, she’s typical. But we can never see them all together.”
So here the Bukovinskys sit — Connor and Megan between parents David and Laurie — awaiting an experience that many “neurotypicals” (a name those with autism have given those not affected) take for granted.
Movies, be they fresh or rehashed, magical or mundane, are the stuff of childhood, of family outings — arguably of American identity. Our love affair with them begins early. They bind us to one another differently than television. They invite us into invented realms while teaching us to share space with strangers. They are among the rituals of American inclusion.
So what must it be like to feel unwelcome because the behaviors associated with autism can be misunderstood and disruptive? Because, as Zaborek says, your kid flaps her arms, or growls, or kicks her feet out while watching a flick? “I stopped taking her to movies because I was too nervous.”
The autism next door
If recent numbers about how many people have autism disorders are accurate, then these are questions for all of us to consider, whether or not we are directly affected by the disorder.
A Centers for Disease Control and Prevention study released in December put the number of those diagnosed with autism in 2006 at one in 110 children. Of that number, 70 were boys.
“One in seven people knows someone with autism,” says Betty Lehman, executive director of the Autism Society of Colorado. She has a particular understanding of the stress parents often feel in public spaces: Her son Eli, 21, has autism.
“Everybody hates to be embarrassed,” she says. “But for our families, they are continually embarrassed. It’s such a relief to be able to enjoy the film even though the person next to you may be making noise, not watching, or fiddling with something. . . . You’re in a safe environment for peculiar behavior — or non-movielike behaviors.”
At Sensory Friendly Films, the house lights are never turned down completely. The volume is lower than the customary Dolby roar. The idea is to eliminate overstimulation. So, no 3-D.
Single mom Yadira Sanchez takes youngsters Ruben, 10, Olivia, 4, and Leonardo, 3, up the aisle. Leonardo is in the process of being tested for autism. “He does a lot of autistic behaviors,” Sanchez says. “He’s more to himself. He still likes to do the orderly toy- lining-up.”
Sanchez, who learned about the event from Parents magazine, hasn’t been to the Westminster Promenade since a volatile encounter with a fellow moviegoer about her children.
Like some of the best ideas, Sensory Friendly Films bubbled up from a need.
In 2007, a Maryland mom bent the ear of a manager at the AMC Columbia 14 outside Baltimore. Marianne Ross’ 7-year-old, Meaghan, had gone to a movie. “She was really enjoying herself, exuding typically autistic behaviors,” recounts the Autism Society’s Carin Yavorcik. “There was some hand flapping, some noises — and she was asked to leave the theater.”
That prompted Ross to ask general manager Dan Harris if the theater would host a screening for special-needs children and their families.
“They had over 300 people at their first showing,” says Yavorcik. News of it traveled the autism-support grapevine.
“We got word in our corporate office in Kansas City, and it was like, ‘Wow,” says Cindy Huffstickler, community relations manager for AMC. “Then we got a call from the local chapter because they’d heard about it.”
AMC reached out to the national Autism Society, based in Maryland, and Sensory Friendly Screenings was launched. The program started in 2008, playing at 11 theaters in 10 markets; it has grown to 113 theaters in 56 markets.
Silence isn’t golden here
The Colorado branch of the Autism Society launched its program in 2009. Four theaters host screenings. The fare is G- or PG-rated. AMC chooses the titles, keeping them current.
June brought crowds out for “Toy Story 3.” August’s title is the live-action, yammering-animals flick “Cats & Dogs: The Revenge of Kitty Galore.” November will push the envelope some with the “Harry Potter” sequel, which, like two of its predecessors, may carry a PG-13 rating. “Parents still need to use their judgment,” cautions the Autism Society’s Yavorcik.
Screenings aren’t free, but they are reasonable. The real value is that youngsters are free to be themselves. And parents are liberated from a peculiar anxiety.
“We throw the ‘Silence Is Golden’ policy right out the window, says Yavorcik. “You can sing along, enjoy the movie in whatever way works for you.”
Sensory Friendly Films screenings are one example of what the Autism Society of Colorado calls its Opening Doors initiative.
Colorado-founded Beau Jo’s Pizza sponsors a monthly gathering that features gluten-free fare. (People with autism often exhibit gastrointestinal issues, including allergies to gluten, found in wheat, rye and barley, and casein, found in dairy.)
“They’re so happy to be able to go someplace as a family or as adults on the spectrum,” says executive director Lehman. Plus, she adds with a laugh, “We tip really well.”
The society is reaching out to other service providers such as hairstylists and dentists, says Bridget Cessar, the Colorado organization’s communication director — places where, she says, “everything that could go wrong, probably will.”
The understanding swings both ways. Filmmakers have begun to tell stories that help neurotypicals grasp the lives of people with autism.
Last summer, the indie romantic drama “Adam” featured a young man with Asperger syndrome (a disorder often characterized by social awkwardness and an obsessive interest in specific topics) who becomes involved with a lovely typical.
“The Horse Boy,” a powerful documentary about journalist Rupert Isaacson and wife Kristin Neff’s pilgrimage to Mongolia in hopes of healing 4-year-old Rowan’s autism, screened at the Starz Denver International Film Festival.
Into the mainstream
A few seasons ago, Heather Kuzmich, diagnosed with Asperger’s, competed in “America’s Next Top Model.” The NBC series “Parenthood” features an 8-year-old diagnosed with Asperger’s.
Earlier this month, HBO’s original biopic “Temple Grandin” received 15 Emmy nominations, including one for Claire Danes’ indelible turn as a young woman with autism who grew into one of the nation’s foremost animal scientists. Grandin is a professor at Colorado State University and a vocal advocate for the societal value of people with autism.
Lehman finds fresh hope in the new representations. “Part of this trend is to portray people on the spectrum in a more realistic way. You want people to be aware, but be aware of the genuine reality,” she says.
“In ‘Temple Grandin,’ it was very painful to watch her being made fun of at school, then in work. The discrimination is very difficult and unpleasant — and un-American, quite frankly.”
Back at the Sensory Friendly Screening, a picture of America unfolds.
Eli Lehman giggles, watches and alternates laying his head on the shoulders of his mom and his physical therapist. A gap-toothed charmer Connor Bukovinsky lasts longer than father David’s original five-to- 10-minute estimate before beginning to holler. His dad rubs his back.
Earlier, Bukovinsky had used a yip from Connor as a teachable moment.
“Remember, you have to use a nice voice in the movie theater, OK? Remember? We do outbreaks outside or at home.”
Three-year-old Leonardo Sanchez scoots along the aisle stairs. An adult in a wheelchair rocks back and forth, periodically emitting a low rumble that sounds like a tremendous snore. A slip of a bespectacled boy wearing a ballcap and earphones — a stuffed animal dangling from each hand — sits on the staircase. Then he stands in front of a row of viewers.
No one seems to mind. In this space, a “shush” isn’t hostile; it’s just practice for new behaviors. No one needs to feel ashamed or anxious.
On screen, “Despicable Me” baddie Gru is telling his three little wards: “You will not sneeze or barf or fart. No funny noises.”
That gets a roar.
