Austin review: Ben Miller's comedy delivers strong autism representation – but few laughs

The series opens with the titular Austin Hogan (Love on the Spectrum’s Michael Theo), an autistic forklift driver in Canberra, leaving work.

His co-workers wish him bonne chance as he prepares for what appears to be a long-planned meeting with beloved children’s author Julian Hartswood (Miller).

Julian is travelling around Australia (Austin is a joint Australian and British production, though it feels predominantly British) to promote his new book with wife, and illustrator, Ingrid (Sally Phillips).

When Julian retweets a well-known neo-Nazi’s opinion on free speech, however, his immediate engagements are abruptly cancelled and his reputation sullied. In the now immortal words of Justin Timberlake, this could "ruin the tour".

Things go from bad to worse when he and Ingrid attempt to salvage the Canberra leg of their tour by booking a gig independently, only to find themselves setting up in the Mein Kampf-laden store of the politest neo-Nazi in Australia ("I get it, I know all about finding things abhorrent," she says when Ingrid expresses reservations about the whole neo-Nazi thing).

Into this developing farce walks Austin, claiming to be Julian’s long-lost son.

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Extricated from the bookshop, the three discuss Austin’s quest to find out where he came from in a local coffee shop. "How long can you commit to the bonding process?" Austin asks.

For the self-obsessed Julian, the answer is not long at all. Not least when Ingrid does the maths and realises that Austin being 28 places his conception several months into her relationship with Julian and understandably storms out.

Predictably, Julian blows Austin off. Yet, when his publisher catches wind of Julian’s long-lost autistic son, they suggest it could be a stellar PR vehicle to repair the writer’s damaged reputation.

"Predictable" is an apt term as the series unfolds much as you’d expect. Orbiting Theo’s compelling performance and the surprise of seeing autism represented with so much sincerity – it should be noted that Theo is credited as a script consultant on the series – is a somewhat rote scripted comedy that at its best gently parodies the cynical way media uses minority voices but is largely light on laughs.

Rather, Austin’s comedy is its weakest point. It’s loose, even uneven, as jokes hang in the air momentarily as if waiting for a laugh track to kick in.

Jokes are rarely directly at Austin’s expense – preferring to take aim at Julian’s saviour complex – but so many of them rest on an audience that finds Austin’s bluntness or the misunderstandings that arise from his unfamiliarity with certain social situations amusing.

A neurotypical audience may respond to that, and many autistic viewers may feel included in those jokes, but too often plenty may feel the joke is on them.

Austin is clearly keen to represent its titular character’s autism positively – and it should be said that comedy involving disability is and should be a thing.

But while it steps away from the long shadow of other more misguided representations such as The Good Doctor and South Korean hit Extraordinary Attorney Woo, it cannot avoid the stereotypes and missteps that bog down so many earlier representations.

Stereotypes that feel incongruous with what we actually see on screen. For instance, Austin is often infantalised like so many autistic characters, not least by a mother who does not believe he can handle the rigours of travelling to London.

Yet, everything we see of Austin is a collected, independent, and capable individual at odds with the assumptions of the characters around him.

It’s a strong, positive representation that we seldom see in the media. If the intention of including these tired stereotypes is to undermine them through Austin’s character, however, the result feels more confused, which taps into a chronic lack of identity throughout Austin.

This is not a series about autism. It’s a comedy, primarily, about change that happens to include an autistic character. Which is great. This isn’t a reparative series from neurotypical creators trying to assert allyship, but the kind of series many autistic and, more broadly, disabled viewers have been crying out for: a series in which disabled characters, depicted by disabled actors, just are.

Austin allows for a broader scope of other stories within the narrative – Ingrid’s exploration of the art world as she wrestles with maintaining a romantic and professional relationship with a man who cheated on her is especially compelling.

Yet, even though it clearly wants to say something about autism, an actual exploration of autism – and specifically Austin’s autism – is somewhat lacking.

Austin prefers to shy away from the complexity – and the difficulties – of autism and its traits in favour of tepid laughs and occupying a very BBC quality of comedy that ultimately feels a little basic.

That isn’t bad, per se – indeed, any other similarly middling comedy might be let off the hook. But Austin is defined by the media landscape into which it releases: one that seldom, if ever, truly engages with autism and disability more broadly.

Austin, through its depiction of autism and its positive representation, is a media aberration. Whether unfairly or no, that means it cannot just melt into the background.

That may be a bit of an injustice for an earnest, if perhaps too earnest, series, but throughout these occasionally charming eight episodes which include some of the best autistic representation put on screen, I couldn’t stop thinking: doesn’t our representation deserve to be attached to a comedy that’s actually funny?

Austin premieres on Friday 4th April at 9:30pm on BBC One, with all episodes available to stream on iPlayer.

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