Sometimes a killer also turns out to be a victim

As the writer and director of “The United States of Leland,” I disagree vehemently with Tony Peyser’s assertion that my film uses an autistic child solely as an “edgy prop” (“Still Waiting for a Great Film on Autism,” April 10).

The only aspect of Peyser’s article that I agreed with was his observation that my film is not about autism. Indeed, it isn’t. “The United States of Leland” is about a troubled boy, Leland, who commits a seemingly senseless murder. The film’s central concern is to explore the manner in which we view young people who commit violent crimes. Generally, they are demonized -- in newspaper articles, in television broadcasts, in general conversation -- but my experience as a teacher in the juvenile hall system forced me to get past this notion and to see them not as monsters but as kids who have made terrible mistakes. Certainly, they need to be punished for their crimes. But can a life truly be defined by one action? Is it in the best interests of our society to transform kids who cross the line into some sort of nonhuman other?

Now, to address Peyser’s concerns about the depiction of the victim, Ryan. Ryan is clearly intended to be autistic. He is never referred to in this manner because the only characters who speak of the victim’s disability lack the knowledge to properly classify him as autistic. Why then did I choose an autistic victim? In no way is the murder a mercy killing. The film is clearly about a boy’s sadness, but it’s not the sadness of the autistic child. It is the sadness of the killer.

While I in no way consider myself an expert on the subject on autism, my brief stint teaching autistic children did leave me with one strong impression: These kids’ lives are as rich, meaningful and complex as any of ours. Look into the eyes of an autistic child and you will be struck by a sense that there is a fascinating and profound inner world there. What is lacking, generally speaking, is the ability to invite people in.

This idea is at the heart of the film’s tragedy. Leland is deeply troubled. Having lived for years with his distant father as an emotional model, Leland hasn’t allowed himself to feel anything. And then, in a short period, he experiences love, heartbreak and loss.

Like someone who has never seen light before, Leland is overwhelmed by this emotional stimulus. Blinded, stumbling forward with a tremendous mess in his heart, he looks to unburden himself by projecting his sadness onto the world around him -- his family, his friends, his peers. And the only person who can’t tell him “you’re wrong” is Ryan. Ryan lacks the ability to explain that he’s not sad at all, that his life is no different than anyone else’s. Ryan becomes a blank screen onto which Leland projects his own frustration with the world.

Perhaps, even after reading this clarification, Peyser will continue to assert that Ryan remains little more than an “edgy prop.” Perhaps he will suggest that I could have told the same story with a victim who was “black, Jewish, gay, Republican or a KCRW subscriber.” To me, it would make no difference. Leland’s crime would remain heinous, regardless of the identity of the victim.

Perhaps this is where Peyser and I disagree, but I believe that every life is sacred. Even the life of a kid like Leland, who has committed a violent crime. To be certain, it is a more difficult and dangerous world to live in when we embrace the idea that people who do bad things can still have goodness within them. But it is a more honest world and one I would prefer to inhabit.