A film that challenges stereotypes

A title like “Autism: The Musical” certainly gets your attention. Which is a good thing because this HBO documentary premiering tonight (8 p.m.) pulls off a truly amazing feat: It explores the condition of autism and the often injurious effect it can have on a family, but in a way that is neither sappy nor totally depressing.

Which doesn’t mean “Autism: The Musical” isn’t a full-blown workout for heartstrings and tear ducts -- it is. But the story of a group of autistic children puttin’ on a show blows open not only the definition of “normal” but its relevance. You will watch the final credits struck to the heart by the incalculable and invaluable variations of human experience.

How often does that happen after watching television?

“Autism: The Musical” follows a few months in the life of the Miracle Project, a Los Angeles theatrical program designed for autistic children. Elaine Hall, the founder of the Miracle Project, adopted her son, Neal, from Russia 12 years ago, and it soon became apparent that Neal was autistic. Advised to institutionalize him, she turned instead to the theatrical community; actors, with their ability to inhabit other worlds, seemed to connect with Neal.

A half-dozen children are showcased in the documentary, including Neal, who cannot communicate verbally. Some, like the 10-year-olds Henry and Wyatt, are highly articulate if somewhat obsessive in their speech. Lexi, 14, has echolalia; she accurately repeats what has been said to her but she cannot verbalize her own thoughts. She can, however, sing Joni Mitchell with a purity and nuance even Simon Cowell could appreciate.

After a few minor mishaps the show is a huge success. But the biggest moments in “Autism: The Musical” are the quietest ones. Wyatt, twisting on a swing, trying to figure out why he goes into his own world when he hates it when his friend Henry does the same thing. The look on the normally upbeat Elaine’s face when Neal inexplicably yanks one of his young friends to the ground.

The fact that autism is a neurological disorder having little to do with intelligence is proven with throat-closing finality when some of the least-verbal children use keyboards to express their thoughts. “I am going to put mom on the spot,” writes Neal, who has spent much of the film with his heartbreakingly handsome face devoid of emotion or even recognition of what is going on around him. “You need to be a better listener,” he writes, and though no doubt Elaine, like any mother, would rather hear something other than criticism, she receives the words in rapture, as if they were the first images from the moon. There he is, her son Neal. And he’s been with her, this whole time, after all.

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mary.mcnamara@latimes .com