Parents' Guide to Patience

Police procedurals are a dime a dozen, but this series' uncommon empathy for its lead actor, a woman with autism and a talent for detective work, sets it apart from the crowd. As we soon learn from painful flashbacks to Patience's childhood, doctors told her parents that she was mentally ill and could never live independently or be "a useful member of society." But as an adult, she's found a way to live in a world that's too loud, too confusing, too filled with subtle social cues that she can't and doesn't even want to parse. In the sepulchral quiet of the Police Criminal Records Office in sleepy York, England, she can communicate ably with others through paperwork and email requests, maintaining a daily routine that keeps her calm. But when Detective Bea Metcalf gets a look at her talent for putting facts together, Patience's peaceful, predictable life implodes. Suddenly Detective Metcalf is taking her to new places, to speak with new people, and demanding more of Patience than she's comfortable giving, which Patience sympathetically illustrates by tuning in to Patience's perception: There are booming noises on the soundtrack, strangers staring at her, changes to Patience's routine that send her into fusillades of stimming.

Detective Metcalf soon understands she can't treat this colleague like any other and that it's terribly unconventional to seek investigative help from a member of the police office staff, but the insights she gets from Patience (including personal ones about Detective Metcalf's difficult, struggling school-age son, Alfie, played by Maxwell Whitelock) are just too good. And on Patience's part, experiencing her autism as a talent that can help her do extraordinary things is a potent thrill for someone who was written off by others all her life. And so in fits and starts, the Bea-and-Patience detective team comes to life, putting something of a fresh perspective on what could have been a dreary case-of-the-week procedural.