HBO Documentry "How To Dance in Ohio"

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Amelia Fei holds a fuzzy yellow hat with a smiley face on it, smoothing it and flipping it in her lap as she talks.

The actress’ choice to audition for the groundbreaking musical “How to Dance in Ohio” could propel her career. It could also destroy her.

“And I was like this close to not auditioning for it, because I don’t know how my friends would react. I don’t know if it will affect my, my career … And I don’t know if the publicity or anything will affect my parents,” said Fei, who is from Taiwan.

To be in the play, she had to tell the world she was autistic. Fei is an accomplished actress and singer, but even her close friends did not know.

Amelia Fei holds a fuzzy yellow hat with a smiley face on it, smoothing it and flipping it in her lap as she talks.

The actress’ choice to audition for the groundbreaking musical “How to Dance in Ohio” could propel her career. It could also destroy her.

“And I was like this close to not auditioning for it, because I don’t know how my friends would react. I don’t know if it will affect my, my career … And I don’t know if the publicity or anything will affect my parents,” said Fei, who is from Taiwan.

To be in the play, she had to tell the world she was autistic. Fei is an accomplished actress and singer, but even her close friends did not know.

It has connections that give it a real chance at Broadway: The producers include Ben Holtzman and Sammy Lopez, who are part of P3 Productions with Fiona Howe Rudin. The partnership produced “The Kite Runner” and “A Strange Loop,” which won the Pulitzer Prize for drama in 2020. Tony Award winner Wilson Jermaine Heredia plays Emilio Amigo, the doctor who is working with the young people and hatches the idea for a prom.

But it also has made a different, separate joy for the young actors who are, for the first time, able to be themselves onstage and off.

The actors have been in Syracuse for weeks now. Onstage they are telling the story. Offstage, they are living it. What a joy it is for them to be with people who require no explanation for anxious rocking or jittery hand movements, to not need scripts for small talk.

They’ve even come up with a name for themselves: Spectrum Club Seven. That’s who they are: autism superheroes of sorts, without masks.

Only two of the actors had ever portrayed someone with autism. None of them ever had a job where being autistic was required.

At the beginning of this interview, the actors say they will try not to talk over each other. But their words bubble on top of one another as they explain what this experience has been like. There’s no having to hide that they see the world differently as they work to make art. Their differences are the art.

Madison Kopec takes over as the group discusses the proper way to refer to autistic people. (This group, like many others, prefers that term, not “people with autism.”)

No one calls it Asperger’s Syndrome anymore; it’s ASD or autism spectrum disorder, she says. She begins rattling off research and what diagnostic manuals now say. Asperger’s was named for Austrian physician Hans Asperger, who did neurological research on Jewish children during the Holocaust.

In the play, Kopec is Marideth, a young woman with encyclopedic knowledge of just about everything. She, too, prefers books and research to people.

“People who know me are like, ‘Are you acting, or is that just you?’ ” Kopec says.

ASD affects communication. People struggle with conversation, social cues and understanding emotions. They often learn to mime neurotypical people’s responses in social situations. Like raising your eyebrows, or making eye contact during conversation. That’s called “masking.” For these actors, it’s been a lifetime of performing, even offstage.

The musical opened a door to a world where they don’t have to cover up.

“Caroline is just me, not masking,” Fei says, referring to her character in the play. Caroline is joyful and chatty, but she struggles to understand her relationship with her boyfriend and friends.

The reaction to the play’s authenticity has also been unlike anything the actors have ever experienced. One of the other actors in the production brought her son, who is on the autism spectrum, to see the show.

The young actors tear up as they talk about how much he loved it.

He raved to his mom about how great it was to see someone on stage just like him. I didn’t know people could make a musical about what was happening inside my head, he told his mother.

Kopec said the production has worked to accommodate the actors and crew. At the beginning there was a Google form for everyone, from the actors to the crew, asking what kind of accommodations they needed.

Is there something that stresses you out? Is there something that would calm you, an object you’d like to squeeze or hold?

Ashley Wool has been in productions for more than a decade; this was something entirely new.

“The fact that we were all able to talk about it that kind of just helped facilitate a sense of trust among the cast and crew in general, where it was OK for us to talk about stuff,” she said.

It’s also been OK to “stim.” Autistic people are sometimes calmed by repetitive motions or fidgeting. Imani Russell and Desmond Edwards, who are both Black, talk about how they work hard to control that behavior when they are in public.

“People might assume I’m on drugs,” said Edwards, who plays Remy.

Small talk can be exceptionally hard for autistic people. Russell usually goes through little scripts before they go to social events, preparing for each person they might encounter. The rest of the group nods.

But when they hang out together, there is none of that. No need to remember eye contact. No worrying if they missed an eyebrow raise or moved their hands too much.

Producers Ben Holtzman, Sammy Lopez and Fiona Rudin, also known as P3 Productions, are offering a free day of professional development on anti-ableism and inclusivity called Accessibility Day. Scheduled for Jan. 31, the event’s programming will center around disability awareness and education that emerged from the team’s musical-in-development “How to Dance in Ohio.”

Given the subject matter, P3 established a four-person consulting team to help authentically cast, create and run “How to Dance in Ohio.” As Lopez said, “If we were going to build a show that centers autistic young adults, we wanted to make sure that we had autistic young adults as part of our development process from the get-go.”

While the objective of the supplemental team was to ensure inclusivity and accuracy in the musical, what resulted was a complete shift in P3’s producing process not only on “Ohio” but all of its shows.

Holtzman, Lopez and Rudin’s experience with their consulting team has affected how they approach investors, how they cast, how they conduct rehearsals and how they think about the creative material across their projects, regardless of story. “We are all constantly learning new things about the ways in which we can implement anti-ableism practices into our producing philosophies, in general,” Lopez said. The trio wants to share their knowledge with other theatermakers through Accessibility Day.

Ava Xiao-Lin Rigelhaupt, who serves as the show’s autistic creative consultant, has been involved in the planning for the day and hopes it will influence producers and other Broadway businesspeople to think differently about disability and accessibility. “Being inclusive and creating accessible spaces isn’t as much work or scary or expensive as many people think it is,” Rigelhaupt said, “especially if you think about inclusion and accessibility from the beginning — which goes into a panel we have.”

The full day of programming begins with Sharing the Stage, a training workshop from Co/Lab Theater Group which aims to help outside teams become inclusive and collaborative, specifically with regards to disability. Co-founded by Becky Leifman, who serves as director of community engagement for “Ohio,” Co/Lab is a nonprofit that began by offering theater classes to adults with developmental disabilities.

The afternoon will feature three panel discussions: Say the Word: Disability; Access in Mind vs. Access in Afterthought; and “Representation Behind the Scenes.” Panelists include A.A. Brenner, Co/Lab’s interim development manager; Sarah Hom, Roundabout Theatre Company’s director of audience development; Gregg Mozgala, a star of “Cost of Living”; Leifman, Jeremy Wein, Nicole D’Angelo and Rigelhaupt — all a part of the “Ohio” consulting team; and members of the “Ohio” cast.

Attendees of Accessibility Day can choose to attend the morning program Sharing the Stage, the afternoon panels or both free of charge.

The story of a group of Columbus autistic young adults has made its way to a Broadway stage.

“How to Dance in Ohio,” follows seven autistic characters as they prepare for a formal dance at their group counseling center. Along the way, they learn how to make connections and step into the world.

“Dance is a metaphor really, for communication and relationships,” said Dr. Emilio Amigo.

Amigo’s Columbus practice, Amigo Family Counseling, and his clients are the inspiration behind the story that has been building momentum for the past decade.

Amigo is a licensed clinical psychologist who works with autistic children and adults. In addition to individual therapy, he offers group therapy that’s social skills based. He calls it "Response Ability" therapy, and it’s designed to promote emotional and social functioning and communication.

Amigo hosts “Friday Night Club,” an evening program for adults where the office is turned into a variety of clubs – from karaoke to video competition to puzzle-solving.

He said for a lot of autistic people, autism itself isn’t the only challenge.

“It's anxiety of not fitting in, not understanding what's going on, how to manage, deal with stress and conflict and stuff,” he said.

That’s where dancing comes into this story. In 2013, Amigo Family Counseling held the Amigo Spring Formal.

“And every week we were working on different aspects with different social skills you're going to need for this dance. And what's going to happen is from a sensory processing standpoint and what are the social etiquettes and what are the psychological things,” Amigo said.

The documentary premiered at the renowned Sundance Film Festival and was picked up by the HBO network in 2015. It’s been viewed millions of times – and one of those views was from composer Jacob Yandura.

“I was home by myself one night and came across the title on HBO. And I went, 'I'm from Ohio. What is this?'” said Yandura, who now lives in New York.

Yandura was born in Warren, Ohio and grew up in Columbus. When he found the documentary, his sister had just been diagnosed with autism.

He said within the first five minutes, the film “sang” to him.

“I'm seeing this community and most musicals are about communities – and all of the moments of human connection, you know,” Yandura said. “The how-tos of how do we become independent? How do we connect with one another? How do we ask someone out on a date?”

Representation

Yandura and his songwriting partner Rebekah Greer Melocik, who is also an Ohioan from Chardon, set about an ambitious task: creating a musical with authentic representation. Their intent was to cast autistic actors to play the roles – but some people didn’t believe it could be done, Yandura said.

“The whole point of the show is about representation. And it matters,” Yandura said. “And if we can't do that authentically, then we're not doing the show."

The show that started previews Nov. 15 includes seven autistic actors portraying autistic characters. “How to Dance in Ohio” also has five understudies who are on the autism spectrum and other members of the team who are neurodiverse.

With representation in mind, Yandura says the show’s creative team has a saying: “If you've met one autistic person, you've only met one autistic person.”

“And in our show, you're only meeting seven autistic people,” Yandura said.

He noted that while everyone is going through life at the same time, they have different experiences, and that’s reflected in the music.

“I wanted to make sure that they have their own musical theme. And so, in the opening number, the themes sort of all come together,” he said.

The creative team has consulted with Amigo through the process of getting the show up and going. He flew to New York City to see its first previews and he’ll go back for the show’s official opening later this year.

In the show, his character is played by Latino actor Caesar Samayoa, whose credits include the Broadway musical “Come From Away.”

Amigo said the Broadway cast is very neurodiverse, but is also diverse in many other ways.

The “How to Dance in Ohio” cast is slated to perform in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. The show officially opens Dec. 10 at the Belasco Theatre. Amigo said the people who inspired the main characters, and their families have all been invited to opening night. Amigo said some of them don’t think the show is a big deal, while others are very excited.

“Wow, I didn’t know there were autistic actors”.

Interviewing me for The New York Times, Erik Piepenburg mentioned this shocked response from a colleague when he said he was writing about a Broadway musical featuring autistic characters played by autistic actors—of which I am one.

How, Mr. Piepenburg wondered, would I respond to that?

It’s easy, in 2024, for me to scoff at anyone who can’t wrap their minds around my very existence as an autistic actor—let alone my skill and professionalism. But in fairness to Mr. Piepenburg’s friend, I didn’t know autistic actors existed either until I was diagnosed in 2008, my junior year of college, after my younger sister noticed an openly autistic contestant on America’s Next Top Model and said, “this girl reminds me of Ashley.”

I know now that my performing arts education was not hindered by being autistic—in fact, it was exactly the education I needed to help me learn many things that don’t come naturally to autistic people. My performing arts education gifted me access to a world not designed for me, and taught me how to become the best version of myself within that world without sacrificing or demonizing any of the things that made me me. I had the sort of education that I believe all children deserve access to—and, I would argue, neurodivergent children most of all.

Dance taught me to listen to my body
Like many autistic people, I struggle with interoception—the sense that tells me the state of my own body and is responsible for correctly processing internal cues such as hunger, thirst, and tension. I also struggle with proprioception—the sense responsible for spatial awareness of myself and others around me.

My extensive dance background—particularly my childhood ballet training—taught me how to listen to my body and interpret cues from both inside and outside. Through dance, I developed an awareness of different muscle groups and learned to equitably engage them in my day-to-day activities. I also developed an awareness of my “center of gravity” and how that parlayed into balance and coordination. While I was never great at the balancing turns like piques and pirouettes—and for most of my life, never knew why—I underestimated how valuable consistent practice was to my life outside the studio. Nowadays, when I experience “off days” with balance, muscle stiffness, or even vocal fatigue, I have systematic ways of diagnosing the problem (have I eaten today? am I dehydrated? have I warmed up my muscles sufficiently?) I owe this to my dance training, and to my ongoing yoga practice. (Hot yoga is my favorite, but that’s another article for another day.)

Theatre taught me social sensitivity
As someone who struggled with gauging how body language and tone of voice impacted the way people received and responded to my attempts to communicate, theatre taught me systematic methods to differentiate between what I said and how I said it. In real-life social situations, I often felt like I was playing a constant guessing game, making sure my intentions were understood and that I wasn’t offending or hurting others (and what was perceived as offensive or hurtful differed from person to person, and day to day, seemingly at random).

But it became far less of a guessing game when I practiced these conversations and scenarios within the context of a character and a set storyline. When the “real world” pressure was lifted, playing with words and their varying meanings and intentions became a fun thing to do—even if it was just my scene partner and I improvising in gibberish. I learned the power of subtlety in conveying intentions and emotions, and learned to respect that these expressions didn’t look or sound the same on everyone. These were overwhelming things to learn, but they were also fascinating and liberating, and it encouraged me to become curious about people—especially people who were culturally different from me—instead of defensive and mistrustful.

This is particularly important for autistic individuals because a common stereotype about autistic people is that we lack empathy and are more likely to be sociopaths. However, autistic expressions of empathy are often misunderstood or even demonized.

One thing to note is that theatrical scripts and traditional clinical social scripts often used in autism-specific therapy settings are not the same thing. I’m not saying one is inherently better or worse than the other, but I will say that for me, there was always a sense of safety in the context of a character in imagined circumstances.

Performance art in practice taught me how to balance self-discipline with self-care
As someone who frequently sought out intense sensory experiences only to then become overwhelmed and disappointed in myself for not “handling” them, the process of working on a show taught me a lot about boundaries, self-discipline, and self-care.

In the days before my diagnosis—and indeed, for many of the years I hid my diagnosis—I had terrible boundaries. I was a chronic people-pleaser who based my perception of my talent—onstage or off—on how well I could conform to the preferences of whichever director or manager I was working under. This typically meant deprioritizing my own needs and instincts, and assuming that if anyone asked me what I needed, the only acceptable answer was “nothing.” This is common in autistic adults, particularly women, until they hit a period of burnout they cannot easily recover from—often in their thirties, which is exactly what happened to me.

The first time I disclosed my autism to an employer was 2019. I was in a musical with a community theatre group I loved dearly and had previously worked with; the director had known me since I was 14. During a dance rehearsal, I became very tired and overwhelmed, and felt the mask slipping. My vocal intonation, as usual, was the first thing to go, followed by my facial engagement—I knew I was behaving erratically, speaking flatly, and making the “wrong” faces, but I couldn’t stop. The director emailed me that night and asked what was going on, and I realized I couldn’t hide from it anymore; he deserved to know the truth.

His response floored me. “Thank you so much for telling us. Now we have a context we didn’t have before, and we still love you just the way you are. How can we support you and help you feel more comfortable?”

Indeed, that is the approach the production team has taken at How to Dance in Ohio not just for the autistic and disabled folks, but for everyone. I’ve learned is that discussing my needs candidly does not necessarily put a target on my back; rather, it cultivates an environment that gives others permission to do the same, without fear of judgment. It’s no coincidence that numerous people on the Ohio<team—onstage, backstage, and everywhere in between—have emphatically stated that our show has the best work environment they’ve ever experienced in this industry. And the audience can feel it too.

A note on privilege; why I’m glad I wasn’t diagnosed as a child
I’ve often wondered what my life might have been like if I had been diagnosed as a child. I think if a child exactly like me was born today, she would benefit from an early diagnosis in the right circumstances. But in the 90s, those “right” circumstances didn’t exist. In the 90s, diagnosed autistic children were assumed to be intellectually and emotionally stunted, with little to no chance of meaningful growth, communication, or relationships.

In best-case scenarios—surrounded by people with the best intentions and the most extensive knowledge of autism that existed at the time—they were isolated from their peers and pushed into “therapy” that focused on correcting “problematic” behavior (even if that behavior was just harmless stimming or discomfort with eye contact).

In worst-case scenarios, they were institutionalized…or removed from their families by Child Protective Services, their parents deemed “unfit” to care for them…or murdered.

I did not experience any of this, but much of this good luck is rooted in systemic privilege. I’m a cisgender white woman who grew up in a financially stable two-parent household (with a stay-at-home mom!) in the suburbs of Westchester County, NY. I attended an excellent public school from kindergarten through twelfth grade. Sure, I experienced burnout, bullying from my peers, persistent struggles to fit in and be understood, and some teachers who didn’t want to put up with it…but I also had teachers who encouraged my passions and talents, a small-but-mighty friend group who loved and affirmed me and always rose to my defense, and a school psychologist who evaluated me with the best information available at the time. She didn’t diagnose me, but she knew what I needed: access to supportive communities and outlets for my creativity.

I had access to all those things, but many people do not.

This is why I push back on using terms like “high-functioning” to describe people like me. The problem with that ideology is twofold. Firstly, calling someone “high-functioning” diminishes their struggles and makes them less likely to have their support needs taken seriously by healthcare professionals (and don’t many of us struggle with that enough as it is?) Equally importantly, calling me “high-functioning” gives me all the credit for my success—ignoring the fact that I was given every advantage in life, and thereby absolving society of the responsibility to ensure that those same advantages are not systemically denied to others.