Neurofilm Spotlight #2: Rita Was Never Just a Lawyer — She Was Masking for Her Life

— A Spectral Reading of Michelle Pfeiffer in - I Am Sam

In I Am Sam (2001), the emotional spotlight falls on Sam — a neurodivergent father fighting to keep custody of his daughter. But quietly orbiting him is Rita Harrison, a high-powered lawyer unravelling in plain sight.

Played with unnerving precision by Michelle Pfeiffer, Rita is the kind of woman you’re not supposed to diagnose. But if you stop watching with your eyes and start listening with tone — you’ll feel it.

She’s not just stressed.

She’s saturated.

The kind of character ToneThread would illuminate in jagged waveform — all sharp suits, brittle sarcasm, and buried chaos.

And here’s the tonal twist:

While the film frames Sam as the neurodivergent one, it’s Rita who can’t regulate her emotions.

Who dissociates under pressure.

Who hides her feelings behind status, certainty, and scripts.

They’re not opposites.

They’re tonal mirrors.

Sam feels too much.

Rita can’t feel safely.

And somewhere between them, healing begins.

Behind the Mask: Rita’s Tonal Profile

Rita isn’t labelled as neurodivergent — but through a Spectral Binary lens, where tone speaks louder than type, she lights up like a warning flare. Here’s what slips out between the lines.

Bull in the Courtroom

Rita doesn’t just cross-examine — she charges. Her questioning of the Child Services officer is relentless:

“Do you have children?”

“Do you love them?”

“Do you ever get tired?”

“Do you sometimes fail?”

This isn’t just legal strategy. It’s self-disclosure by proxy.

She’s not just defending Sam — she’s desperately defending her own collapse.

Precision-Controlled Dining

She orders food with surgical precision — no this, double that, dressing on the side.

It’s not diva behaviour.

It’s sensory boundary-setting disguised as control.

For many ND people, that level of “fussiness” isn’t about being difficult.

It’s about surviving overstimulation in a world that never slows down.

Masking as Mentorship

She teaches Sam how to “act normal” in court — how to smile, how to speak, how to blend in.

But look closer.

She’s not just coaching him.

She’s reliving her own lifelong script.

This isn’t cruelty.

It’s survival — passed down like a ritual, worn thin with shame.

Marshmallows in Bed

Late in the film, she’s seen eating marshmallows alone — soft, sweet, childlike.

Not a major scene. But deeply telling.

This is sensory self-soothing.

A quiet regression to something simple, something safe.

The nervous system reaching for predictability in a world full of noise.

Executive Dysfunction in Disguise

In court, she’s razor-sharp.

At home, she’s falling apart.

Her house is chaos.

She can’t connect with her son.

She’s snappy, late, overwhelmed.

This isn’t laziness.

It’s hyper-functional masking collapse — the kind that lives in high-achieving ND adults until the mask splits from the strain.

Skittles, Sunglasses, Shutdowns

She separates Skittles by colour.

She wears sunglasses indoors.

She shuts down when emotion spikes.

These aren’t quirks.

They’re micro-regulations.

Momentary anchors. Subconscious stimming.

The body saying: “Just let me hold something still.”

Truth at the Edge of Tone: Rita’s Collapse Was Her Clarity

The real climax doesn’t happen in the courtroom.

It happens on Sam’s living room floor.

She’s stripped of performance, crying openly, and says:

“I have a husband who would rather sleep with a 20-year-old than me.”

“I’m a horrible mother. I scream at him. I forget things. I’m selfish…”

This isn’t melodrama.

It’s the detonation of a lifetime of masking — collapsing into unfiltered tone.

She’s not just mourning a marriage.

She’s mourning the myth:

That if you’re sharp enough, smart enough, successful enough — you’ll be safe.

That if you do everything “right,” love will stay.

What we’re seeing isn’t failure.

It’s burnout as identity collapse.

The executive-function mask shatters. The emotional regulation system glitches.

And all that’s left is a woman trying to remember how to be wanted, not just useful.

And Sam — in all his raw, resonant simplicity — just listens.

No judgement.

No fixing.

No masking.

In that moment, he becomes the stable waveform she never had.

She’s not weak.

She’s not broken.

She’s finally honest — in a frequency the world rarely rewards.

That’s why I Am Sam is more than a film about a neurodivergent father.

It’s a story of two people on opposite ends of the masking spectrum, finding something the court never could offer:

Understanding.

Resonance.

Repair.

So… Was Rita Neurodivergent?

Not in the script.

But in the signal?

In the spectrum?

Absolutely — in every way that matters.

If you’ve known, loved, or been a woman with undiagnosed autism or ADHD — especially one raised to mask — you’ll recognise her.

Rita’s rage isn’t cruelty.

It’s burnout with nowhere to go.

Where Sam is warmth and struggle turned outward, Rita is struggle and shame folded in.

Same resonance — just different frequencies.

Why This Film Still Matters

The brilliance of I Am Sam isn’t just in its portrayal of parenting or disability.

It’s in its accidental honesty about neurodivergence.

Rita is the character who never gets diagnosed.

Never gets empathy.

Never gets asked if she’s okay.

And that’s real life — for millions of late-diagnosed adults, especially women, who’ve spent their lives looking “together” while quietly falling apart.

Rita isn’t broken.

She’s broadcasting on a different frequency.

One we’ve only just learned how to hear.