Neurodivergent (Headcanon) Alley: Ned (Pushing Daisies)

*A few Ned-related spoilers.*

Going back to one of my first serious TV loves, Pushing Daisies. I was so deep into this show back in the day. I watched a couple episodes from season 1 because Raúl Esparza was a guest star and he was one of my major Broadway guys at the time. I went into the show knowing absolutely nothing about it and came away sort of bewildered but determined to have more of this series in my life. As I’ve said before, Pushing Daisies is the first show that made me specifically seek out its showrunner, leading me to Wonderfalls (with bonus Lee Pace!), Dead Like Me, and later Hannibal. When it was on the bubble during season 2, I wrote letters to ABC every day. This show grabbed my brain and my heart and wouldn’t let go. Is it any wonder that it’s neurodivergent as hell?

A big source of my love, of course, is Ned, the man who makes pies and wakes the dead. Back when I wrote my Favorite Characters post on Ned, I attributed a lot of his traits to his powers and his traumatic experiences in childhood: discovering that he can bring dead things back to life with a touch of his finger, learning the caveats to those powers in devastating ways (including his mother permanently dropping dead with a good-night kiss after he revived her the first time,) and being abandoned by his father and sent to a bleak boarding school. No doubt Ned has a ton of trauma that contributes to him craving routine and consistency, hesitant to connect with others despite being lonely. And yes, some of his issues with touch are down to his magic powers, not wanting to inadvertently bring something dead back to life and vigilant not to permanently kill his alive-again dog or childhood sweetheart with an accidental second touch. Those things are definitely factors.

But those traits present themselves in very autistic ways, and besides, there’s no rule that says he can’t have magic powers/childhood trauma and also be autistic (hello, Matilda!) Ned tends to speak at a rapid pace in a low, flat tone. He stress bakes when he’s worried, both because the familiarity soothes him and because pie is his strongest connection to his late mother. He can find it really difficult to talk about his feelings—sometimes he can’t bring himself to speak at all, sometimes he broaches an issue with extreme reticence, and sometimes he blurts it out in moments where he just can’t help it.

Ned’s power is governed by three incontrovertible rules, and he’s added all sorts of additional rules and protocols to that, along with inventions that help him out with Digby and Chuck. He makes a long-handled petting device for Digby, installs a plexiglass divider in his car so Chuck can sit in the front, and wears slippers with bells around the apartment so both Chuck and Digby will hear him coming. This displays creativity and ingenuity, not to mention some solid tinkering skills. That said, Ned is surrounded by characters who, while also ND-coded, are not driven nearly as much by structure and protocol as he is. He sometimes views that as a good thing, getting help to come a bit more out of his shell and be adventurous, but when other characters ignore or actively break his self-imposed rules, he gets anxious, which can make him feel uptight and like he’s the problem.

In the initial run of Pushing Daisies and through several rewatches, I was bugged by a storyline in season 2 where Ned struggles with Chuck moving out of his apartment, eventually becoming roommates with Olive. It felt to me like Ned was trying to control Chuck—maybe not even entirely consciously, but it came across as possessive in a way that I didn’t like. On my latest rewatch, though, viewing this storyline through an autistic lens helped me contextualize it more. It’s not that Ned is trying to control Chuck and prevent her from spreading her wings beyond him. It’s that he’s being hit with a lot of change really fast, he doesn’t know what this means for their relationship, and he kind of feels like having a problem with this makes him a jerk. He’s a guy who loves his girlfriend and is badly navigating a new situation that makes him feel really uncomfortable. Even though Chuck is just across the hall and likes the “Parisian” flair of his-and-hers apartments, Ned has lost some of his solidity and is kind of spiraling about it. And while he likes Olive and is glad for Chuck to have a friend, he also feels left out and worries that maybe Chuck doesn’t need him anymore.

Chuck, of course, isn’t doing anything wrong, and Ned does ultimately come to terms with the fact that he can’t make her stay. But his difficult feelings about the whole thing aren’t wrong either. Mainly, it’s just a tricky situation that both of them could’ve handled better. I have to say, I really like it when a neurodivergent interpretation helps me feel greater empathy for characters I love in storylines that frustrate me (see also, Keeley Jones and KJPR.)

Relationship Spotlight: Ned & Peter (Spider-Man)

If you’ve been around on Marvelous Wednesdays, then you probably know that I pretty much love superheroes and their (usually non-powered) best friends.  Most of the movie friendships I like eventually come around to the best friend becoming a hero in their own right – Rhodey as War Machine, Sam as Falcon, Bucky as the Winter Soldier – and while I don’t know if that will ever be Ned, he makes one hell of a Guy in the Chair (a few Peter-Ned-related spoilers.)

Peter and Ned’s delightful geek bond predates Spider-Man:  Homecoming.  When the movie starts, they’re already best friends, although it hasn’t escaped Ned’s notice that Peter has been skipping out lately on their favorite pasttimes, such as Lego Death Star construction.  Quickly, though, the film moves onto a bigger and better dynamic with these two when Ned catches Peter climbing in his bedroom window while wearing the suit (and crawling on the ceiling!)  The game is up, and Ned couldn’t be more thrilled.

This is everything that a huge nerd finding out his best friend is a bona fide superhero would be.  Once Peter’s lame attempts at a denial are out of the way, Ned considers it open season on the questions, from quizzing Peter on his powers to asking what the Avengers are like in person.  He’s bursting to tell people but very begrudgingly abides by Peter’s insistence that they keep it a secret, although he can’t help letting a few hints slip of the “Peter ‘knows’ Spider-Man!” variety.

Peter clearly loves being Spider-Man, but the film shows that it’s also a bit of a lonely gig for the energetic teenager, and he can’t really be mad about finally getting a chance to share it with someone other than Happy’s voicemail.  Through Ned, Peter has someone to talk to about this, at times with amusing bravado (claiming that he’s “basically” an Avenger) and at others with more sincerity (itching over how he can prove himself to Tony.)

Now in on the secret, Ned is both a good and bad influence on Peter’s superhero activities.  The best-friend role is often the voice of reason, either worrying over the hero’s safety or trying to convince them to do the right thing when they want to refuse the call.  We get some of that with Ned, like when he balks at the idea of hacking Peter’s suit to get around the limits Tony built into it, but we also get the two of them geeking out over the prospect of bad guys with genuine evil lairs and Ned pushing the idea of Peter using his “friendship” with Spider-Man to get in good with girls.

And ultimately, Ned is really helpful.  Peter tries to shrug this off at first, since he’s pretty determined to demonstrate how singlehandedly he can manage, but 1) Peter couldn’t keep Ned away from this stuff if he tried, and 2) Peter realizes he can’t do everything by himself.  The movie’s climactic battle shows Ned fulfilling his dream of being the hero’s number-two man, the “guy in the chair” monitoring screens and giving the hero the vital intel he nees to get the job done.  I like that, that Ned’s big goal isn’t to be the hero but to help the hero (even if he does get an awesome moment with a web shooter!)

Relationship Spotlight: Ned & Emerson (Pushing Daisies)

Pushing Daisies is one of those infinitely-pairable shows, where you can put virtually any two characters in a scene together and get gold.  You’ve got Chuck and Olive, Ned and Vivian, Emerson and Chuck, Ned and Olive, Ned and Chuck, Olive and Emerson, Lily and Vivian… Any way you slice it, it works.  Amid all that fun and watchability, though, I think Ned and Emerson might be my favorite.  (A few character-related spoilers.)

Logistically, they make perfect sense as partners.  Emerson is a private investigator, and Ned can wake a murder victim with a touch of his finger to ask who killed them.  It’s a no-brainer!  (Not to mention, Ned owns a pie shop and Emerson has a sweet tooth – I’d be shocked if they didn’t want to associate with each other.)  However, as we move from the hypothetical to the actual, we see that they’re tremendously different people.

If Ned hadn’t been struggling financially when he met Emerson, he probably wouldn’t have agreed to their unconventional sleuthing arrangement.  He’s a bit of a homebody who’s uncomfortable with change and likes to have a system.  He generally prefers keeping his head down, which makes sense, because he’s had a spontaneously-occurring magical power since childhood and a fear of being discovered/dissected.  But at the same time, when his emotions take over, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t know what he’s doing until he’s already done it.  It’s his heart that leads him to the reckless, impulsive decision of permanently reviving Chuck, and it’s responsible for the brunt of the greatest/scariest/most complicated things that happen to him.

On the other hand, Emerson is street-smart and imminently practical; some would say ruthlessly so.  He’s not above sniffing around the morgue and trying to ingratiate himself among some bereaved next-of-kin in the hopes of securing new a new job.  While Ned can be awkward as an investigator and is almost laughably inept at any type of undercover work, Emerson is in his element here.  He’s well-versed in the tricks of the trade, knows how to put the screws to someone, and though I wouldn’t call him a natural cynic, he certainly comes by it honestly.  Once Chuck enters the picture, it’s Emerson who chews Ned out for his hasty actions and worries that Chuck will be found out, throwing a wrench in his operation with Ned.  And later, he becomes the annoyed observer of their overall schmoopiness and is sometimes roped into playing the begrudging proxy to their hugs, high-fives, and hand-holding (if Ned and Chuck touch a second time, Chuck will be dead again forever.)

Working together, both men pick up a lot from the other while remaining utterly themselves.  Ned learns plenty of P.I. skills from Emerson, and under the somewhat bossy tutelage of his friend, he starts to grow bolder and more discerning.  He also manages to get his head out of the clouds at least a tiny bit where Chuck is concerned, thinking of the real ramifications of their relationship and situation.  Meanwhile, Ned helps Emerson to access his emotions a bit more (that sounds way more flowery than it really is, by the way.)  Like Ned, Emerson has a soft side, but he doesn’t like to let anyone see it.  Gradually, though, he starts to open up to Ned about the things he usually keeps to himself, which in turn helps him open up to others as well.  I love how delightedly incredulous Ned is when Emerson first eases up on the gruff routine, revealing that he went to art school, and any scene that features Emerson confiding to Ned about his lost daughter is basically perfect.

Favorite Characters: Ned (Pushing Daisies)

 

Pushing Daisies was the first Bryan Fuller show I ever loved, and Ned was the first Bryan Fuller character I ever adored.  The series is packed to the gills with delightful, vibrant characters, but it’s the lanky pie maker who won me over the quickest and the most completely.  He’s a wonderfully built-from-the-ground-up character, so understandably a product of his experiences that, despite the magic and whimsy of the show (and Ned himself,) he feels nothing but genuine.

 

If, before watching Pushing Daisies, you’d asked me to describe someone who could bring the dead to life with a touch of his finger, I have no idea what I would’ve come up with.  With Ned, though, I can’t help but think, “Of course!”  You might think someone who’d discovered such extraordinary powers at a young age would develop a potent god complex, that he’d feel above the laws of men and nature and carry with him a sense of invincibility.  But young Ned’s crash course on his powers included the sudden death and resurrection of his mother (first touch:  life,) the even more sudden and cruel second death of his mother (second touch:  dead again, forever,) and the inadvertent death of his best friend’s father (keep a dead thing alive for more than a minute, and something else has to die.)  The man is damaged, and he comes by it honestly.

 

As such, it makes perfect sense that he grows into someone closed-off, lonely, and incredibly cautious.  It’s logical that he adheres to things so rigidly, because knowing the rules of his powers is the only way to prevent devastation.  Until Emerson learns of Ned’s powers and proposes a waking-the-dead P.I. partnership, he only renews dead fruit to make eternally-fresh pies.  He walks through the world like he’s folding into himself, hunched up with his arms folded to avoid unintentional resurrections.  Furthermore, as someone who lost everyone who mattered to him as a child, he loves deeply but worriedly, and he clings even as he berates himself for being clingy.  He’s uncomfortable in his skin around other people, even living people, like he still feels his mother dying irreversibly when she kissed him good night.  When you think about it, it’s a wonder he’s as reasonably well-adjusted as he is.

 

Because, all things considered, he really is.  Yes, he’s shy and a little awkward, and he keeps secrets almost possessively, but he’s also bright and kind.  We tend to see him more at ease when he’s talking to the dead, getting any information that will help solve their murders.  Though he keeps a punctilious eye on his ever-present stopwatch, he becomes relaxed and conversational, treating them like people rather than freaks (I love the scene in the pilot where he chastises Emerson for using terms like “zombies” and “living dead.”)  And it’s true that, at first glance, his nervousness might seem to be his defining characteristic, but he’s capable of real bravery and heroism when the situation calls for it.  The more traditional bravery, of course – confronting dangerous people, thinking on his feet in tight situations – but he also displays a less showy bravery reserved for shy, tightly-wound people.  Over the course of the show’s two seasons, we see how incredibly far he steps beyond his comfort zone, how he swallows his nerves to open himself up to new people and experiences.

 

As with so many terrific Bryan Fuller characters, I’m reminded of one of George’s lines from Dead Like Me, the one about “respecting somebody for being a mess because you’re a mess too.”  Like the others, Ned is a fantastic mess, entirely relatable despite his extraordinary circumstances, and it’s a treat to root for him to find his way.