I had the pleasure of serving as the respondent for the panel Rediscovering Media Studies Through Disability, organized by Bregt Lameris at NECS 2025 in Lisbon and supported by the Media, Health and Disability workgroup. This rich and thought-provoking session brought together scholars who are redefining how we understand media history and practice through the lens of disability. Lesley Verbeek and Daniëlle Amelsbeek explored road movies as narrative spaces for encounter and inclusion; Magdalena Zdrodowska traced a hidden genealogy of intertitles in deaf cinema. What all the presentations shared was a commitment to disability not just as a topic, but as a method — a way of reshaping research, storytelling, and cultural critique.
Lesley and Daniëlle’s talk on road movies as “liminal spaces” for transformative encounters between disabled and non-disabled characters raised complex questions about narrative agency and inclusive storytelling. It made me think of the recent French hit Un p’tit truc en plus (A Little Something Extra, Artus, 2024), a feel-good comedy featuring disabled actors. While the film was widely praised for its inclusivity, it also follows a familiar pattern: the emotional arc belongs mainly to the able-bodied characters, with disabled characters serving as catalysts for someone else’s redemption. This prompted me to ask: do we need to move beyond these models of “transformation”? Could we imagine stories where characters don’t need to change to be meaningful — where presence, not progress, is the point?
Magdalena Zdrodowska’s beautiful reconstruction of intertitles as a persistent, creative practice in deaf filmmaking — long after the silent era — offered a powerful example of how disability disrupts linear, progress-based film history. Her talk also resonated with contemporary TV shows like Undone, This Close, or the nearly silent episode of Only Murders in the Building, which play with sound and subtitles to reflect diverse sensory worlds. I asked whether such industry trends are part of a longer lineage of deaf creative practice, or if they represent a separate, perhaps more market-driven moment.
What all the speakers emphasized — and what stayed with me — is that disability doesn’t just require new representation. It invites us to rethink how we work: who speaks, who decides, who tells the story. Could fiction films follow this inclusive path? Could we imagine more co-writing or co-directing processes with disabled creators, not just as actors, but as authors?

One of the questions that came up during the discussion was a tricky one: Is it better to have caricatured, stereotypical representations of disabled characters — or no representation at all? The answer often depends on where you’re coming from. For scholars, even problematic portrayals can be useful: they provide material for analysis, critique, and public discussion. They open up space to reflect on what “accurate” representation might look like — and why it matters. But for disabled audiences, the stakes are different. Many express frustration at being either misrepresented or completely invisible. In this context, the absence of representation can feel like a denial of existence — yet stereotyped portrayals can reinforce stigma and exclusion. So the question isn’t easy. It’s not just about if disability is shown, but how, why, and by whom.
To move forward, we need not only better stories, but better systems — more inclusive training, funding models, and storytelling practices. Initiatives like Retour d’image or Un autre regard in France are a start, but structural change requires sustained effort and critical solidarity.
This panel reminded us that disability is not a problem to be solved, but a perspective to be heard — one that can transform not only our media, but our methods.
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