Let's talk about the comedy classic "Dumb and Dumber." Despite the not-so-subtle title, what makes this movie work isn't just the spectacular stupidity of Lloyd and Harry—it's the smart way their stupidity is written. The jokes aren't simplistic "hur-hur, look how dumb they are" punchlines; they're carefully crafted moments that reveal character, advance the plot, and yes, make us laugh with these lovable idiots as much as at them.
And that's the difference: smart dumb jokes versus dumb dumb jokes. One elevates your writing; the other makes your readers wonder if you're the one who's not too bright.
This principle extends beyond comedy. Whether you're writing drama, thriller, or literary fiction, if you're going to include a character of lower intelligence, you'd better handle it in a smart way. Otherwise, you risk creating something that's unintentionally offensive or, worse, just plain boring.
Let's face it: not all of our characters graduated summa cum laude. Some couldn't spell summa cum laude if their fictional lives depended on it. But writing these intellectually challenged characters can feel like tiptoeing through a minefield of potential offenses while blindfolded and wearing tap shoes.
Why? Because historically, fiction hasn't been particularly kind to the less cognitively gifted. They've been relegated to comic relief, unfortunate stereotypes, or objects of pity. Not exactly humanity's finest hour.
So how do we write these characters with authenticity and respect? How do we write "dumb" smart? Let me share some thoughts that won't make future generations cringe when they read your work. (You're welcome, future generations!)
People First, Test Scores Second
Remember when your elementary school teacher insisted there are "different kinds of smart"? Turns out she wasn't just trying to make the kid who ate paste feel better.
Your intellectually limited character might be a disaster at abstract reasoning but possess emotional intelligence that would make a therapist jealous. They might not comprehend algebra but understand complex mechanical systems intuitively.
Take Charlie Gordon in "Flowers for Algernon." Before his experimental procedure, he couldn't grasp complex ideas, but he understood kindness and cruelty with painful clarity. His cognitive limitations were just one facet of a complex human being with hopes, fears, and a profound desire to connect.
Limit Your Limitations
Nothing screams "I haven't thought this through!" like a character who's generically "stupid." It's the writing equivalent of saying your villain is bad because... well, they're just bad, okay?
For example, ask yourself:
—Is your character concrete in their thinking but lost with abstractions?
—Can they follow step-by-step instructions but struggle to improvise?
—Do they have an amazing memory for faces but can't remember names?
—Are they whizzes with spatial relationships but get lost in a conversation?
Being precise not only creates authenticity but helps you avoid accidentally wandering into portraying neurodivergence or disability when that's not your intention. (And if it IS your intention, that's a whole other blog post and probably requires some serious research on your part. Just saying.)
Intelligence and Value: Not the Same Thing
Our culture has a slightly unhealthy obsession with certain types of intelligence. We worship at the altar of IQ while undervaluing qualities like compassion, loyalty, creativity, and wisdom.
Your character might not be solving differential equations, but maybe they're the glue holding their community together. Maybe they're the only one who remembers everyone's birthdays. Maybe they're unfailingly kind in a world that rarely returns the favor.
Lennie in "Of Mice and Men" isn't winning any debate competitions, but his gentle nature and capacity for love create the emotional center of the novel. His worth isn't measured by his cognitive abilities—and neither should your character's be.
Who’s the Stupid One Here?
Look, we've all laughed at a well-placed "that's what she said" joke. I'm not claiming moral superiority here. But there's a difference between a character who occasionally misunderstands something (which happens to all of us, even the insufferably brilliant) and making a character's limited intelligence the perpetual punchline.
If your story includes humor at the expense of your less intellectually gifted character, those jokes should come from the jerks—and the reader should understand that the joke-teller is being a jerk. The humor should reveal something about the cruelty or insecurity of the person making the joke, not invite readers to point and laugh at your character.
POV!
One of the most powerful things you can do is show us the world from your character's perspective. How do they navigate challenges? What strategies have they developed? What frustrates them? What brings them joy?
Forrest Gump (both in Winston Groom's novel and the film) gives us access to a worldview that's simultaneously limited and profound. The strength of the story is that we see through Forrest's eyes and recognize both his struggles and his unique wisdom.
Low Intelligence, High Value
Show your character being genuinely valued by others—not out of pity, but because of what they bring to relationships. This isn't just good ethics; it's good writing. It adds dimension to your story world and reinforces that intelligence isn't the only quality that makes someone worthy of connection.
You Dumb Asshole!
Here's a truth that might be uncomfortable: intellectual capacity and moral worth are entirely separate concepts. Some of the most brilliant characters in literature are absolute monsters. Some of the most heroic have limited intellectual abilities. We know this. But the opposite can also be true.
Look at Leonardo DiCaprio's Ernest Burkhart in "Killers of the Flower Moon." He's not winning any Mensa competitions, often appearing slow-witted and easily manipulated by his uncle. But he becomes willingly complicit in murdering Osage people for their oil wealth. His character reminds us that people of lower intelligence have as much capacity for moral complexity—including evil—as anyone else.
The film never excuses his actions because of his intellectual limitations, nor does it suggest that his behavior is inevitable because of them. He's just a fully realized human being making terrible choices.
Writing That’s Not Just Nice, But Good
Including characters across the spectrum of intellectual ability isn't just about being politically correct (though not being a jerk is generally a good life strategy). It's about creating a rich, believable story world.
People of varying cognitive abilities exist in real life. Excluding them from our stories creates a sanitized, incomplete picture of humanity. Including them—thoughtfully—adds texture and truth to your narratives.
A Quick Example
Marcus couldn't tell time from an analog clock and struggled with basic arithmetic, but he knew exactly when Ms. Abernathy needed her medication because he could read the changing quality of light through her kitchen window. While his sister managed the family finances with her business degree, Marcus kept their aging parents' home running with his ability to anticipate mechanical failures before they happened.
Notice how this brief sketch establishes specific cognitive limitations alongside unique strengths, shows the character being valued within a family system, and hints at a rich interior life—all without reducing Marcus to his limitations or asking readers to pity him.
Don’t Play Dumb
Writing characters with lower intelligence isn't about avoiding offense (though that's a nice bonus). It's about writing good, complex, authentic characters who happen to be less cognitively gifted than others.
The goal isn't to tiptoe around these characters but to write them well—with dignity, complexity, and full humanity.
After all, in a world where we have characters who can fly, become invisible, or survive apocalyptic wastelands with nothing but a can-do attitude and inexhaustible ammunition, surely we can imagine characters across the spectrum of human intelligence who are fully realized people.
