Changes are often necessary in book-to-screen adaptations, and one of the strongest modifications in the Off Campus series is the different turning points where we explore Hannah and Garrett opening up to each other. They’re somewhat similar to the book, but the slight shifts effectively layer their characters and showcase just how deeply the actors care about their respective backstories. From their first time together, when Hannah fully lets herself talk things through, to the moment Garrett crumbles in the car after Thanksgiving, everything these scenes give us is a stunning portrait of trust and healing.
To start, credit to Belmont Cameli, who’s giving us the type of skillful performance to ensure that every time the camera’s on him, he’s showing us how uneasy Garrett feels around his dad. We know enough because of the flashbacks, but the subtle reactions we get with him back in the place that should’ve been his home are no small feat. The only reason there’s some semblance of comfort in him at random junctures is because of Hannah’s presence beside him. If nothing else, he has her. He knows that if he squeezes her hand twice, they’re out, no questions asked. And for now, that’s everything.
The tension in his physicality is like a rundown seesaw, tipping us toward the edge where we just know, any minute now, it’ll either break or stand on its rusty hinges for one more day. And interestingly, mostly because—and again, TV shows can change things—it also makes us wonder: Could his dad truly make amends? Is he really a better partner to Cindy than he was to Garrett’s mother? Has he done the work to atone? There’s also something to be said about casting someone as beloved as Steve Howey in a role like this and building on the pressure even further.
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Because of this, every moment at the house makes us question various outcomes, while the directing from Erica Dunton keeps our attention squared on Garrett, and Hannah’s careful awareness of him. She’s here for him, so much so that the decision to take the photograph is almost instinctual. A way to protect him just in case, because she recognizes the hole in the wall for what it is, even if she doesn’t have the full picture.
There are fractures in Garrett that resemble the exact hole in the wall. Unhealed wounds and a colossal weight that hangs on his shoulders—a room that was only ever a safe space when his mom was there, and his dad wasn’t. The way it all comes together for Hannah throughout the episode is riveting because she can sense the tension, but that glimmer of hope is a result of how much she loves him and how desperately she wants things to be okay for him.
Trauma paired with rage is a heavy cross to carry, but it’s second nature for Garrett and anyone who’s grown up around violence. The fear of what ifs that consistently plague them like phantoms no one else can see—what if I grow up and become just like them? What if it’s also a part of me? An abusive nature isn’t genetic, but the fears are ever-present, and it’s admirable that the writing explores this detail both in the books and in the show because it’s natural in a way that I wish more people understood.
With this in mind, Cameli layers Garrett’s discomfort with so much nuance that watching him flip between varying emotions is gut-wrenching. The gentleness in the way he thanks Cindy for making the mac-n-cheese with his mom’s recipe is his own kindness crashing to the surface, but there’s also a trace of hope that flickers and disappears as quickly as it materialized. It’s a constant back-and-forth throughout “Cold Turkey,” where we watch him try to believe that it’ll be different this time, but he never fully lets go, which, in turn, allows us to feel the precise discomfort he’s feeling.
And as everything happens all at once at the dinner table, we’re thrust into a beat of whiplash that’s agonizing. The way that the camera transitions from Garrett noticing the bruises on Cindy’s wrists to the desperation by which he squeezes Hannah’s hand in his while he fights to control himself is tremendous. The way his jaw clenches. The rapids that rise in his eyes. The way his fingers tremble, balled into a fist as images from the past crash with the present.
Cameli brings his A-game in this sequence, masterfully showing us just how hard Garrett’s fighting and what the idea of history repeating itself is doing to him. He was a little boy then, defenseless right alongside his mother, but today, he can not only protect himself, but he can protect others against Phil Graham’s fury. The visible battle reeling inside of him as he rises from the table, and how Hannah immediately takes control to pull him out of the cyclone he’s spinning in, is a brilliant succession to remind us of the trust that helps the two of them find their center again.
And so, he chooses Hannah. He chooses to rely on her so they can leave, and he later chooses to talk to Cindy about how she also has the choice to leave. (The way his voice breaks when he begs Cindy to leave, and the lump lodged in his throat that makes it hard to talk, is excruciating to watch. There’s so much in every moment of this scene that, genuinely, if I were to pick apart every micro expression Cameli delivers, every ounce of pain, we’d be here for days.) There’s a bigger issue here that I recognize people are upset about, which is that people in Cindy’s shoes can’t always leave. Domestic violence is a nuanced, deeply harrowing topic, and some people, unfortunately, stay. They don’t have the option or safety to leave. And perhaps this is something the show will explore in Season 2, but for this arc, it makes sense that she’d try to reason with Garrett.
But ultimately, right at this moment, this moment is about Garrett’s past, present, and future. It’s about the weight he carries on his shoulder and the fact that he lives in constant fear that one day, those voices in his head could win. One day, he’ll snap. And while he does at the game against St. Anthony’s, it’s not a result of a violent nature inside of him, it’s because of the deep, profound love Garrett Graham is capable of, which doesn’t come from his father, but his mother. And, more importantly, it comes from the choices he makes as a man to consistently be better than the monster who raised him.
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It’s also easy to appreciate the fact that Hannah drives because he’s in no condition to do so, but more than that, it’s the fact that she’s giving him a safe space to feel—just like he does with her. The plea in Hannah’s voice when she says, “Garrett, talk to me,” gives us a stunning performance from Ella Bright because of how tenderly she makes it clear that Hannah is fully aware of how this is all killing him. The way she reaches for his hand and looks him in the eyes to remind him that he’s safe with her fills the darkness they’re encased in with the light only she can offer. Still, Garrett can’t voice it all, not fully, not at first, but she never pushes, and instead, she reminds him that he’s okay. She’s here. He’s safe.
There’s something really gutting that happens in this scene as Hannah carefully pieces together what Garrett’s stumbling to say. Because the thing is, sometimes an abusive spouse isn’t an abusive parent, yet in Garrett’s life, Phil Graham is both. He’s always been the goliath in the narrative. He’s always been a source of pain, both to Garrett and his mom. The disgust and visceral reaction Hannah has in her understanding is so discernible in Bright’s performance that it shatters me.
“His face when she asks if he hit him.” Those are some of the first words I wrote in my notes because Cameli’s face brings a thousand words to life in that small moment. For a second, Garrett’s a kid again. A broken little boy, hurting with sorrows that’ll he’ll carry for the rest of his life. He’s a kid who couldn’t save his mother, even if that wasn’t his job, and he’s a man fighting against the demons trying to convince him he’s also capable of that darkness. We can’t talk about this scene without crediting the work Cameli does to convey all of the words that Garrett is verbally struggling to say. All the bruises and aches that he’s kept hidden. The grief and guilt that he’s carried all alone.
And then come the words he’s been bottling up with the recognition that Cindy was scared of him. (There’s a moment in the first episode where Hannah says, “Why, ’cause you get off on beating people up?” and the fear that instantly flashes in his eyes is substantial to showcase exactly what he’s often thinking of and how so many of his aches are interconnected.) That’s why it’s pivotal for him to say these words aloud to Hannah and for her to immediately see the demons that haunt him.
It’s important for her to acknowledge that he’d never hurt anyone because he’s the same man who’s been her safe place to land. Hannah Wells knows Garrett Graham’s heart too intimately now to know that he’d never, ever hurt a soul, so to hear that from her is everything he needs to momentarily let his walls crumble.
And so, he does. For the first time in his adult life, Garrett breaks, removing all his armor while someone he loves holds him through it. And here’s the thing: at this point, neither Hannah nor Garrett has confessed to loving each other, but we know that they do. We know that the security and trust they have together is something they can’t find anywhere else, and that’s exactly what makes Garrett feel safe enough to fall apart.
The way she tries to hold on to him when he’s apologizing for crying. The way her touches aren’t delicate but punctuated with the reinforcement he needs to know that in her arms, he’s safe. With her, all his emotions are welcomed. She sees him. She loves him. She’s here beside him.
It’s why the question, “What do you need?” is so crucial to reassure him that together they both have agency. He can cry all night if that’s what he wants to do, and she’ll continue to sit beside him. She’ll continue to hold on, for as long as he needs her to. Phil Graham stole his childhood and far too much from him, but he can’t take away this moment. (And I really appreciate this change from the book because it makes their arc that much more powerful when we look at how they keep choosing each other, over and over again.)
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Once more, kudos to Cameli for how he plays off of Bright and embodies Garrett in this scene because it floors me every time I watch it. The way he tilts his head a little and looks so small as he does it before he says, “Let’s just go home,” is everything. Because home is where they’re together. Home is the place where his girl holds him while he cries and falls apart. It’s where he knows that he’s safe, where her dad is proud of him, even if he lost the game, and they’ve never even met. Home is the look in Hannah’s eyes that wordlessly promises him she sees him. Home is cold turkey sandwiches and an old photograph that reminds him of the good moments that are worth holding onto. Home is the way Hannah kisses him and cradles his head when everything else is uncertain.
Now streaming on Prime: What are your thoughts on Hannah comforting Garrett in Off Campus’ “Cold Turkey?” Let us know in the comments below.
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