The Thing About Harry starts like a light queer rom-com: one awkward road trip, one ex-bully, and a guy who would rather swallow glass than talk about feelings. But somewhere between old wounds and new honesty, it turns into a sweet little story about trust, timing, and the terrifying idea that people can actually change.
The Thing About Harry is the kind of queer rom-com that sneaks up on you. You start it thinking: “Okay, cute TV movie, I’ll half-watch this while scrolling.” And then, forty minutes later, you’re sitting there like a sensible adult who suddenly got emotionally body-checked by a story about two people who spent years misunderstanding each other.
It’s simple on paper: Sam Basilli (Jake Borelli) is driving home for a friend’s engagement party, and by pure cosmic trolling he gets stuck sharing the ride with Harry Turpin (Niko Terho), the same guy who used to make Sam’s teenage life feel like a daily pop quiz in humiliation. The kind of person you don’t “run into” later in life, you “survive” again.
The setup: enemies, car rides, and emotional whiplash
The opening works because it doesn’t pretend the past was cute. Sam remembers exactly how Harry treated him in school, and the film lets that history sit in the car like a third passenger. There’s this tension where you can feel Sam trying to be mature, polite, evolved, whatever, but also thinking: “If this man breathes wrong, I’m stopping at the next gas station and leaving him there.”
Harry, on the other hand, shows up with that particular vibe some people have after high school: “I’m totally different now, please don’t remind me of who I was.” And to be fair, he is different. He’s softer, calmer, less performative. But Sam doesn’t owe him instant forgiveness just because he’s grown a conscience and nicer hair.
And then comes the moment that flips the whole dynamic: Harry casually mentions he’s pansexual. Sam’s reaction is basically a full system reboot. Not cruel, not judgmental, just genuinely thrown because his brain still has Harry filed under “straight guy who made my life hell.”
This is where the movie starts doing the good stuff. It’s not a lecture. It’s not a speech. It’s just… two adults learning who the other person is now, with all the awkwardness that comes with it.
Sam’s core problem: control, fear, and the Malcolm damage
Sam is a classic “I’m fine” guy who is not fine. He’s smart, he’s observant, he keeps things tidy, he likes predictability, and he absolutely hates emotional uncertainty. Not because he’s cold, but because he’s been burned in that very specific way that makes you say: “Never again,” while secretly meaning: “Please don’t do that to me again.”
The film uses Sam’s past relationship with Malcolm as the emotional backstory. It wasn’t just a breakup. It was that horrible combo: betrayal plus embarrassment. The kind where you’re not only heartbroken, you’re also mad at yourself for believing in it. So now Sam has this rule in his head: friends don’t become lovers. Because when they do, you lose both.
And honestly, that’s a believable rule. It’s just also a prison.
Harry’s core problem: the “cut and run” reflex
Harry is the opposite kind of mess. He’s charming, he’s sincere, he’s surprisingly thoughtful, but he has a reflex that kicks in the moment things get emotionally real. He backs away. He detours. He changes the subject. He literally tries to re-route life like Google Maps when it says “feelings ahead.”
This gets said out loud in the movie by Stasia (Britt Baron), who is basically the best friend every rom-com needs: the one who calls everyone on their nonsense and then still shows up with snacks.
Stasia has Harry’s number. She sees that he wants connection, but he’s scared of it. And that fear doesn’t always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like being “busy.” Sometimes it looks like keeping options open. Sometimes it looks like saying the right thing, but not staying long enough to live inside it.
The chemistry: not fireworks, more like warmth that builds
What I like here is that Sam and Harry don’t become a couple because of one big “OMG” moment. It’s more gradual. It’s conversation. It’s the way they start listening to each other. It’s how Harry actually sees Sam, not just as the “annoying kid from school” but as a whole person. And Sam, annoyingly for himself, starts seeing that Harry isn’t just a walking trigger from 2007.
There’s a scene where Harry basically tells Sam: “You’re my favorite person,” and he lists these little details about Sam that are so specific they feel intimate. Not “you’re beautiful and I’m in love,” but “I know how your mind works and I weirdly adore it.” That’s the kind of confession that hits harder than a grand romantic speech because it feels earned.
Also, Niko Terho does something important: he plays Harry with softness. He doesn’t come off like a smug hot guy collecting redemption points. He comes off like someone who genuinely regrets who he was and is trying to live differently now. That matters.
The supporting cast: small roles, big help
Casey (Peter Paige) and Zack (Japhet Balaban) give the story its “community orbit” so Sam and Harry don’t feel like they’re floating alone in a rom-com vacuum. And Paul (Karamo Brown) brings that grounded, grown-up energy that says: “Yes, this is cute, but also, get your act together, boys.”
It’s a TV movie, so the world is not huge, but it’s functional. It gives you enough social context to believe these two aren’t the only gay people on Earth.
Where it gets messy (in a good way)
Midway through, you can feel the story tugging at the old wounds. Sam’s fear of being replaced. Harry’s fear of being trapped. There’s also the presence of Harry’s past, like Lydia, that adds a little jealousy-flavored insecurity into the mix.
And that’s where the movie does its best work: it shows that attraction is easy, but trust is the hard part. Especially when one guy is a “planner” and the other guy is a “runner.”
When Harry’s career plans come up, Sam hears it as abandonment. Even if Harry doesn’t mean it that way, Sam’s nervous system does not care. It’s like: “Oh cool, we’re doing this again, I’m falling for someone and the universe is already packing his suitcase.”
The payoff: yes, it’s rom-com, and yes, it lands
Without turning this into a scene-by-scene recap, the final stretch gives you what you want from a rom-com: a moment where someone stops running, chooses clarity, and says the thing out loud.
It’s not revolutionary storytelling, but it’s satisfying storytelling. And in queer romance, satisfying is not a small thing. Too many stories either punish the characters for wanting love or treat love like a temporary side quest. This one lets them have it, while still acknowledging the baggage they dragged into the car in the first place.
So, is it worth it?
If you like queer films that are sweet without being childish, emotional without turning into misery, and romantic without pretending trauma is “just drama,” then yeah, this is absolutely worth your time.
The Thing About Harry isn’t trying to be a masterpiece. It’s trying to be a warm, smart, slightly messy love story about what happens when your past shows up in the passenger seat… and turns out to be human.
Also, if you’ve ever had a crush on someone you swore you hated, this movie is basically here to expose you. Gently. With jokes. And with just enough sincerity to make you pause and go: “Okay fine. I get it.”
