If you are a fan of The Handmaid’s Tale, the Above the Garage podcast might initially seem like a promising addition to your listening rotation. Its occasional interviews with cast and crew members can offer valuable behind-the-scenes insight that dedicated fans may genuinely appreciate. Unfortunately, these brief moments of substance are consistently overshadowed by the podcast’s disturbing and obsessive fixation on the character Nick Blaine. Rather than engaging with his deep complicity in Gilead’s authoritarian regime, the hosts elevate him as a misunderstood romantic hero, crafting narratives that ignore the harm he helps perpetuate.
Nick is not a secret rebel or an unwilling pawn. He is an active participant in the system that enslaves and brutalizes women. His rare moments of perceived kindness or resistance do not erase the reality that he holds a position of power within a violent, oppressive regime. Instead of confronting these uncomfortable truths, the podcast indulges in fanfiction-style worship that borders on apologism. It reflects a classic case of romanticizing the abuser, interpreting minimal gestures as evidence of hidden nobility.
This pattern echoes disturbing tendencies seen throughout history. Oskar Schindler, for example, is remembered for saving over a thousand Jewish lives, yet he was initially a profiteer who exploited forced labor before eventually changing course. Similarly, Albert Speer positioned himself after the war as a reluctant servant of a corrupt system, claiming ignorance while having played a central role in its rise and maintenance. These figures were not bystanders. They were embedded in structures of cruelty and benefited from them. Nick fits that same mold, a man who may occasionally show concern, but whose hands remain far from clean.
The podcast promotes a deeply flawed narrative by romanticizing this type of character, portraying him as a gentle outlier rather than an architect of oppression. Rather than interrogating his role in enforcing Gilead’s theocracy, the hosts focus breathlessly on his facial expressions, his silences, and the rare protective gesture. It is the equivalent of admiring Speer’s architectural talent while ignoring the forced labor behind it, or focusing on Schindler’s redemption while glossing over his earlier profiteering.
Even more frustrating is the podcast’s repeated insistence on pitting Nick against Luke, June’s husband. This manufactured rivalry is not just tedious. It is fundamentally anti-feminist. Luke, despite his flaws, represents a life outside of Gilead’s control. He supports June, raises their daughter, and fights for their freedom. Nick, by contrast, operates from within the system and uses his position to control or influence June’s path. Turning their contrast into a romantic competition diminishes June’s story and reframes her trauma as something to be fought over by two men. This framing undermines the core message of the show and reduces a female-centered narrative to a male-centered emotional tug-of-war.
In the end, Above the Garage is a disappointing and often disturbing companion to a story that was meant to critique authoritarianism and misogyny. By excusing and romanticizing a regime enforcer and distorting the story into a shallow romance, the podcast betrays the very themes it claims to celebrate. Its commentary is shaped by a profound moral and ideological blind spot that erases the pain and agency of women in favor of fantasizing about the “nice guy” in uniform. If you are seeking thoughtful analysis of The Handmaid’s Tale, this podcast is not it. It is a platform that consistently misses the point.
