There are certain gaming experiences that burn themselves into your memory—moments so intense that your palms sweat just thinking about them years later. For me, the winter chapter of The Last of Us, with Ellie’s terrifying encounters with David and his cannibalistic community, sits at the top of that list. I remember playing through the final confrontation in that burning restaurant, heart pounding, desperately clicking the attack button as Ellie fought for her life. It was visceral, disturbing, and unforgettable.
So when HBO’s adaptation reached this storyline in episode 8, “When We Are in Need,” I found myself in a strange position—knowing exactly what horrors were coming but experiencing them in an entirely new way. I wasn’t controlling Ellie’s desperate struggle anymore; I was witnessing it, which created a different kind of tension altogether.
The episode wastes no time establishing the winter chapter survival elements that made this section of the game so memorable. The harsh environment, the scarcity of resources, Ellie hunting for food to keep a gravely injured Joel alive—all these elements create a backdrop of desperation before David even enters the picture. The show captures that bone-deep cold that seemed to radiate from the screen during the game, the kind of winter that feels like an active, malevolent force rather than just a season.
My wife, who watched with me but never played the game, grabbed my arm during Ellie’s first encounter with David and his companion. “Is he bad? He seems bad,” she whispered. That’s the brilliance of how both the game and show introduce David—there’s something immediately unsettling about him despite his initial offers of help and trade. The show expands on this by giving us more of David before Ellie meets him, showing him as a preacher to his community, which adds layers to his character without diminishing his menace.
Scott Shepherd’s villain portrayal deserves special recognition. He captures David’s predatory nature with subtle, skin-crawling precision. There’s a stillness to his performance, a measured quality that makes his rare moments of sudden movement or anger all the more shocking. When he gently tells Ellie, “You’ve got a lot of heart,” the compliment sounds like a threat because of how Shepherd delivers it—like he’s appraising livestock rather than recognizing courage. It’s different from Nolan North’s equally excellent but more overtly unstable performance in the game, but equally effective.
The cannibalism revelation horror unfolds differently in the show compared to the game, but with similar impact. Rather than Ellie discovering human remains as in the game, David calmly tells her she’s already eaten human meat, thinking she’s ready to accept their way of life. The quiet way he presents this monstrous information, as if discussing something mildly unpleasant but necessary, makes it all the more disturbing. My friend Mark, who watched the episode a day before me, texted afterward with just three words: “David the cannibal,” followed by several vomit emojis. Eloquent as always, Mark.
Bella Ramsey’s performance violence throughout this episode is nothing short of remarkable. The range she displays—from vulnerable terror when caged, to calculated manipulation as she plays along with David’s grooming, to primal fury in the final confrontation—creates a complete arc of trauma and resistance. There’s a moment when David touches her hand through the cage bars, and Ramsey shows Ellie’s revulsion while still maintaining the facade of considering his offer. It’s complex, nuanced acting that conveys how quickly Ellie has had to grow up and how much she understands about predatory behavior despite her youth.
The restaurant fight scene adaptation heightens the chaos and terror of the game sequence. The fire spreading around them, the disorienting camera work that puts us in Ellie’s panicked perspective, the brutal physicality of their struggle—it’s filmmaking that doesn’t just recreate a game sequence but translates it into a new medium with its own strengths. I found myself holding my breath during this scene, even though I knew exactly how it would end. That’s the mark of effective adaptation—creating tension even for those familiar with the source material.
My gaming buddy Chris, who watched the episode with his teenage daughter, told me afterward that she was literally hiding behind a pillow during this sequence. “It’s different than the game,” he said. “In the game, you’re stressed because you’re responsible for Ellie surviving. Watching it, you’re stressed because you can’t help her at all.” That powerlessness creates a different but equally affecting experience.
What makes this storyline so pivotal is how it represents Ellie’s trauma development at a crucial point in her journey. In the earlier episodes, Ellie has killed to survive, but her confrontation with David marks a turning point—violence becomes something she embraces out of rage and trauma, not just necessity. The show captures this transformation faithfully. When Ellie finally gets the upper hand and begins stabbing David repeatedly, Ramsey shows us something new in Ellie’s character—a release of accumulated fear and powerlessness through overwhelming violence. It’s not just self-defense anymore; it’s catharsis.
The aftermath, when Joel finds her, creates one of the most touching father daughter moments in the series. After the intensity of the David confrontation, Pedro Pascal’s gentle “It’s okay, baby girl” as he pulls Ellie away from David’s body provides essential emotional release. The contrast between David’s predatory false concern and Joel’s genuine protective love is stark and affecting. Pascal’s performance here is all about restraint—Joel’s rage at what’s happened to Ellie is present but contained, secondary to his need to comfort her.
I found myself unexpectedly emotional during this scene, despite having experienced it before in the game. Something about seeing these characters embodied by actual humans, about watching Ellie break down in Joel’s arms after maintaining such desperate strength, hit differently than controlling those same moments through gameplay. My girlfriend noticed me wiping my eyes and paused the show. “Are you crying?” she asked, clearly enjoying this rare display. “Allergies,” I muttered unconvincingly. “Sure, to feelings maybe,” she replied. Touché.
The violence justified theme exploration runs throughout this episode, raising uncomfortable questions about survival in this world. David’s community turns to cannibalism in the name of survival, while Ellie’s extreme violence against David is presented as not just justified but necessary. The show doesn’t simplify these moral questions but presents them in all their complexity. There’s a particularly telling moment when David explains to Ellie that he prevented his community from seeking revenge for the man Joel killed (who was trying to kill them) because “there’s a better way.” The irony, of course, is that this “better way” involves eating people. The show forces us to confront how moral frameworks collapse and reform in extreme circumstances.
My friend Teresa, who works as a trauma counselor, watched this episode and immediately texted me about how accurately it portrayed the psychology of survival. “That dissociative state Ellie goes into after killing David? That’s exactly what happens in extreme trauma situations,” she wrote. “Your brain protects you by creating distance from what you’ve just experienced.” The show’s willingness to sit in that uncomfortable psychological space, to show the aftermath of violence rather than just the act itself, elevates it beyond typical post-apocalyptic stories.
David’s character predatory nature is emphasized differently in the show compared to the game. The game hints at his sexual interest in Ellie, but the show makes his grooming behaviors more explicit while never crossing into exploitation. There’s a stomach-turning paternal quality to how he treats her, offering her a place in his community while clearly viewing her as a potential romantic partner. It creates an additional layer of horror beyond the cannibalism—this is a man who sees a vulnerable teenage girl as something to possess and mold. Shepherd’s performance makes these moments almost more disturbing than the violent confrontation that follows.
The episode also expands on Joel’s desperate search for Ellie, showing his interrogation of David’s men with a cold brutality that reminds us who Joel was before Ellie came into his life. The contrast between his methodical torture of the captives and his gentle care for Ellie afterward creates a complex portrait of a man capable of extreme violence and extreme tenderness, sometimes within minutes of each other. Pascal conveys this duality without making it seem contradictory—these are different facets of the same protective instinct.
What’s particularly effective about the winter chapter adaptation is how it stands alone as a horror story while advancing the larger narrative. Even if you knew nothing about Joel and Ellie’s journey to that point, this episode functions as a self-contained nightmare about a young girl trapped by a predatory cult leader. But for those following the full story, it represents a crucial transformation in Joel and Ellie’s relationship—the moment when his protection of her becomes unconditional and her trust in him solidifies after nearly being abandoned.
As the credits rolled on this episode, I sat in silence for a few minutes, processing what I’d watched. There’s something uniquely powerful about experiencing a story you know well through a different medium, seeing familiar emotional beats approached from new angles. The Last of Us has always been about the horrors humans inflict on each other and the connections that help us survive those horrors. “When We Are in Need” captures both sides of that equation with unflinching intensity, giving us one of the most disturbing and ultimately cathartic episodes of television I’ve seen in years.
The next time I replay that winter chapter in the game, I know I’ll see it differently—informed by the performances of Ramsey and Shepherd, by the visual language of the adaptation, by the expanded characterizations. That’s the mark of a truly successful adaptation—it doesn’t replace the original experience but enters into conversation with it, each version enriching our understanding of the other. Just like Joel and Ellie, the game and show are stronger together than apart.
