Review: In ‘It Ends With Us,’ flirtation leads to abuse in a movie that soft-pedals the source text

Review: In 'It Ends With Us,' flirtation leads to abuse in a movie that soft-pedals the source text

As a cinephile with a penchant for films that delve into the complexities of human relationships and the resilience of women, I must say that “It Ends With Us” left me both enchanted and disappointed. Enchanted by its lavish production design, captivating performances, and the allure of a romantic melodrama that harkens back to the golden age of Hollywood. Disappointed, however, by its muddled adaptation from source material, which robs the protagonist of her agency and dilutes the harsh realities of intimate-partner violence.


Understanding the romantic melodrama “It Ends With Us,” featuring Blake Lively, requires recognizing its roots: it’s rooted in the current publishing industry landscape, where women authors and consumers hold significant influence. This background explains why the movie was made, catering to an audience that is frequently underrepresented in today’s film market, and boasting widespread recognition due to Lively’s name.

The screenplay for “It Ends With Us” was adapted by Christy Hall, based on Colleen Hoover’s highly successful 2016 novel. Initially, Hoover self-published her books, but they gained immense popularity on Kindle Unlimited, leading to her achieving the New York Times bestseller list independently before being acquired by Atria Books, a division of Simon & Schuster.

“It Ends With Us” is a deeply emotional, autobiographical account penned by Hoover, drawing from family anecdotes. The narrative revolves around the character Lily (portrayed by Lively), who embarks on a journey to break free from a repetitive pattern of domestic abuse. This pattern stems from her observation of her parents’ tumultuous marriage and later finds its grip in a damaging relationship she encounters herself.

As a cinephile taking you through this captivating tale, let me share my thoughts on the enchanting journey of Lily Bloom, a vibrant Bostonian dreamer yearning to establish her own floral emporium – aptly titled “Lily Bloom’s”. The narrative unfolds at the somber occasion of her father’s funeral, where Lily finds it challenging to pinpoint even a few qualities she admired about him. In the stillness of the night on a rooftop terrace, she crosses paths with a chiseled neurosurgeon brimming with anger, Ryle – played by Justin Baldoni.

In a later encounter, they rekindle their romance, but complications arise when Lily bumps into her old flame, Atlas (Brandon Sklenar), a popular restaurant owner from high school whom she hasn’t seen since then. Atlas is a handsome chef and the proprietor of a beloved eatery. Ryle’s growing jealousy of Atlas intensifies the turbulence in his relationship with Lily, which has led to instances of violence and injury, regardless of whether they were intentional or not.

Despite the youthful tone and questionable writing quality in Hoover’s novel, it offers an unflinching portrayal of the harsh truths surrounding intimate-partner violence. The character Lily, while sometimes grating due to her immaturity, displays a clear understanding of her situation. In contrast, the film version of Lily appears more mature and composed, yet she fails to recognize the abusive nature of her relationship. This portrayal in the movie is problematic as it prolongs the blurred depiction of abuse, stripping our protagonist of her autonomy and obscuring Ryle’s manipulative behavior for an unsettling length of time.

It’s worth mentioning that director Baldoni, who portrays the abusive character Ryle, holds a dual role in the film. Whether it was during screenwriting or due to decisions based on test screenings and audience feedback, it appears that the movie deliberately hides Ryle’s true character. This is evident when his intentions are unveiled late in the film, through a montage that seems inconsistent with Hoover’s narration of the events. One possible explanation for this choice could be to prevent the audience (who might not have read the book) from turning against Ryle prematurely.

Making certain adjustments lightens Ryle’s harsh behaviors. However, the choices made during adaptation for “It Ends With Us” lead to Lily appearing wiser and more intelligent, yet she becomes a character who is powerless, cooperative, and perplexed, which raises concerns about the narrative’s theme.

In Baldoni’s creative style for portraying Hoover’s universe, there is an emphasis on creating a dreamy, romantic escape, typical of literature and film genres: extravagant costumes, stunning sets, a Boston that never seems to snow, extended sequences of courtship and seduction accompanied by modern indie tunes. This world often feels detached from reality, but since it’s a romantic melodrama, this isn’t surprising. However, the narrative also tackles harsh realities, and glossing over Lily’s traumatic experiences for a more pleasant portrayal doesn’t align with the raw truths that Hoover revealed in her book, which resonated deeply with a wide female readership yearning for such stories.

“It’s Reminiscent of the ‘Women’s Films’ Popular in Hollywood during the 1940s – roles like Bette Davis might have played in such a film around 80 years ago. However, these films also aimed to portray raw, unvarnished truths, and this adaptation, despite its attempts, seems to miss the mark, veering too closely and yet too far from its original source.”

Walsh is a Tribune News Service film critic.

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2024-08-10 01:02

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