Book-to-Film Review: 'It Ends With Us' (2024)

Amid the lawsuits, internet feuds, and co-stars such as Jenny Slate weighing in on what it was like working with Justin Baldoni during the filming of It Ends With Us, I decided to give the movie a watch. Here’s the thing: over the past five years, there has been a noticeable increase in book-to-film adaptations, most of which are written by White authors with lackluster storylines. Yet these projects continue to be greenlit, while many African American authors with stronger plots and far richer character development rarely receive the same opportunities. As for the film itself, I would give it a solid 3/10.

The main character, Lily Bloom, is insufferable throughout. From the way she dresses to the close-ups and wide shots that frame her almost perfectly in every scene, the character feels more curated than developed. Blake Lively is a stunning woman, and as someone who loves A Simple Favor, I expected to see a character with a clear sense of style tied to a specific trend or personality trait. Instead, there was no cohesion between the wardrobe and the character. Which brings me to a larger issue: who is Lily Bloom?

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Is she a small-town woman who dreams of owning a flower shop, getting married, and settling down? Is she a free-spirited woman returning home in search of comfort and familiarity? Or is she a woman deeply affected by childhood trauma, resentful of her mother for staying in an abusive marriage, and therefore unable to trust or love a man? That last version, in particular, would make emotional sense and would explain her internal conflict.

If the writer had committed to that angle, the story would have required Lily to be emotionally guarded and resistant to relationships, with Ryle positioned as the pursuer. He would be the one attempting to convince a deeply traumatized woman that he is safe, trustworthy, and capable of love. Instead, we’re given a muddled narrative where it’s unclear who Lily is or what she wants to be. Why is she so emotionally available while simultaneously having flashbacks of her father abusing her mother? Why is Ryle placed in a position where he must wear the villain label when his behavior initially does not justify it?

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Let’s unpack this. In act one, Ryle finds Lily on the roof and is immediately honest about his intentions. His motto is lust over love. Lily responds by saying she values love and will only sleep with a man when there is commitment. Yet, had he not been called into work, wasn’t she moments away from kissing him, a moment that could have easily led to intimacy? From the very first night, her boundaries collapse, contradicting the values she just expressed. 

As the story progresses, we meet Jenny, who conveniently turns out to be Ryle’s younger sister. She walks into a dilapidated flower shop carrying a Birkin bag and casually asks for a job. And from there, the story continues to lean into coincidence rather than coherence. At this point, my jaw was on the floor. She just happens to get this job…for the plot. The pacing of this film completely threw me off, because the next thing I know, Ryle is in love with Lily and the words “I love you” are exchanged so frequently that I nearly got whiplash. 

But this is where the story really goes off the rails. Lily runs into her first love at a restaurant he now owns while she’s in a relationship with Ryle, the man who famously “doesn’t do relationships” but made an exception for her because he liked her so much. Suddenly, all these old feelings resurface. Excuse me? They dated in high school. That was nearly 18 years ago. She’s had other relationships since then and is now married to Ryle, yet she’s still “in love” with Atlas? How is that possible? When her husband asks if she’s still in love with this man from 18 years ago, she responds with, “I don’t know.” This makes Lily an overwhelmingly frustrating character. Why marry someone when you’re still emotionally tied to your childhood love? Why wasn’t therapy ever considered, let alone prioritized?

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I want to be clear: I do not condone any form of domestic abuse. That said, this film, in my opinion, trivializes real domestic violence because the incidents portrayed are largely avoidable or framed in a misleading way.

Ryle burns food and reaches into the oven with his bare hand. Lily suddenly appears behind him, and he accidentally hits her while also injuring himself. Fine. Then we cut to Atlas’s restaurant, where he misinterprets the situation and steps into a hero role. How am I supposed to root for the ex when the incident was genuinely accidental?

Next, Lily lies to her husband about her feelings for Atlas. Again, this is someone from 18 years ago. Ryle falls in love with her, moves her into his home, marries her, supports her, and she’s still emotionally attached to another man and lies about it. At this point, I hate that Lily made me side with a man here, but was Ryle truly meant to be the antagonist? Haven’t we all seen What’s Love Got to Do With It and understand what real domestic violence actually looks like?

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Then Lily chases Ryle down the stairs as he tries to get away, only to once again injure herself accidentally. This pattern repeats itself, and it becomes difficult to view her as a reliable narrator of her own suffering. Lily reads as masochistic, and I won’t be convinced otherwise. She continually places herself in situations where she is likely to get hurt, then weaponizes those moments to break down Ryle’s defenses, effectively excusing her own harmful behavior throughout the relationship and later the marriage. Fast forward, she has a child and declares, This ends with us. The same woman whose so-called abuse was largely preventable. And then, unbelievably, the movie ends with her running into Atlas yet again. Please.

I only gave this film a three because the color correction was excellent. The warm tones worked beautifully, and visually, it was well shot. That aside, below is a list of authors who I genuinely believe deserve these film budgets and industry attention:

Nicola Sanders, author of Don't Let Her Stay
Lisa K. Stephenson, author of The Snows of Khione — easily one of my top five reads
Michelle Hodkin, author of The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer

by Riley Cook
Image Credit(s): Photo by Courtesy Sony Pictures Ent. - © 2024 CTMG, Inc. All Rights Reserved.