For such a celebrated writer, it’s puzzling why it took so long for Colleen Hoover’s books to be adapted to film. I say film and not specifically big screen because I imagine her over-the-top soppy style seems tailor-made for the streaming services. Throw this in between episodes of Bridgerton, and you have a dedicated audience.
Hoover’s self-published bestseller, “It Ends With Us,” became a sensation during the COVID-19 lockdown, capturing the hearts of countless teen girls through the viral force of BookTok. The book offered real insight into a girl torn between two men while struggling to break the vicious cycle of domestic abuse in her family. With over 20 million copies sold, according to the BBC, its eventual leap to Hollywood seemed inevitable. Yet, the film adaptation falls short, lacking the depth and nuance that could have elevated it beyond just another tearjerker.
“It Ends With Us” starts with Lily Bloom, played by Blake Lively, visiting her hometown for her father’s funeral. The visit unearths traumatic memories to the point where Lily cannot even point out five nice things about him in her eulogy. Back in Boston, Lily is opening a flower shop, because how could she not with a name like that? It is a detail so ridiculous she almost feels embarrassed by it when she meets Ryle Kincaid, played by Justin Baldoni, who also directs the film. Ryle is a gorgeous, wealthy neurosurgeon, who is willing to let go of his womanizing ways for Lily. It’s the kind of setup that screams for a dash of self-awareness, but instead, the film takes itself painfully seriously.
As the story unfolds, we are introduced to Jenny Slate’s Allysa, a wealthy socialite who randomly stumbles into Lily’s shop and inexplicably asks for a job. She later turns out to be Ryle’s sister, a coincidence so forced that it undermines the narrative’s credibility.
The film’s visual style fares no better, with poor costuming choices that undermine Lively’s performance. Through flashbacks, we learn that Lily really is a down-home girl at heart. She grew up in Maine, loved flowers and fell in love with the boy next door, Atlas, played by Brandon Sklenar, who was homeless at the time. They cooked and planted a garden together, creating lifelong memories and, as a result, Lily is always wearing some sort of workwear. Carhartt and canvas are folded into Lively’s Anthropologie florals and Free People crop tops, a reminder that Lily has never forgotten her roots, but Lively’s look registers as an overly curated millennial rather than actually organic to her character. In other words, “It Ends With Us” simply feels too self-consciously manufactured.
When adult Atlas reenters Lily’s life, the film flirts with the idea of exploring the complexities of past love versus present reality. But rather than delving into these emotions, it skims the surface. There’s little exploration of how Lily has grown or how her teenage memories might distort her current reality. The film’s reluctance to probe these depths makes it feel hollow, especially when compared to other recent films like “Past Lives,” which masterfully tackled the intricacies of memory and change.
The core issue with “It Ends With Us” isn’t a lack of sincerity — Blake Lively’s tearful performance makes that clear — but rather its reliance on the genre’s most worn-out tropes. Lily Bloom isn’t a relatable protagonist; she’s an idealized version of upper-middle-class aspiration, complete with a flower shop that charges $51 for a basic bouquet and a backstory that reads more like a soap opera than a serious drama. Her name, her town and even her struggles seem meticulously designed to fit neatly into a romantic fantasy rather than reflect a real-life narrative.
In a world where consumerism and media often glamorize trauma, “It Ends With Us” runs the risk of romanticizing suffering rather than offering a genuine exploration of it. According to the National Center for Domestic Violence, one in five adults experiences domestic abuse, making it a pervasive issue that demands accurate and sensitive representation. High-profile films like “It Ends With Us” have a significant responsibility to portray such issues authentically, rather than just churning out the next rom-com.
As the film nears its conclusion, it delves into complex and uncomfortable territory, culminating in a resolution that, while not exactly nuanced, does manage to capture some of Lily’s internal struggle. The final message — part “I can change my path” and part “What would you do if this was your daughter?” — reflects her turmoil as she grapples with the decision to stay with someone dazzling yet dangerously volatile.
Ultimately, “It Ends With Us” doesn’t just miss the mark; it leaves a bitter aftertaste. What could have been a thoughtful exploration of love, trauma and personal growth instead feels like a glossy, shallow rehash of romantic clichés. If this is how Lily’s story ends, it’s hard to believe it will truly end here — more likely, it will fade into the background noise of countless other forgettable adaptations.
