'It Ends with Us' Review

Every once in a while, there comes a moment during a critic’s career where they have a bit of an existential crisis over whether their opinion matters. Those pangs of self-doubt and uselessness can come in all shapes and sizes, covering an entire body of work or just a single piece. While I’ve never endured the self-questioning of my work as a whole (yet), there was a distinct moment during It Ends with Us where I seriously doubted any sort of merit I could bring to the conversation surrounding the film and the book it is based on.

That immediate moment of realization came within the theater, but before the projector had even been turned on. After walking down the theater hallway and the entrance into the specific room, I turned the corner to see that the entire auditorium was filled with women, the majority of whom were members of a local book club. I’ll admit, this already sounds like it’s the start of a whiny tell-all where a man finally realizes the world isn’t catered to him. It’s not that serious, nor was this even close to the first time I learned that movies can have different target audiences. But it was a gentle reminder that there are certain movies I can’t expect myself to “get,” something that I appreciate since too many movies try to be for everyone, which inadvertently makes them appealing to no one.

It Ends with Us easily slots into that “book club sensation” microgenre, with many of its members being sneaky box office sensations. Where the Crawdads Sing grossed over $150 million post-pandemic, and The Idea of You became Amazon MGM’s number-one romantic comedy ever on steaming earlier this year. Based on my audience’s reception as the screen cut to black and the credits rolled, It Ends with Us will follow a similar trajectory along with a healthy CinemaScore.

Director Justin Baldoni has already tapped this source twice before with Five Feet Apart and Disney+ Original Clouds, both cancer dramas. That subject never gets broached here, although things do start on an equally glib note with the funeral for Lily’s (Blake Lively) father, who was a domestic abuser throughout much of her childhood. Love and relationships have never been simple for Lily, which is why she’s stayed single in Boston all these years, her dreams of opening a flower shop being her driving force.

Ryle Kincaid (Baldoni, casting himself as the irresistible neurosurgeon) is also in the same boat, although he’s intentionally put himself there after years of trading love for lust. Ryle shows all the signs a college orientation would give you to identify a sexual predator; including saying things like “I need a kiss to get you out of my head” and never taking no for an answer. Within the confines of the page, there could be the slightest bit of room for interpretation about the dynamic Lily and Ryle share. But once it’s projected on a giant screen right in front of you and literalized, it just comes off as creepy and pathetic. Sure, that is part of the point, but Baldoni’s attempts as both the director and actor to make Ryle into a romantically compelling character end up backfiring on every occasion. It also brings into question the “relatable” brush screenwriter Christy Hall (writer/director of Daddio earlier this year) tries to paint Lily with, as if any girl couldn’t be at fault for falling for this guy.

Forming the final part of this love triangle is Atlas Corrigan (Brandon Sklenar), Lily’s first love from high school and now the owner of the hottest restaurant in town (did I mention that he’s really hot as well?). Where Ryle is controlling and manipulative, Atlas is caring and sensitive. They all have tragic backstories, all of which conveniently explain their current problems and behaviors.

Furnishing the mass marketization of domestic abuse and toxicity is the most popular art direction and costuming from the “cozy” section of Pinterest. Kevin McKidd feels like a prop as Lily’s father, his Grey’s Anatomy connection causing a flurry of excited whispers amongst the audience. There are not as many opportunities to appreciate the eye candy as I would have hoped, with Baldoni shooting most scenes through close-ups, often recreating the Focus Features logo background across the Boston skyline.

Lively pops off the screen as much as her questionable fashion choices (I’m definitely no expert, but what she wears to her father’s funeral seemed like a bit too much), with one almost wishing that the entire movie would have ditched the two possible lovers and solely focused on her running her flower shop with Jenny Slate and Hasan Minhaj. The brief glimpses into Lily and Atlas’ past can stay, though, as newcomer Isabela Ferrer and Alex Neustaedter share some wonderful moments.

Readers of the book will no doubt be satisfied with what Baldoni has crafted, while those making this their first experience with the story will be left wondering what all the commotion has been about on Goodreads for all these years. Lively’s husband, Ryan Reynolds, just got a pass these past few weeks for making Deadpool & Wolverine “for the fans,” so it's best to apply that same metric here.