Jenny Slate and Blake Lively star in IT ENDS WITH US.
Courtney Howard // Film Critic
IT ENDS WITH US
Rated PG-13, 2 hours and 10 minutes
Directed by: Justin Baldoni
Starring: Blake Lively, Justin Baldoni, Jenny Slate, Brandon Sklenar, Kevin McKidd, Amy Morton, Isabela Ferrer, Alex Neustaedter
IT ENDS WITH US is a mess of a movie with its heart in the right place, at least occasionally. Director/ co-star Justin Baldoni’s adaptation of Colleen Hoover’s novel is at war with itself, attempting to balance its altruistic sentiments – clearly meant to be a teaching tool to help women spot the signs of abuse – with its inherently shocking aspects, which are frequently hampered by poor scripting in their depiction. It’s kind of like SLEEPING WITH THE ENEMY or ENOUGH if either of those films spent any time empathizing with their abusive husbands. Laying hands on America’s Sweetheart (a crown that was Julia Roberts’ in the 90s, picked up by Blake Lively in this era) is enough of a cinematic crime to draw audience scorn.
While it’s noteworthy that the narrative doesn’t introduce its heroine trauma-first, it does have her wrestling with some major daddy issues right off the bat. When we first meet Lily Bloom (played by Lively in her adult years and her doppelgänger Isabela Ferrer in her youth), she’s returned to her picturesque hometown in Maine to eulogize her deceased dad Andrew (Kevin McKidd). This homecoming has stirred up lots of memories: fond ones of her first true love Atlas (Alex Neustaedter), who gave her a heart talisman she still bears, and frightening ones of her father’s violent physical abuse of her doting mother Jenny (Amy Morton). No longer okay with playing the dutiful daughter, she abandons his funeral, high-tailing it to her new life in Boston. There, she is a florist on the precipice of opening her dream flower shop that mixes unconventional with unexpected splendor. But destiny has a bigger plan in store.
Enter Ryle Kincaid (Baldoni), literally, all sturm und drang, onto the rooftop where Lily was loitering. He’s a single, handsome, wealthy neurosurgeon, angered by the loss of a young patient. Their meet-cute is fleeting, but as fate would have it, they bump into each other again as he’s the older brother of Lily’s lone employee/ bored, wealthy, glam bestie Allysa (Jenny Slate). But as Lily and Ryle’s romance heats up, and the pair marry, her past begins to interfere with her present, coalescing in a surprise reunion with Atlas (Brandon Sklenar) at his hip, Boston-based farm-to-table restaurant. Naturally, Ryle doesn’t take kindly to another male presence encroaching on Lily’s life. He asserts dominance over his wife in ways that leave a lasting mark, physically and psychologically.
Baldoni and adapting screenwriter Christy Hall make a point to show their female protagonist isn’t a shrinking violet, succumbing to victimhood. Rather, she’s on confusing quest to exonerate her male antagonist with the idea that hurt people hurt people. That concept is certainly an admirable lesson to be learned, but it feels misplaced and far too complex when inserted into a formulaic love triangle. They want to nobly portray Lily as someone who rescues two men (first Atlas from his bad living situation in their teens, and second Ryle from the shame and guilt over his irreparable childhood accident) when the focus should solely be on the heroine extricating herself from abusive power structures, breaking the cycle of generational trauma.
Metaphors and allusions abound, practically grabbing and shaking us, desperate for our acknowledgement of its alleged cleverness. Lily’s philosophy to return integrity, beauty and life to flowers’ waning days mirrors her own arc. Her shop’s renovation is a direct reflection of her evolving journey as sorrow transforms into splendor. The open heart tattoo is symbolic of her personal nature, as is the design Atlas carved from the sturdy oak tree outside her home.
While Ryle’s peak moment of rage against Lily feels upsetting and viscerally oppressive, the other two instances in the kitchen and the stairwell don’t land nearly as effectively, courtesy of the cheesy dialogue the actors are saddled with delivering. Lively is incandescent – a leading lady in her element when strutting around the frame in her masculine/ feminine wardrobe. She’s equal parts vulnerability and strength, in spite of the lackluster material, digging deep into her character’s wounded soul. Yet the real MVP is Slate, who provides much of the picture’s levity, grace and heart. She gives a full-color performance, whether it be in the comedic moments or in the quiet respite of the scenery, pulling out show-stopping work when gifted with heavy exposition.
It’s challenging to be totally on board with a film like this since it tries too hard to tell us it’s on the heroine’s side when there’s ample evidence it’s only partially in her corner. We’re also denied a Momentous Movie Moment the narrative had been building towards all along, drastically hobbling the impact of the love story, leaving us to question where’s the happy ending in all that.
Grade: C-
IT ENDS WITH US opens in theaters on August 9.
