The best way to enjoy the screen adaptation of a bestselling novel is to sit in the company of voracious book readers and see if the film does it better than the written word
Still from It Ends With Us
Spoilers ahead
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The best way to enjoy the screen adaptation of a bestselling novel is to sit in the company of voracious book readers and see if the film does it better than the written word. When we entered the special screening of Justin Baldoni's It Ends With Us (at Sony's office on Monday) starring Blake Lively, based on Colleen Hoover's bestselling novel of the same name, that was the one question we were hoping to answer. We're happy to report that the unanimous response was: Yes. When we sat with Bookstagrammers to decode the film, that became our starting point. Aayusha, a well-known book blogger, tells us, "The film is not doubtful of its stance on abuse. The book community was divided on Ryle (played by Baldoni). He is this dreamy man who sweeps you off your feet, but in the movie, the awareness that there is something sinister about his dreaminess weighs heavy. It's amped up."
The film opens with Lily Bloom (played by Lively), a florist by profession who feels an immediate connection with neurosurgeon Ryle Kincaid (portrayed by Baldoni). Their initial encounter on a rooftop in Boston has the charm of a typical meet-cute, but it’s tinged with sadness as Lily is mourning the death of her father while Ryle is grappling with his own grief. His first scene shows him angrily kicking over a chair. Their relationship starts with light-hearted flirtation and palpable sexual tension, reminiscent of a classic romance film. However, it soon takes a darker turn, mirroring the domestic abuse Lily witnessed in her parents' relationship.
The film cheats a bit. It has obviously aged up the characters, which became a subject of scrutiny. The book world couldn't stomach the drastic shift. CoHo fan Shanti Reg, who caught the film at another screening, tells me that it was the most sensible decision the makers made. "By the time you're in your 30s, you begin to navigate childhood traumas. Those incidents that shaped you are also the reason for many of your flaws. You're insecure because you've been neglected. You see yourself mirroring patterns you despised in your parents, but unknowingly you've also absorbed their patterns. The film conveys all of this without underlining it. It uses some smart flashback moves to show the childhood trauma Lily carries, but it doesn't quite delve fully into it."
The decision to integrate Lily's childhood backstory in flashes is a smart one. It is through these glimpses into the past that we are introduced to her high school sweetheart, Atlas (played by Alex Neustaedter, with Isabela Ferrer as young Lily), who stands out as the idealized version of first love. When Atlas reappears in Lily’s life, his presence immediately throws her off balance. It infuriates Ryle too. Aayusha says, "There has been discussion about how Lily wasn't entirely fair to him either. She wasn't honest about her past." It's not hard to understand why a current boyfriend who is perceptive enough can gauge from his partner's energy with their ex what their current feelings toward them are. Ryle echoes this in the scene where he tells Lily, "Anybody but him..." Baldoni and Hoover have constructed Ryle well. He has this seemingly perfect exterior—a charming and successful brain surgeon—but there is something deeply unsettling about him. He makes her nervous. She is never completely at peace around him. Given the rom-com style of storytelling, it feels like raw passion that consumes the 'honeymoon period' of a relationship. But as the story progresses, the patterns feel all too familiar to Lily, her mother, and Atlas. Atlas, having witnessed his own mother's abuse at the hands of multiple partners, quickly recognizes the signs in Lily's relationship. Director Baldoni makes a deliberate choice to keep the audience within Lily’s perspective. The abuse seems almost accidental, with strategically ambiguous camera angles and editing that reflect her confusion. It’s not until Lily herself acknowledges the reality of her situation that the audience can fully grasp the gravity of the abuse—a clever creative decision, even though it does slow the pacing well into the second act. Lily calls herself an unreliable narrator. Domestic violence survivors are frequently perceived as unreliable narrators of their own experiences. The psychological toll of sustained abuse can distort memory and perception, making their recollections seem fragmented or inconsistent. This isn't a flaw in their character but a survival mechanism—a way to cope with trauma that is too overwhelming to face head-on. Often, the emotional closeness with their abuser, compounded by hope for change, leads them to downplay or even deny the severity of the abuse. These victims may dissociate, selectively forget, or reinterpret events in ways that make it easier to endure daily life. As a result, their narratives can appear disjointed, contradictory, or incomplete, even when they are trying to be truthful. This is a tragic irony: those who have suffered the most are often the ones least believed. In Lily's case, she doesn't believe the worst of Ryle because he is perfect in every sense of the term. Here's a man who's crazy about her, whose sister is her best friend; they are a wholesome bunch. He is loving, he makes breakfast for her, pampers her... how can something be wrong with that guy? Ryle is that mirage whose reality can't be further from who he projects himself as.
Another highlight of the film is the female friendship. There's a famous Taylor Swift track reflecting Lively's real friendship, and it carries on with Lily and Allysa (Jenny Slate). In a moving scene, Allysa tells Lily to leave her brother. "The celebration of girl code is spot on," says Reg. Vidhya Thakkar, another Bookstagrammer we met at the screening, says, "I was Team Atlas right from the start. Ryle seems too good to be true. When someone is so perfect, there's bound to be something amiss about him."
Om Kini, who also runs a book club on social media, says, "The book is ambiguous about Ryle. People did start romanticizing abuse. All the controversy started with that. The movie has done away with that ambiguity. From the movie, there is only one team—Team Lily." Aayusha tells us that the first time she read the book, she found Lily problematic. "She was hiding stuff and not telling her current partner about the things she left for Atlas. In the book, she names Emerson after a memory associated with Atlas. In the movie, the tables turned. She is a strong character; she stood up for herself and for her child. I liked Lily better in the movie." Which brings us to the film's climax. There's a cyclical nature to the abuse women face in this film. In a powerful moment, Lily tells Ryle she wants a divorce right after giving birth. It's evident she took nine months to process what happened to her, asked her mother why she didn't leave (It was too difficult to), and by the time she welcomes her daughter—she is resolute in her decision that the cycle of abuse must end with her. By this time, Ryle is aware of who he is as a man and is willing to get help. His apology is accepted—Lily names their daughter something special that helps him with his closure. Om worded this beautifully, "You can forgive, but you don't have to get back with them..."
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