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Now streaming: IT ENDS WITH US (2024)
As seen through Baldoni’s faltering lens, and without the benefit of flashbacks, two examples of physical abuse might initially have been written off as unfortunate accidents.
It ends with arbitration.
IT ENDS WITH US (2024) Justin Baldoni / Writer: Christy Hall from the novel of the same name by Colleen Hoover / Cinematographer: Barry Peterson (2.35 : 1) / Design: Russell Barnes / Editors: Oona Flaherty & Robb Sullivan / Composers: Duncan Blickenstaff & Rob Simonsen / Acted by: Blake Lively, Justin Baldoni, Jenny Slate, Brandon Sklenar, Hasan Minhaj, Kevin McKidd, Amy Morton, and Isabela Ferrer / USA / Columbia Pictures / Rated R / 130 min.
It Ends With Us surpassed all box office expectations, raking in an undreamt of $351 million against a $25 million budget. Despite the public outpouring, or perhaps due to it, the project has been overshadowed by the highly publicized legal disputes between the above-the-line talent. When court adjourned, the film’s producers and co-stars, Blake Lively and Justin Baldoni — the latter sporting a third cap as director — ended up signing over a tidy sum of their profits to lawyers hired to superintend a well-publicized courtroom back-and-forth.
The behind-the-scenes tumult has no doubt impacted the film's reception. In June 2025, Judge Lewis Liman dismissed the $400 million defamation and extortion lawsuit filed by Baldoni. Earlier this month, the judge shot down 10 of Lively’s 13 claims, including those central to accusations of sexual harassment. The judicial proceedings came to an end (for now) with both parties claiming victory, though no monetary damages were awarded.
Video:
Trailer: IT ENDS WITH US
When it premiered in August 2024, I was a critic without an outlet and as such felt no urgency to cover Blake Lively’s career nor that of director Justin Baldoni. She was a standout in The Town and Woody Allen’s Cafe Society, but in this case the clunky tonal shifts and a script wrought from cast-iron cliches put the actress off her game.
Baldoni’s only previous directorial point of reference was Five Feet Apart, a doomed-teen romance in which Haley Lu Richardson and Cole Sprouse’s undeniable chemistry wasn’t enough to elevate the material beyond a Lifetime Channel alternative. Here, it’s easier to swallow Baldoni as a neurosurgeon than it is Lively as a giggly mourner fresh off of burying a parent.
The film opens in fictional Plethora, Maine, where Bostonian Lily Bloom (Lively) makes a reluctant return home to eulogize her father, the town mayor (and her prime abuser). Unable to ad-lib five bullet points from a blank piece of paper, Lily bolts from the church only to run into Atlas Corrigan (Brandon Sklenar), the once homeless classmate — he lived in the basement of the abandoned house across the street — with whom Lily lost her virginity.
But they were kids then. Right? What chance is there for a second act in a place like this? Surely Atlas shrugged her off decades ago.
You’ve heard of the “meet cute?” When Ryle Kincaid (Baldoni) struts into Lily’s life, he carries with him a “meet brute” esthetic. Harmfully dashing Ryle can’t put his evening delirium on hold long enough to grab a smoke on the roof garden without launching into full Billy Jack mode, kicking the rust out of patio furniture.
First impressions can say a lot about the nature of a character. The moment Lily makes her presence known, her legs dangling in dangerously suicidal fashion over the roof, Ryle switches from potential spree killer to Grade A boyfriend material, pulling up a piece of ledge to make with the romantic patter.
Confidentially, the film could have withstood a few more first act flashbacks. The actress who plays the young Lily (Isabela Ferrer), a dead ringer for Lively, registers with a surprising amount of poise and conviction. It’s a pity the rest of the film can't match her footing.
Stop the music! A florist named Lily Bloom? You’re kidding! An anger management flunkee named Ryle? Really? A day-saving hunk named Atlas? Get outta here! Why not Flora N. Fauna, Cy Coe, and Herk Ulees? I’d wager novelist Colleen Hoover — named for sucking in bales of residual sales — put more thought into aptronyms than she did depth of character.
It’s been widely reported that Baldoni failed to make mention of the film’s themes of physical, emotional, and/or sexual abuse during the press tour. How does one make a film on this subject matter without boldly confronting the white elephant in the story? It’s like touting a monster movie without a boogeyperson, The Exorcist without an exorcism. In this case, the subject is an all-too common real-life horror, one that’s been played out so often in movies it’s unclear as to whether Baldoni’s passive approach represents a reluctance to speak up for fear of turning off potential ticket buyers with the promise of a 130 minute bummer?
The idea of spousal abuse might never have come into play were it not for a pair of purposefully deceitful flashbacks. At one point, Lily refers to herself as an “unreliable narrator.” But it is director Baldoni’s intentions that are not to be trusted.
Ryle’s older sister, Allysa (Jenny Slate, a welcome addition to any credits roll), warns Lily, her friend (and boss), “he goes through women like candy.” What Allysa fails to point up are her brother’s anger issues and pronounced violent streak. As seen through Baldoni’s faltering lens, and without the benefit of flashbacks, two examples of physical abuse might initially have been written off as unfortunate accidents. Viewed from different angles, the scenes in question don’t cut together.
A smoke detector chirps its 9 volt alert. While trying to salvage that night’s charred dinner, Ryle swings wide the oven door and, without stopping to think, makes a frantic barehanded grab for a red hot casserole. A natural withdrawal reflex sends the dish crashing to the ground, his arm flailing backwards into Lily’s face.
When the same scene plays out reels later in flashback, and from a different angle, it's clear that Ryle paused a beat before knowingly and purposefully delivering an aggressive backhand.
In another even more flagrant example, Ryle chases Lily down a stairwell. A rapid turn on the landing caused her to lose footing and tumble down a flight.
Your Honor, I’d like to enter into the record the following two visual aids:
Exhibit A: Ryle standing in the stairwell, palms up.
Exhibit B: In flashback, Ryle’s hands squarely grip Lily’s shoulders, ready to give her a heave-ho.
From a directorial standpoint, the use of “lying flashbacks,” as Hitchcock called them, to reveal the film's core theme of domestic violence felt exploitative. Don’t minimize sexual assault simply to advance the plot. Rather than utilizing these "reveals" to create suspense, the narrative would have been far more impactful if Ryle’s inner Mr. Hyde had been established honestly from the jump. This would have eliminated the need for gimmicky flashbacks and allowed the film to address its serious subject matter with greater transparency.
The worst thing a director can do is lie to their audience with material that’s been done a thousand times before. It’s uninspired, derivative, and frankly, no one’s buying it anymore — said the critic of the film that cleared $325 million. If we’re going to put something on screen, it needs to have a pulse and a shred of original intent. Regurgitating tired tropes is the quickest way to lose a viewer's trust. *
Here's something you might be interested in.
Now streaming: IT ENDS WITH US (2024)
As seen through Baldoni’s faltering lens, and without the benefit of flashbacks, two examples of physical abuse might initially have been written off as unfortunate accidents.
Now streaming: IT ENDS WITH US (2024)
As seen through Baldoni’s faltering lens, and without the benefit of flashbacks, two examples of physical abuse might initially have been written off as unfortunate accidents.
It ends with arbitration.
IT ENDS WITH US (2024) Justin Baldoni / Writer: Christy Hall from the novel of the same name by Colleen Hoover / Cinematographer: Barry Peterson (2.35 : 1) / Design: Russell Barnes / Editors: Oona Flaherty & Robb Sullivan / Composers: Duncan Blickenstaff & Rob Simonsen / Acted by: Blake Lively, Justin Baldoni, Jenny Slate, Brandon Sklenar, Hasan Minhaj, Kevin McKidd, Amy Morton, and Isabela Ferrer / USA / Columbia Pictures / Rated R / 130 min.
It Ends With Us surpassed all box office expectations, raking in an undreamt of $351 million against a $25 million budget. Despite the public outpouring, or perhaps due to it, the project has been overshadowed by the highly publicized legal disputes between the above-the-line talent. When court adjourned, the film’s producers and co-stars, Blake Lively and Justin Baldoni — the latter sporting a third cap as director — ended up signing over a tidy sum of their profits to lawyers hired to superintend a well-publicized courtroom back-and-forth.
The behind-the-scenes tumult has no doubt impacted the film's reception. In June 2025, Judge Lewis Liman dismissed the $400 million defamation and extortion lawsuit filed by Baldoni. Earlier this month, the judge shot down 10 of Lively’s 13 claims, including those central to accusations of sexual harassment. The judicial proceedings came to an end (for now) with both parties claiming victory, though no monetary damages were awarded.
Video:
Trailer: IT ENDS WITH US
When it premiered in August 2024, I was a critic without an outlet and as such felt no urgency to cover Blake Lively’s career nor that of director Justin Baldoni. She was a standout in The Town and Woody Allen’s Cafe Society, but in this case the clunky tonal shifts and a script wrought from cast-iron cliches put the actress off her game.
Baldoni’s only previous directorial point of reference was Five Feet Apart, a doomed-teen romance in which Haley Lu Richardson and Cole Sprouse’s undeniable chemistry wasn’t enough to elevate the material beyond a Lifetime Channel alternative. Here, it’s easier to swallow Baldoni as a neurosurgeon than it is Lively as a giggly mourner fresh off of burying a parent.
The film opens in fictional Plethora, Maine, where Bostonian Lily Bloom (Lively) makes a reluctant return home to eulogize her father, the town mayor (and her prime abuser). Unable to ad-lib five bullet points from a blank piece of paper, Lily bolts from the church only to run into Atlas Corrigan (Brandon Sklenar), the once homeless classmate — he lived in the basement of the abandoned house across the street — with whom Lily lost her virginity.
But they were kids then. Right? What chance is there for a second act in a place like this? Surely Atlas shrugged her off decades ago.
You’ve heard of the “meet cute?” When Ryle Kincaid (Baldoni) struts into Lily’s life, he carries with him a “meet brute” esthetic. Harmfully dashing Ryle can’t put his evening delirium on hold long enough to grab a smoke on the roof garden without launching into full Billy Jack mode, kicking the rust out of patio furniture.
First impressions can say a lot about the nature of a character. The moment Lily makes her presence known, her legs dangling in dangerously suicidal fashion over the roof, Ryle switches from potential spree killer to Grade A boyfriend material, pulling up a piece of ledge to make with the romantic patter.
Confidentially, the film could have withstood a few more first act flashbacks. The actress who plays the young Lily (Isabela Ferrer), a dead ringer for Lively, registers with a surprising amount of poise and conviction. It’s a pity the rest of the film can't match her footing.
Stop the music! A florist named Lily Bloom? You’re kidding! An anger management flunkee named Ryle? Really? A day-saving hunk named Atlas? Get outta here! Why not Flora N. Fauna, Cy Coe, and Herk Ulees? I’d wager novelist Colleen Hoover — named for sucking in bales of residual sales — put more thought into aptronyms than she did depth of character.
It’s been widely reported that Baldoni failed to make mention of the film’s themes of physical, emotional, and/or sexual abuse during the press tour. How does one make a film on this subject matter without boldly confronting the white elephant in the story? It’s like touting a monster movie without a boogeyperson, The Exorcist without an exorcism. In this case, the subject is an all-too common real-life horror, one that’s been played out so often in movies it’s unclear as to whether Baldoni’s passive approach represents a reluctance to speak up for fear of turning off potential ticket buyers with the promise of a 130 minute bummer?
The idea of spousal abuse might never have come into play were it not for a pair of purposefully deceitful flashbacks. At one point, Lily refers to herself as an “unreliable narrator.” But it is director Baldoni’s intentions that are not to be trusted.
Ryle’s older sister, Allysa (Jenny Slate, a welcome addition to any credits roll), warns Lily, her friend (and boss), “he goes through women like candy.” What Allysa fails to point up are her brother’s anger issues and pronounced violent streak. As seen through Baldoni’s faltering lens, and without the benefit of flashbacks, two examples of physical abuse might initially have been written off as unfortunate accidents. Viewed from different angles, the scenes in question don’t cut together.
A smoke detector chirps its 9 volt alert. While trying to salvage that night’s charred dinner, Ryle swings wide the oven door and, without stopping to think, makes a frantic barehanded grab for a red hot casserole. A natural withdrawal reflex sends the dish crashing to the ground, his arm flailing backwards into Lily’s face.
When the same scene plays out reels later in flashback, and from a different angle, it's clear that Ryle paused a beat before knowingly and purposefully delivering an aggressive backhand.
In another even more flagrant example, Ryle chases Lily down a stairwell. A rapid turn on the landing caused her to lose footing and tumble down a flight.
Your Honor, I’d like to enter into the record the following two visual aids:
Exhibit A: Ryle standing in the stairwell, palms up.
Exhibit B: In flashback, Ryle’s hands squarely grip Lily’s shoulders, ready to give her a heave-ho.
From a directorial standpoint, the use of “lying flashbacks,” as Hitchcock called them, to reveal the film's core theme of domestic violence felt exploitative. Don’t minimize sexual assault simply to advance the plot. Rather than utilizing these "reveals" to create suspense, the narrative would have been far more impactful if Ryle’s inner Mr. Hyde had been established honestly from the jump. This would have eliminated the need for gimmicky flashbacks and allowed the film to address its serious subject matter with greater transparency.
The worst thing a director can do is lie to their audience with material that’s been done a thousand times before. It’s uninspired, derivative, and frankly, no one’s buying it anymore — said the critic of the film that cleared $325 million. If we’re going to put something on screen, it needs to have a pulse and a shred of original intent. Regurgitating tired tropes is the quickest way to lose a viewer's trust. *