It Ends With a Sigh
Marry the hot and charming surgical resident, they said. It's true love, and he is pretty great. He was till he pushed her down the stairs and told her it was an accident. He was till he tried to force himself on her. He was till he hurt her. "It Ends With Us," Colleen Hoover's bestselling novel about 23-year-old Lily Bloom and her relationships that are influenced by abuse, recently got a movie adaptation. From the casting through production, and even right now, after the film's release, it is in the middle of crossfires. MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING—This article discusses themes of domestic abuse and its portrayal in media. CoHo might advertise abuse as romance, but worry not; I got you. Viewer discretion—and a strong cup of patience—advised!
It Ends With Us, Wayfarer Studios, Columbia Pictures.
It Ends With Us took Booktok by storm, turning it into a staple recommendation in every video, solidifying it as a huge bestseller and certainly Colleen Hoover's best. Twenty-three-year-old Lily Bloom (pun intended) navigates life while wrestling with scars from her past owing to her abusive father. She harbors hate for her mother for never leaving him and cannot fathom why she stayed. Lily believes she knows better than to stay with an abuser. The story mainly revolves around her relationship with Dr. Ryle Kincaid, a charismatic neurosurgeon, her boyfriend turned abusive husband. The book juxtaposes this relationship by initially bringing in her first love, Atlas Corrigan, through flashbacks but later introduces him to their tense marriage. As the marriage gets worse, Lily is forced to confront the fact that she is in the same position as her mother once was and that this cycle of abuse keeps influencing her life. Despite what she thought of herself, she finds herself making the same excuses her mother made after getting abused. The book delves deeply into the difficult decisions faced by survivors of domestic abuse, along with themes of resilience and the complicated nature of love. So, how does such a realistic tale of resilience and hope get so much hate but also a movie?!
CoHo held six of the ten spots on Time's Bestselling Paperbacks at the same time in 2022 and sold more copies of her books than the Bible. She has estimatedly sold 29 million books in print and 7 million in ebooks. "It Ends With Us" alone has sold 7 million copies. The book has spent a whopping 165 weeks on the New York Times bestseller list. The marriage of the author's parents being the muse, the book attracted the attention of a massive audience, hitting home with its emotional portrayal of abusive domestic relationships while still adding the complexities of such situations. Unsurprisingly, most people were excited and held high expectations for this movie adaptation. But with expectations come fear. Nothing is scarier than waiting for an adaptation of your favorite book, which turned out to be utter BS. Don't believe me? Ask the PJO fandom (SPOILER ALERT— the movies were just as sigh-inducing).
With a rise in film adaptations, studios have consistently focused less on the book and more on profits and clicks. This results in cuts and rewrites that divert from the original storyline. I wholeheartedly welcome changes in adaptations because they give authors a second chance to add details and cancel out plot holes, knowing where and how the story ends now. When rewrites aren't written by the authors or people who genuinely care about the book, they transition into something vague that aims to appeal to a broader audience but ends up being a watered-down version of what could have been an interesting film or show. The transition from book to movie resulted in the oversimplification and sanitization of the story's darker themes in the chase for more ticket sales. These concerns become second to a heightened responsibility when the material is as sensitive as "It Ends With Us." It's essential to treat it with the gravity and respect it deserves and engage with it more thoughtfully.
The film struggled to do the book little to no justice. The book is known for its touching resonance and exploration of complex topics like abuse and domestic violence. The emotional weight and character development that drive the narrative are often lost in translation, leaving the film feeling superficial and disjointed. The multiple apparently "creative" liberties taken are unnecessary and add nothing to the plot. Changes that undermine the story's core themes, character arcs, or important scenes can lead to a feeling of betrayal for fans of the book, and it did. Key scenes meant to highlight the complexities of Lily's relationships are cut, leading to a disjointed storyline that lacks the depth of the book. The result is a film that feels more like a series of disjointed depictions rather than a cohesive narrative. As I mentioned, the book's main narrative is blended with flashbacks, giving us two timelines. In this adaptation, the pacing is compressed for time constraints, leading to rushed character development, missed emotional highs, and a failure to build the necessary tension the book offers. Glossing over character development and essential scenes being trivialized undermines the powerful theme. Sloppy executions and the careless handling of this story left us with a shallow and unsatisfying movie.
A very critical side effect of taking the problematic route of glossing and sanitizing the story is that it's, if not outright, lowkey romanticizing abuse. The trailer and early promotional material are filled with glossy shots, sensual moments, and intense chemistry between the leads—popular elements in a romantic drama. NEWS FLASH—this is not a romcom. The aesthetic take of the film propagates a worryingly different message. The movie is supposed to be a resolute exploration of toxicity and abuse in relationships but is framed as a very "passionate" love story. Ryle, for one, isn't supposed to be a conventional lead, considering the fact that he is a destructive influence in Lily's life no matter his surface-level plus points. The film fails to adequately address his abusive tendencies, failing to call out abuse for what it is.
The simple take on abuse as just the scenes of conflict does not address the life-altering nature of the struggle. Outbursts that should have been shown as red flags and warning lights are normalized as behaviors that can be seen in any relationship. Instead of standing apart, "It Ends With Us" joins the ranks of "Fifty Shades of Grey" and "Twilight," which promote toxic behaviors as desirable. Romanticizing the relationship between Lily and Ryle sends the wrong message to audiences, especially those in similar situations. DV is accompanied by "love bombing" and periods of love and peace, which distorts the view one can have on one's relationship. Depicting these moments without the appropriate context could mislead viewers into believing that love is enough to justify staying in a harmful relationship. The book was constantly willing to acknowledge the confusion and contradicting nature of being hurt by someone who says they love you. "It Ends With Us" should have been pivotal in the conversation about Hollywood's tendency to glorify toxic relationships. Instead, it risks undoing the novel's progress by sugarcoating the trauma, undermining the very heart of the story.
We cannot talk about the film without mentioning the dumpster fire of a marketing strategy they used. The film's marketing primarily accentuated the romantic elements rather than the dark themes of abuse and recovery. By presenting "It Ends With Us" as a romantic drama, the film's marketing team essentially sanitized the story, ignoring the trauma that Lily endures. This misrepresentation sabotages the book's core message. This approach led to a warped perception of the narrative, with some viewers mistaking the abusive relationship for a love story gone wrong. Irresponsible marketing can have far-reaching consequences, especially when it comes to sensitive subjects like abuse. Such misrepresentation can be harmful, especially for audiences in similar situations and looking to the media for validation, understanding, or escape.
Literary adaptations are delicate undertakings because they translate the intimate connection between the reader and the story onto the screen. When an adaptation strays too far from the original material—either by altering the tone, simplifying complex characters, or, in this case, marketing the story to undermine its central themes—it risks alienating the audience it seeks to engage. The movie adaptation of "It Ends With Us" is a cautionary tale about the dangers of reducing complex stories to their most marketable parts. This phenomenon isn't unique to "It Ends With Us." Many literary adaptations have suffered from similar issues, from "The Mortal Instruments" series to "Percy Jackson." Moving forward, filmmakers and marketers must prioritize authenticity and sensitivity when adapting beloved books, ensuring the story's heart is not lost in translation.
While marketing manipulation played a significant role in the film's failure to meet expectations, we must also recognize the audience's role in fueling such strategies. Audiences are not passive consumers. When a movie adaptation like "It Ends With Us" misses the mark, we quickly point fingers at Hollywood. But should the blame fall entirely on the film industry? As viewers, we need to critically engage with the material they consume. When we allow our expectations to be driven by flashy trailers and buzzworthy names, we encourage marketing strategies that distort meaningful narratives into digestible bites for mass appeal. There's a balance between giving in to the allure of marketing and holding media accountable for faithfully representing the source material. This requires active engagement with the content—whether that means revisiting the novel before watching the film, questioning marketing tactics, or discussing why adaptations often fall short with others. Moving forward, both filmmakers and audiences need to be more mindful. Filmmakers must be held accountable for preserving the integrity of essential narratives, especially those that tackle sensitive subjects like domestic abuse. Meanwhile, we should approach adaptations with open minds and a willingness to engage beyond the surface level. Only then can we create a media landscape where storytelling thrives and is treated with the respect it deserves.
In the end, "It Ends With Us," the film is a disappointment, failing to meet the high expectations set by Colleen Hoover's original novel. While it makes an admirable effort to bring the story to a bigger platform, it ultimately falls short of emulating the depth and complexity of the book. It serves as a reminder of the essence of responsibility in storytelling, especially when dealing with sensitive issues like domestic abuse. For fans of the novel, the film may feel like a missed opportunity—a chance to see a powerful and transformative story reduced to a shallow representation. As an adaptation, it serves as a reminder of the challenges ingrained in translating cherished literary works into film and the importance of staying true to the original story. While it may be easy to focus on star power and romantic tropes, these marketing tactics can be damaging when the subject matter is so deeply tied to real-life trauma. It's vital that marketing efforts reflect the gravity of the material and prioritize the well-being of the audiences who are impacted by these stories. Anything less is a disservice to the narrative and the real people living these experiences every day.
In the end, "It Ends With Us," the movie is a testament to the difficulty of preserving the essence of a compelling novel in a different medium. It's a letdown but also a reminder of literature's unique power to convey profound emotions and stories that, sometimes, the screen can't fully capture.
