There are plenty of big and obvious ways to make a movie about domestic abuse. The man could be sinister from the moment we meet him. By the 15-minute mark, he’s already hit his girlfriend or wife or partner at least once. Why limit it to heterosexuals? Maybe he’s hit his boyfriend. By 20 minutes in, we’ve already lost some respect for the victim who stays with him. That combines with the respect we never had for the abuser to leave us few characters to cheer for.

Actually, It Ends With Us doesn’t totally avoid these pitfalls. The first time we meet Ryle (Justin Baldoni), he’s kicking a chair in impotent frustration. When he realises Lily (Blake Lively) is on the same shared balcony of his apartment building, he quickly switches into conquest mode, a venture emboldened by his chiselled features, cut abs and career as a neurosurgeon. That’s not the only thing about It Ends With Us that resembles one of those apps that tells a story of tempestuous romance for lonely app users and their tubs of ice cream.

But Baldoni’s film – one of the surprises is that this chiselled hunk is also the director – soon strays from this seemingly obvious path for a sneaky and meaningful purpose. Approximating the viewpoint of the victim, the film goes on for an extended time showing us the charms and apparent personal growth of this one-time lothario who is trying on love for size. In fact, the subtle misdirection is complete enough that we begin to wonder if it’s actually Lily’s ex-boyfriend from when she was a teenager, Atlas (Brandon Sklenar), who might be the abuser.

Lily Blossom Bloom – much is made about this ridiculous name – has just lost her father. She had the chance to see him before he died, but she opted against it. We soon learn why. He regularly beat her mother, despite the fact that he was the mayor of the small Maine town where she grew up. And here we see the first signs of the idea that toxic masculinity may be hidden within a man whose grin and affability can win elections.

It’s while struggling with her emotions over this choice that she meets Ryle, the improbable neurosurgeon trapped in the body of a blue jeans model. He’s quite explicit with his intentions toward her – he says he’s not the relationship type, and reveals within 15 minutes of meeting her that he wants to have sex with her. Lily is too level-headed for this sort of tactic to work on her, but fate seems to have other plans. It turns out Ryle is the sister of a daffy but fun woman, Allysa (Jenny Slate), who sees Lily starting to open her flower shop and quickly wins a job in said shop. Yes, Lily Blossom Bloom is opening a flower shop. (We can thank bestselling author Colleen Hoover for these cheeky details.)

As Ryle begins behaving more like a gentleman and inevitably wins Lily’s heart, an old flame, just as coincidentally, re-enters the picture. Atlas was the boy to whom she lost her virginity, and he happens to run the Boston restaurant where they have dinner when Ryle first meets Lily’s mother (Amy Morton). On a second trip to the restaurant – which Lily tries to get out of, as she didn’t tell Ryle she had a history with this man – Atlas sees a telltale bruise on Lily, the result of a kitchen accident in which Ryle’s hand hit Lily’s face. At least, it seems like it was an accident – but this Lily may be wearing rose-coloured glasses.

Literature intended for a female audience, and the films adapted from it, has a bit of a tough row to hoe in trying to do double duty. Authors of such material seem to understand that there is a core desire in their readership for sultry romance, but topical subject matter that’s anathema to that is sometimes the key to the book breaking out. It would be tempting to compare this to something like Fifty Shades of Grey, except that this film does right by the topic and keeps the erotica to a minimum.

What Baldoni’s film gets right – and not only, we assume, because he is playing this character – is its handling of the abuser. It serves no purpose to stack the deck unambiguously against this man from the start of the movie. Hints are dropped, but we need to see this man as Lily sees him – a remarkable physical specimen, to be sure, but also a soul with something wounded about him, who’s trying to be a better person than he has previously been. Especially if we have seen the trailers, we know this man is not right for her – but watching the movie makes us kind of hope he can figure out how to be that. Making domestic violence monolithic has the potential to turn it into a cartoon. This nuance gives it a greater chance to hit home than with whatever audiences need to see a more three-dimensional portrait of what it’s like to be in an abusive relationship.

Another thing elevating It Ends With Us above lesser examples of this form is the performances. The director and his star both do admirable work here, an expected outcome given Lively’s natural talents. The surprise – though it probably shouldn’t be – is what Slate brings to the proceedings. There’s little reason to imagine she has been inserted as anything other than comic relief, especially because Slate is a comedienne by trade, and because she’s introduced to us as the wife of a wealthy day trader (Hasan Minhaj) and seems to be working only because it amuses her. Stay tuned for her killer speech at the end, though, as it gets at the heart of her divided allegiances between a damaged brother and the new best friend he’s been damaging.

Given the way it’s constitutionally beholden to a niche part of the cinematic marketplace, there’s a ceiling on the overall effectiveness of It Ends With Us. But it’s a higher ceiling than you might have suspected, for a movie where characters have unlikely jobs, names and cheekbones. (And at least it has the good sense to laugh at itself for those bits of cheek, actual or otherwise.) And when Ends ends, don’t be surprised if the emotions of it all have caught up with you.

 

It Ends With Us is currently playing in cinemas.