“It Ends With Us” misses an important opportunity to shed light on the dark reality of domestic violence

It was never going to be easy to market a film about domestic violence with flowers, glamour and alcohol. At the launch party there was even a cocktail called “Ryle You Wait”, named after the perpetrator.

I’m surprised they didn’t call it “All Ryled Up” or “Ryle With an Iron Fist.”

In case you missed all the palaver, there’s a new Hollywood-star-filled movie based on publisher Colleen Hoover’s best-selling book “It Ends with Us.”

The story centers on a charming woman named Lily Blossom Bloom, whose boyfriend – and later her husband – becomes increasingly jealous and controlling, then violent, so she must decide whether to stay with him or leave him. Bloom’s own father abused and hurt her mother, hence the desire to break this vicious cycle: “It ends with us.”

Producer Blake Lively plays Bloom, who owns a flower shop and smiles almost all the time, even when giving birth. Her co-star – and director – is Justin Baldoni, who brings a brooding intensity to his role as an angry, tormented and violent neurosurgeon.

I’ve spent many years covering domestic violence, and when a debate began to rage on social media about an alleged feud between Lively and Baldoni, as well as allegedly different approaches to the direction and marketing of the film, my interest was piqued.

The marketing choices seemed inappropriate and insensitive. I read about Lively telling people to “bring your friends and wear floral decorations” while countless pictures of her in a series of flower-bedecked dresses appeared. It looked very much like a romantic comedy, sweet and sassy. It looked like an attempt to hide or downplay the violence Bloom faces.

Why is it so hard to say what this film is about? It’s dark – or rather uneven, since the film has so many bright moments – but isn’t that the case with many films?

Despair is glossed over

I went to Lively’s Instagram page and saw more of the same, with hardly any mention of abuse. I noticed that people kept talking about the film and the various dramas without actually having seen it, so I decided to go to my local cinema and watch it.

It’s actually oddly sunny, and seems unsure how to reconcile its super-hot stars with the darkness of the story being told. The despair is glossed over. Everyone always looks flawless, everyone seems rich, and flowers are constantly jostling for space.

There are a few things this film does very well: It illustrates some of the most obvious warning signs, such as outbursts of uncontrolled anger, jealousy and control cravings. It shows how you can still love someone who hurts you, how abusers often present themselves as protectors at first, and how important it can be to leave people who don’t want to change. And it shows that people who were exposed to domestic violence as children are more likely to end up in abusive relationships as adults.

All efforts to initiate conversations about abuse should be welcomed.

But if we take this as a serious depiction of actual domestic violence, it falls short. Most importantly, it shows how relatively easy and safe it was for Bloom to leave.

As I discussed this week with Jeremy Fernandez, my co-host of the Not Stupid podcast, it’s common knowledge that women try to leave an abusive relationship multiple times before they actually succeed. This is in part because it’s the most dangerous time for the woman to do so.

Lily Bloom simply moves into another apartment and settles in, while another hot but nice guy waits in the wings. When she asks her husband for a divorce and explains why, he essentially agrees with her reasoning and leaves. No anger, no threats, no custody battles, no stalking, no financial fears, nothing.

What about the voices of the survivors?

I have no interest in adding to the sometimes unfair smear campaign against Lively, even though the marketing decisions clearly lean toward soft selling. But I am interested in how this much-discussed film might influence our understanding of the vicious and very different forms of domestic violence.

The biggest missed opportunity is that producers missed a chance to put survivors at the forefront when shaping the issue, including them in the advertising and, for example, ensuring conversations were had about the difficulties of fleeing. It took far too long for posts to appear linking to resources and highlighting possible safe places.

The importance of lived experience in this context cannot be overstated. Abuse was part of Hoover’s own story – “It Ends With Us” was inspired by her parents’ marriage history – shouldn’t she talk about it?

Last year, Hoover said in an interview with Today that one of her earliest memories was her father throwing a television at her mother. In her book, she wanted to tell a story of perseverance, like that of her mother, who left her marriage when Hoover was only two years old, despite the fact that “there were no tools for women to get out of those situations.”

After the divorce, Hoover said, “All I remember is growing up with a mother who was so strong and independent.”

However, Hoover also faced criticism last year for romanticizing abuse when she and her publisher announced they had developed a coloring book called “It Ends With Us.” The book was pulled within 24 hours.

She has also been criticised by victims of domestic violence and activists for glorifying charismatic yet violent men. Some see her books as a form of trauma porn, but she has spoken of readers who said her books gave them the courage to get out.

For an entire industry that has long profited from, romanticized and tolerated violence against women, this is a cause for concern. After all, this is not Hollywood’s first attempt to tackle domestic violence: just think of the heartbreaking, award-winning films “The Last Warrior,” Tina Turner’s “What’s Love Got to Do With It” and “Big Little Lies.”

The North American group DomesticShelters.Org has compiled a list of the best films that accurately portray domestic violence, including I Tonya, Sleeping with the Enemy, Green Tomatoes and A Star is Born. It is important for victims to see their own experiences portrayed on screen, they write, because:

Because common tactics used by abusers include isolation and gaslighting, victims can end up feeling like they’re the only ones this is happening to and that they must be crazy to think something is wrong. Films depicting domestic violence can reassure us that our gut instinct is right, that the abusers are in the wrong, and that we are not the only ones who are victims.

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Bring light into dark corners

No single film can capture all forms of abuse and all reactions to them. The most horrifying thing is that as the celebrities spar, observers and commentators seem too distracted by the flowers and lights to pay attention to a sobering statistic: In the United States, where this film was shot, four out of ten women have experienced sexual or physical violence or have been stalked, according to the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Over 61 million women have experienced psychological aggression from a partner.

There are powerful and effective ways to shine a light into the dark corners of dark families. Trent Dalton, who as a child witnessed his mother fight back against abuse and attacks, has written a book called Lola in the Mirror, in which he describes the domestic terror that comes from living with a monster, something he calls “the Tyrannosaurus waltz.” His work is about survival without schmaltz, beauty without forced glamour, hope squeezed out of terror.

A few weekends ago I interviewed him on stage at the Byron Bay Writer’s Festival and watched the women in the audience nod and cry as he talked about what his mother had been through.

This week, the series, based on his first book, Boy Swallows Universe, won numerous awards at the Logies. It tells the story of his own life and his mother’s battle with addiction and violence. The trailer for the series is raw, real and honest.

The room seemed silent as Dalton, an award in hand, said, “I want to send a shout out to all the moms who are a little bit like Frankie Bell (the mom in the book) – out in the suburbs tonight, feeling a little bit lost in the dark. I just want to say…please believe me when I say that when your kids look at you in the dark, they only see your light.”

Stories like this don’t have to shun hope or sunshine or optimism; they just have to be rooted in the real world. When promoters try to stuff darkness into a closet to make it more palatable, and cover it with flowers to make it more beautiful, they only reinforce, perhaps unintentionally, the idea that it is something to be ashamed of – something dirty and private, not something that should wilt in the public spotlight.

Julia Baird co-hosts the Not Stupid podcast with Jeremy Fernandez.