It Ends with Us, 2024.

Directed by Justin Baldoni.
Starring Blake Lively, Justin Baldoni, Brandon Sklenar, Jenny Slate, Hasan Minhaj, Amy Morton, Isabela Ferrer, Alex Neustaedter, Kevin McKidd, Robin S. Walker, Emily Baldoni, Robyn Lively, Megan Elyse Robinson, Caroline Siegrist, Adam Mondschein, and Robert Clohessy.

SYNOPSIS:

Adapted from the Colleen Hoover novel, Lily overcomes a traumatic childhood to embark on a new life. A chance meeting with a neurosurgeon sparks a connection but Lily begins to see sides of him that remind her of her parents’ relationship.

Writer/director/co-lead Justin Baldoni’s directorial debut, It Ends with Us (based on the book by Colleen Hoover and adapted for the screen by Daddio writer/director Christy Hall), is a story about domestic abuse with an important message at the core, that becomes far too preoccupied with ridiculous soap opera love triangle nonsense. Also coming into question is how much of this relies on conveying that message through misleading visuals. Early on, our protagonist jokes that she is an unreliable narrator, which later on feels more like the film itself admitting it’s toying with perception disingenuously, albeit in a predictable way since there isn’t much doubt in where the story is headed.

Lily Blossom Bloom (Blake Lively with a wild hairstyle suggesting the film takes place in the 1980s rather than the present day) lives in Boston and has just opened up a, wait for it… flower shop. This comes following the sudden death of her father (played by Kevin McKidd in flashbacks), who routinely physically abused her mother (Amy Morton), making for an awkward funeral, to say the least. Lily walked out at the podium, unable to come up with anything positive to say about the man, still unsure of how her mom ever could have stayed with him. In that frustration, she also enters a nearby apartment to unwind, hanging out on the roof, where she has a meet-cute with the most handsome, buff neurosurgeon you have ever seen. His name is Ryle Kincaid (Justin Baldoni), and he is kicking a chair, upset that he was unable to save a life.

Perhaps he seems like a sweet guy. Well, within a few minutes, he is opening up “naked truths,” talking about being unfit for serious relationships and how he would casually like to have sex with Lily right there on this roof. To me (and maybe you), that’s pretty weird; it’s also far from the only case of Ryle getting a bit sexually sleazy, something that the film kind of lets him off the hook for. Lily also opens up about her first love and the first person she ever had sex with, a sensitive and kind homeless boy she gravitated to, with that relationship serving as the focal point of the flashbacks (a relationship we get a glimpse of in flashbacks, with the two played by Isabela Ferrer and Alex Neustaedter.) Since this is a movie, he immediately determines something is different about Lily and that he would like to give real love a shot.

Nevertheless, everything about this blossoming love between Lily and Ryle appears to be going well on the surface, even if it’s apparent to viewers his mask will come off (there wouldn’t be a movie, otherwise.) Again, that conflict (which takes roughly an hour to arrive finally) comes in the form of domestic abuse and, more specifically, how people perceive, rationalize, and chalk an incident up as an accident. That’s also something vital that should be explored, but the filmmakers seem more concerned with manifesting that drama in the most melodramatic, over-the-top manner possible while also inserting another guy into the equation (Brandon Sklenar), one who is fiercely protective over Lily.

Of course, there is also a lot of fortuity here, such as Ryle reconnecting with Lily after the initial meet-cute, all because his sister Allyssa (Jenny Slate) randomly stumbled into the flower shop looking for a job. She also has no idea that her brother is capable of some deplorable behavior, making for the scarily intriguing concept that not even some siblings know each other entirely. The problem is that the execution treats this entire story like a Lifetime film, charging headfirst into drama that never quite feels real. If anything, it’s often unintentionally hilarious, such as a restaurant fight between the two grown men battling over Lily. The specific reason that the fight occurs comes across as laughably dumb, something that could have been solved by two people talking to each other like adults. The thing is, people rarely feel real here.

There is also the feeling that anytime the film dares to become serious and dive into uncomfortable thematic material, it also pulls back as if it wants to be a sappy romantic love triangle above all else. And while I’m aware domestic abusers are capable of hiding that aspect of themselves well, here, there are constant jumps in times that leave one questioning the credulity of how long this man inexperienced with dating (presumably for good reason) would last without slipping up on his toxic side. The endless barrage of pop songs only serves to sanitize the material here. Even accounting for the flashbacks, there isn’t a single moment of actual conflict here until the one-hour mark, presumably because the romance is what sells to this demographic.

One possible read is that the filmmakers are aware of this, creating the usual cringe Hollywood love story playing into Lily’s oblivious nature that all is well in this relationship and that this is love. I would love to sit here and say that everything here is a stroke of subversive brilliance. However, even if that were the case, the execution isn’t there, often eliciting groans and laughs since the situations feel far-fetched. Coincidently, It Ends with Us does conclude with an emotional, believable exchange that needs to be heard by domestic abusers around the world. It’s a shame the rest of the film is outlandish and doesn’t cut nearly as deep.

Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★

Robert Kojder is a member of the Chicago Film Critics Association and the Critics Choice Association. He is also the Flickering Myth Reviews Editor. Check here for new reviews, follow my Twitter or Letterboxd, or email me at MetalGearSolid719@gmail.com

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=embed/playlist

A new update regarding the Borderlands movie and its incoming reviews has some worried about the long-awaited film. 

Originally announced as an adaptation of Gearbox Software’s uber-popular looter shooter video game back in 2015, the road toward the Borderlands film has been a long and arduous one. 

Originally directed by Hostels Eli Roth, the movie underwent several spurts of extensive reshoots, with Deadpool director Tim Miller stepping in to finish up the movie in Roth’s stead. 

However, it should finally hit theater screens on Friday, August 9, taking fans on this R-rated romp through the wasteland. 

[ Borderlands: Who Is Cate Blanchett’s Lilith? Movie vs. Game Character Differences Explained ]

Borderlands Movie Reviews Are Not Looking Good

According to some recently surfaced information, things may not be looking good when it comes to Borderlands movie reviews.

As posted by review aggregator Metacritic on X (formerly Twitter) fans should not expect to see reviews for the upcoming video game adaptation until after its release date. 

More specifically, reviews are reportedly set to go live after Thursday previews for the film have been screened at 3 p.m. ET on Thursday, August 8. 

While not a surefire sign of the movie’s quality, such a late review embargo usually signifies a lack of confidence in a product by the studio. 

Typically movie reviews usually drop anywhere from as far out as two weeks to a handful of days before release. Usually, if a studio knows it has a hit on its hands, it will want the press to talk about the movie as much as possible in the lead-up to its release date. 

At least for the Borderlands movie, that does not look to be the case. 

Previous to this, movies like Madame Web and Five Nights at Freddy’s shared a similarly delayed review-to-release timeline.

While Five Nights at Freddy’s (FNAF) found an audience thanks to the viral nature of its source material, both of those films flopped critically, with Madame Web earning 57% and FNAF 32% on Rotten Tomatoes. 

This does not bode well for the highly anticipated video game adaptation, especially after fans waited for nearly a decade since its announcement for the movie to see the light of day. 

As of writing, the film is tracking to make somewhere between $10-$15 million domestically during its opening weekend, which would be disastrous seeing as the film is reportedly carrying a sizeable $120 million budget (per Puck). 

Is Borderlands In Trouble?

Again, it is worth noting that the quality of the Borderlands movie is still yet to be determined. 

It could turn out to be a massive hit despite its delayed review release date; however, all signs are pointing to the contrary. 

As mentioned above, the movie has had plenty of ups and downs since its initial announcement. 

The biggest of these troubles came in January 2023, when extensive reshoots were ordered for the project, nearly two years after it had finished principal photography. 

And seeing as the film’s original director, Eli Roth, was busy at the time working on the holiday-themed horror film, Thanksgiving, Deadpool filmmaker Tim Miller was brought in to finish the project. 

Usually, this passing of the director’s chair at any point in production is not a good sign, but the fact that it happened as late as it did, could spell signs of the studio hoping to Frankenstein together a hit after it has been shot. 

This director switcheroo was not the only major creative shake-up the film had on its way to release. 

One of the movie’s original writers has since disowned the project after being brought on to help pen this film’s first draft. 

The Last of Us showrunner Craig Mazin was first attached to the Borderlands movie in 2020 when it was announced Roth would take on directing duties. 

However, as time has gone on, and the movie has seemingly gone through massive changes, Mazin has removed his credit from the title, telling Variety in July 2023 that he “cannot claim any kind of authorship of Borderlands:”

“I am not a credited writer on the film, so I cannot claim any kind of authorship of ‘Borderlands,’ much less ‘co-writing.’ I did see the report about the pseudonym, which is false. I did not use a pseudonym. If the name in question is indeed a pseudonym, all I can say is… it’s not mine.”

All this could make for a dangerous concoction of creative misfortune, potentially making Borderlands a disappointing effort for longtime fans. 

Borderlands comes to theaters on Friday, August 9. 

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Ed Ruscha loves plants. If you know his art, this fact might come unexpected. He’s not a landscape artist. He’s never wanted to paint a plant. “I’m not sure why,” he says from behind the large desk in his Culver City studio. And yet he’s been gardening for some 50 years.

We’re looking together at two wooden planks with metal tags hammered into them. Each tag once belonged to a plant that has died, the shiny metal carved with the name of the plant, the date of its death and sometimes its cause: “Passed away / Oct. ’87 / Just dried up.”

“They’re like little epitaphs for the departed,” Ruscha says. At the top of one board, he has written: Trees and Plants that Didn’t Make It.

He grows his plants out in the desert, in the Yucca Valley, where he has a cabin. Ruscha “found out the hard way” which plants survive in the arid climate with sand storms and even snow. “I should know better than to plant a palm tree in the high desert.” He looks straight at me with his blue eyes, then smiles, briefly.

Ruscha creates a tag each time he acquires a plant, a label to remember its species, and then pokes it into the ground for as long as the plant will last. He enjoys the process of tending to his plants, protecting them from raccoons with barriers made of wire. He likes the challenge of seeing if he “can make something survive,” especially something “as delicate as a plant.”

For 50 years, Ruscha has been making “little epitaphs” for his plants whenever they die.

I ask Ruscha if it makes him sad when a plant dies. “Yeah, I shed a tear,” he says — earnestly, I think. “A quick tear. And then it gets posted to the board here.” He keeps the boards leaning against the wall in his studio. “I check it out and nod at it every so often to let it know I care about it,” he tells me. “And I’m getting smiles in response” — his eucalyptus, mulberries and bird of paradise appreciating him in the afterlife.

The more I sit with Ruscha’s epitaphs, the less unexpected his love for plants becomes. Time, after all, is the artist’s great subject.

Ruscha’s life-spanning retrospective currently at the Los Angeles County Museum of Art is called “Now Then,” evoking his black-and-white lithograph of the phrase “That was then, this is now” lit up against dark clouds. His pictures declare the way things evolve and age, from a dramatic painting of the words “The End” to images of everyday, discarded things, like a torn mattress or broken pencil.

Ruscha tells me about his blazing red 1983 painting with the words “The Study of Friction and Wear on Mating Surfaces.” He makes the connection: “You could almost say the wind is a mating surface of a plant. And that intrigues me and probably motivates me.”

This idea of motivation comes up, subtly, throughout our conversation. At 86, the drive to keep his plants alive, and his sense of purpose in caring for their death, keeps him going.

I ask Ruscha if he considers himself nostalgic. “I like remembering the past and the way things used to be,” he answers, establishing a gentle, precise distinction. He’s made a ritual of going out in Los Angeles and noticing how the landscape has changed. “I compartmentalize the way the city looked at one time,” he says, which, when he moved here in the 1950s, was like “some kind of antique village.”

Most famously, Ruscha has been photographing every block of Sunset Boulevard since the 1960s, marking the gradual disappearance of buildings, honoring street corners as his tags do for his trees. “I should have been tagging all these buildings too!” he suddenly realizes. “But we’ll let the graffiti artists tag.”

“I like remembering the past and the way things used to be,” says Ruscha.

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Ruscha is not against change per se, but he’s found the need to notice it. It’s an act of observation, rather than an indulgence in longing — an exercise in remembering, an effort to place things within a continuum.

Nonetheless, change can be tiring, and Ruscha seeks a break from it by going to the desert. It’s a contrast to his life in L.A.; he doesn’t see people in the desert, and, unlike a city, it’s mostly changeless. Its rocks have been there for thousands of years. It doesn’t feel like a coincidence that it’s in this stubborn landscape where Ruscha has chosen to grow his garden, where plants try to thrive against all odds, their cycle of life and death against a seemingly stable backdrop.

“It’s not just the plants that I like, but it’s the labeling,” Ruscha shares with me about his board. He excitedly explains how he etches the tags with a metal machine. “They’re not going anywhere. … These are permanent.” Like the desert to the city, the tags are the comforting counterpoints to his plants, changeless.

When people think of Ruscha’s art, they think of how iconically L.A. it is — his painted Hollywood signs, sleek gas stations and swimming pools. But it’s also iconically the desert. His art — and I include these humble wooden planks — has the energy of a desert, of those rocks that persist. I think it’s in the sharp light, in the way things get fixed.

Ruscha, who grew up in Oklahoma, moved to L.A. when he was 18 years old and hasn’t left since. He’s found himself having to explain why he didn’t move to a bigger art center like New York City and chose, instead, to stay. It’s “the feeling of California,” he tells me — “including its vegetation.” In describing the cactuses and the palm trees, he notes “the laciness of it all. … It has a magic to it that attracted me.”

While at his studio, he walks me back to his second garden, the concrete backyard that once upon a time was an orange grove. He shows me a row of Joshua trees sprouting in pots, which he plans to take with him to the desert. Holding on to his two wooden planks, he sits among kumquat and lime trees. With his all-blue outfit and bright white hair and eyebrows, he has his own magic laciness about him.

With his all-blue outfit and bright white hair and eyebrows, Ruscha has his own magic laciness about him.

“You know, I think I get emotional progress, emotional propulsion, from plants,” he tells me. By the end of our time together, I’m getting used to how he casually utters such profound statements. I’m with the softer side of an artist known for having the cool, edgy swagger of his art, the side that propels him to paint large canvases of cracks in the sidewalk and that declare “The End” of things. It’s the side of him that picks up a basket of kumquats and limes and distributes them, one by one, into a paper bag for me to take home. It’s his nature-loving side, seemingly behind the scenes, driving how he creates and lives.

“I feel powerfully connected to that board,” Ruscha concludes. “[A] lot of plants have died, but they all are sort of reminders to me — once with me and now departed. So that’s OK.”

Photo Assistant Cody Rogers