Review: Cliches come fast in 'It Ends With Us'

Let's not dance around the topic. For all its pretty packaging centering on the loveliness of star Blake Lively, "It Ends with Us" is about a woman caught in the lethal trap of male domestic abuse. Based on the 2016 Colleen Hoover novel that is still topping the New York Times bestseller list, the film -- try as it might -- can't disguise the ugly violence at its core.

Nor should it. Some critics, mostly male, like to defang the terror of the tale by condescendingly calling it a soap opera, for girls only. Note to guys: Try reading "It Ends with Us" or seeing the film version. You might just learn something about the roots of violence against women.

Hoover, who began by self-publishing her work, from YA romances to thrillers, after rejection from name distributors, has built an empire of bestsellers. But she calls "It Ends with Us," which she has said is based on her own mother's experience, "the hardest book I've ever written."

Even in the PG-13 diluted film version, directed by Justin Baldoni from a low-voltage script by Christy Hall, you can see why. OK, it starts like a standard-issue romance. No sooner does Lily Bloom (Lively) open a blooming flower shop in Boston than she meets a dreamy neurosurgeon with the absurd name of -- red flag alert -- Ryle Kincaid, played by the director himself.

But Lily is on the lookout, so when Ryle gets riled when his bride innocently reconnects with an old love, dishy chef Atlas Corrigan (Brandon Sklenar), his jealousy becomes weaponized. Ryle begs forgiveness with encouragement from his sis Allysa (a sassy Jenny Slate), Lily's comic-relief bestie, as the romcom cliches come fast and curiously flat.

Buried in the frothy fluff is the real pain suffered by women who want to absolve and maybe heal the men who wound them physically and emotionally. Ryle is given a traumatic childhood backstory to mollify Lily and us, which sparked caustic criticism of Hoover for romanticizing a dark story that deserved unflinching honesty.

Well, you can't have everything, though the actors strain to find layers in their thinly drawn characters. TV pros Lively ("Gossip Girl") and Baldoni ("Jane the Virgin") show a sexy ease in their roles when they're allowed to slide by on sex appeal. It's when Hoover's story pulls the rug out that the movie steps up as more than marshmallow, echoing the author's genuine empathy.

All praise to Lively for finding the confusion and pain in this woman in love, whose pregnancy forces her to confront the danger in allowing her husband's rage to play a part, however peripheral, in the raising of their daughter.

At last, the screen version of "It Ends with Us" sticks the landing by refusing to blunt thorny questions of trauma with a tidy happy ending, even as cinematographer Barry Peterson bathes the participants in the magic-hour glow of Hollywood fantasy.

The best thing I can say about "It Ends with Us" is that it doesn't end by shying away from making us squirm in our seats when life doesn't follow make-believe. Sure, Atlas the male paragon is conveniently present to help rescue Lily in a pinch. But the decision to break a cycle of violence is hers alone and that kernel of harsh truth is worth cheering.

Lively persuaded her pal Taylor Swift to allow her song, "My Tears Ricochet," to haunt the film with its lyrics about how betrayal can break a relationship. At its best, "It Ends with Us" kicks contrivance to the curb, decries toxic masculinity and replaces trauma porn with an empowering voice for female solidarity that feels timely, touching and vital.