The disconnect is legendary. People walked out of the theater humming the song and asking, "Wait, was that boy supposed to be romantic or dangerous?" For millions of Americans, the song became the soundtrack to their own genuine, healthy first dances at weddings, blissfully unaware that its source material was about a teenager who needed a psychiatrist and a restraining order. Upon release in July 1981, Endless Love was savaged. Roger Ebert called it "a movie that thinks it's romantic when a young man commits arson to win back his girlfriend." Gene Siskel said it "glorifies sick behavior." Audiences were confused. The film made back its budget but was considered a box office disappointment given the hype surrounding Shields and Zeffirelli.
This is the film’s most dangerous trick. The aesthetic beauty constantly argues that David’s obsession is poetic. When he stalks Jade through the woods, the light filters through leaves like a cathedral. When he writes her endless letters, the camera lingers on his elegant handwriting. Zeffirelli seems to be in love with the idea of obsessive love, even as the plot spells out its consequences. The result is a dizzying, dissonant experience—a horror movie dressed in a romance novel’s clothing. Let’s be honest: if you know Endless Love today, you know the song. Written by Lionel Richie and performed as a duet by Richie and Diana Ross, the theme song is one of the most enduring ballads of all time. It spent nine weeks at #1 on the Billboard Hot 100, was nominated for an Academy Award, and has been covered by everyone from Luther Vandross to Mariah Carey. endless love 1981
And then, after the credits roll and the smoke clears, put on the Lionel Richie and Diana Ross duet. Close your eyes. Ignore the arson. Just listen to the song. That, after all, is the Endless Love the world chose to remember. The movie is just the beautiful, burning footnote. The disconnect is legendary
, in his film debut, had the impossible task of making David sympathetic. Hewitt has the cheekbones of a fallen angel and the eyes of a lost puppy, but his performance is so one-note—intense stare, trembling lip, breathless monologue—that David never reads as "tragic romantic." He reads as a time bomb. When he finally snaps, the audience feels less sorrow and more relief that someone is finally calling the police. Roger Ebert called it "a movie that thinks