When To the Bone hit Netflix in 2017, the internet basically exploded. People weren't just watching a movie; they were debating a cultural flashpoint. You’ve probably seen the thumbnail—Lily Collins looking dangerously frail, her eyes sunken, a skeletal frame that looks like it might snap in a stiff breeze. It’s haunting. But years later, the conversation around the Netflix eating disorder movie has shifted from pure shock value to a more nuanced look at how we portray mental illness on screen.
Movies about anorexia or bulimia are notoriously tricky to get right.
If you make the lead actress look "too" sick, you risk triggering people who are currently struggling. If you make it look too glamorous, you’re basically creating "thinspo" for the digital age. Marti Noxon, the director, was actually drawing from her own life. She had an eating disorder. Lily Collins had one too. This wasn't some corporate board room deciding to capitalize on trauma; it was an attempt at radical honesty that didn't always land the way people hoped.
The controversy that won't go away
The main beef people have with To the Bone—and it’s a valid one—is the visual representation.
The film follows Ellen, a 20-year-old artist who has spent her teens bouncing in and out of recovery programs. She ends up in a group home run by a non-traditional doctor played by Keanu Reeves. Sounds like a standard indie drama, right? Except the camera lingers. It gazes at Ellen's protruding spine. It focuses on her measuring her arm with her hand to see if she’s getting thinner.
Experts like those at the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) raised red flags immediately. Why? Because for someone with an ED, these images aren't just sad stories. They’re instructions.
It’s a weird paradox. To show the horror of the disease, you have to show the physical toll. But showing the physical toll is exactly what can push a vulnerable viewer further into their own illness. Honestly, it's a tightrope walk that the Netflix eating disorder movie stumbled across more than once. Some critics argued the film focused too much on the "medical tragedy" aspect and not enough on the internal, psychological hell that drives the behavior in the first place.
Is it actually a realistic portrayal?
Yes and no.
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If you’ve ever been in a residential treatment center, some of this will feel incredibly familiar. The way the characters talk about "calorie counting" or the weird hierarchy of who is the "sickest" in the house is painfully real. Eating disorders are competitive. It’s a dark, ugly truth that the movie captures well.
The characters in the house aren't just tropes. You have:
- A girl who hides a vomit bucket under her bed.
- A male dancer, Luke, who shows that this isn't just a "white girl" disease (even though the movie still focuses mostly on a thin, white protagonist).
- A woman who is pregnant and terrified of how her body is changing.
The inclusion of Luke, played by Alex Sharp, was actually a pretty big deal. Men make up a significant portion of those with eating disorders, but they're almost never represented in Hollywood. By including him, Noxon tried to break the stereotype that this is a vanity-driven issue for teenage girls. It's about control, trauma, and a brain that has basically turned against itself.
However, the "Keanu Reeves factor" is where things get a bit Hollywood. Dr. Beckham is a rebel. He takes them on field trips. He tells them to "grow a pair" (metaphorically). In the real world, treatment is often much more clinical, much slower, and—frankly—much more boring. It’s hours of therapy, supervised meals, and uncomfortable medical checks. It’s not usually a whimsical journey to self-discovery in the rain.
The Lily Collins factor: A dangerous method?
We need to talk about what happened behind the scenes. Lily Collins lost a significant amount of weight for this role.
Think about that for a second. An actress who had publicly struggled with an eating disorder was asked to lose weight under medical supervision to play a character with an eating disorder.
She’s been very open about it. She said she felt she was in a safe place to do it, and she wanted to give the performance everything. But for many in the recovery community, this felt like a massive step backward. It blurred the lines between "acting" and "relapsing." When the movie came out, Collins even mentioned in interviews that someone once complimented her on how thin she looked, thinking she was just dieting. That’s the exact toxic environment the movie is supposedly trying to critique. It’s a mess of irony.
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Why "To the Bone" is different from "Starving in Suburbia"
If you want to see how far the genre has come, you have to look at the older Lifetime-style movies. Films like Starving in Suburbia or For the Love of Nancy were almost like horror movies. They were sensationalist. They focused on the "crazy" behavior and the dramatic collapses.
The Netflix eating disorder movie at least tries to find the humanity in it. Ellen isn't a villain, and she isn't just a victim. She’s snarky. She’s difficult. She’s an artist. She has a complicated relationship with her stepmother and her absent father. By fleshing out her life, the film moves away from the "after-school special" vibe and into something that feels more like a character study.
But it still falls into the trap of the "rock bottom" narrative.
In movies, people usually get better after a massive, life-altering epiphany. In reality, recovery is a series of tiny, annoying choices made every single day for years. You don't just walk into the desert, have a vision, and decide to eat a cheeseburger. Life isn't a montage.
The impact on social media and "Thinspo"
When the trailer dropped, Tumblr (which was still a huge hub for ED communities at the time) went into a frenzy. Screenshots of Collins' collarbones were shared with "goals" captions.
This is the unintended consequence of high-definition cinematography. When you make a movie look this "aesthetic," you provide fodder for the very communities you’re trying to warn. Netflix eventually added content warnings and links to resources, but the images were already out there. They're still out there. If you search for the movie on social media today, you’ll still find it being used in edits that celebrate the illness rather than the recovery.
It’s a reminder that creators don't exist in a vacuum. Once a movie is on a platform as big as Netflix, the audience owns it. And the audience for an eating disorder movie often includes people who are looking for a reason to stay sick.
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Real experts weigh in
Clinical psychologists often point out that the film ignores the "brain" part of the disorder. Anorexia is increasingly understood as a biological, genetic condition—not just a response to a mean mom or a bad breakup.
Dr. Cynthia Bulik, a leading researcher in the field, has often discussed how we need to stop viewing these disorders as purely psychological. While To the Bone touches on family dynamics (the "bottle-feeding" scene is... a lot), it doesn't really dive into the neurological compulsion. Ellen's brain is literally starving, which makes her incapable of making rational decisions. The movie treats her more like a rebellious teen than a person with a severe, life-threatening brain malfunction.
Key takeaways for viewers
If you’re going to watch it, or if you’re recommending it to someone, keep a few things in mind. This isn't a documentary. It’s one woman’s very specific, very stylized version of her own trauma.
- It’s a massive trigger risk. If you’re currently in recovery or struggling, maybe skip this one. The visual depictions of weight loss are intense.
- The "Rebel Doctor" is a trope. Don't expect real-life treatment to look like a Keanu Reeves movie. Real treatment is hard, tedious work.
- It’s not the only story. Eating disorders affect people of all sizes, races, and genders. This movie tells the story of a thin, wealthy white girl, which is only one small slice of the reality.
- The "Why" matters. The film is best when it focuses on Ellen’s art and her relationships, not just her scale.
Moving forward with intention
If you or someone you know is struggling, the most important thing is to look beyond the screen. Movies can start a conversation, but they can't provide the cure.
The first step is usually reaching out to a professional who specializes in EDs—not just a general therapist. Organizations like the National Alliance for Eating Disorders or Project HEAL provide actual paths to treatment that don't involve dramatic desert visions.
Instead of searching for more movies that might reinforce negative thoughts, look for "recovery-focused" content. There are plenty of creators now who focus on the "boring" parts of getting better—the parts where you actually regain your life, your hobbies, and your personality. That’s the real story worth telling.
If you want to understand the reality of the illness, talk to people who have survived it. They’ll tell you it’s a lot less like a Netflix drama and a lot more like a long, quiet fight for freedom. The movie is just a snapshot; the recovery is the whole album.