THE ROSES. A Divorce, British Style [REVIEW]

“There is no such thing as a civilized divorce,” argued the divorce lawyer played by Danny DeVito in The War of the Roses (1989). Standing on both sides of the camera, DeVito showed the seemingly idyllic beginnings of Oliver and Barbara Rose’s marriage (Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, parodying here the romantic chemistry they displayed in Romancing the Stone)—only to cruelly dismantle that picture with bitter irony, staging the couple’s breakup as a brutal battle of mutual destruction. The director was not particularly interested in the reasons behind the titular “war”; the fun lay in consistently tightening the screw on the feuding spouses and pushing them past one boundary after another.

The creators of the new interpretation of the Roses’ story—screenwriter Tony McNamara and director Jay Roach—show their protagonists a bit more understanding. Of course, Theo (Benedict Cumberbatch) and Ivy (Olivia Colman) increasingly humiliate each other as the plot unfolds, and their pettiness, wounded egos, and tendencies toward spontaneous cruelty come to the surface. At the same time, however, each is given space to express their own grievances, more or less justified. He is an architect with oversized ambitions, who, after a humiliating accident, is forced to temporarily withdraw from his profession and provide round-the-clock childcare.

She, a cook who has found fulfillment mainly in preparing family meals, finally gets a chance to spread her wings—thanks to the unexpected success of her restaurant—at the cost of her family life. Tellingly, nearly half the film passes before the new Mr. and Mrs. Rose embark on a legal-war path; until then, we watch the gradual breakdown of their marriage, caused by accumulating unspoken resentments, unexpressed complaints, and passive-aggressive jabs.

Another key change from the original is enriching the couple’s conflict with a cultural context. Instead of smug American upstarts, we get a pair of quick-witted Britons trying to find their place in the United States—a country where even outspoken opponents of firearms organize social gatherings at the shooting range. Theo and Ivy’s American friends (Andy Samberg and Kate McKinnon) may exchange barbed remarks, but when it comes down to it, they accept the rut of their relationships with resigned ease. The Roses, meanwhile, though seemingly full of mutual understanding, stubbornly hide their pain behind masks of irony and sarcasm. As Theo himself explains, what Americans perceive as nastiness or immaturity is, for the English, simply a well-aimed retort.

This relentless verbal sparring between the protagonists is the film’s greatest strength. At its best, The Roses recalls Marriage Story retold in the style of a screwball comedy. The energy of the exchanges stems both from Tony McNamara’s ear for dialogue and from the on-screen pairing of Cumberbatch and Colman—by turns charming and repellently cynical. All the tension simmering between the spouses culminates in a dinner scene with friends—each new retort grows crueler, and the audience’s amusement blends with unbearable tension. And when words are no longer enough to express years of pent-up reproach, the Roses turn to stronger arguments.

The original succeeded as a black comedy precisely because it never asked us to sympathize with its characters. The new version humanizes the titular couple, even in their most humiliating confrontations, which at times leads to some rather unfortunate tonal shifts. Despite this minor discord, Colman and Cumberbatch are worthy successors to Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas—perhaps less off-putting, but still delivering plenty of entertainment. The most important lesson we can still draw from their story remains the same: in times of marital crisis, it may be worth swallowing one’s pride and being “generous to the point of nausea” toward the other person.

written by Jedrzej Paczkowski