Review: THE ROSES

 by Rob DiCristino

Jay Roach presents the big hit comedy of 2002.

Everything about The Roses feels like a nod to a bygone era (era): There’s director Jay Roach, for starters, whose Austin Powers and Meet the Parents franchises defined blockbuster comedy at the turn of the last century. This new film — his first since 2019’s Bombshell — remakes Danny DeVito’s 1989 comedy The War of the Roses, itself an adaptation of Warren Adler’s 1981 novel of the same name. Though they may have only reached A-list status in the last decade or so, stars Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman are both around fifty years of age, making them practically Paleolithic by romantic comedy standards. Even slightly younger supporting performers like Andy Samberg and Kate McKinnon are ambassadors from the 2010s, the last gasps of Saturday Night Live supremacy before TikTok sent most TV comedy to the scrap heap. Hell, just look at The Roses’ extended opening credits, which recall the days when audiences could be trusted to wait patiently for their entertainment without clicking away.

None of this disqualifies The Roses from genuine consideration, of course — I’m sure a throwback studio comedy is exactly what thousands of rabid Letterboxd-ers have been begging for — but they’re all early indicators that Roach’s latest isn’t aimed at the hipper anti-humor crowds. It’s the story of disgraced architect Theo (Cumberbatch) and aspiring restaurateur Ivy (Colman), a pair of acrid English cynics whose lusty meet-cute begat two children and a decade of decaying, unhappy marriage. When professional embarrassment robs Theo of future prospects, he decides to stay at home with the kids and let Ivy turn her dreams of small business ownership into a reality. This keeps the peace while her restaurant remains an underperforming hole in the wall, but once Ivy’s culinary star begins to rise, Theo and Ivy’s resentments congeal into open hostility. With their friends (Samberg, McKinnon, Sunita Mani, and Ncuti Gatwa) caught in the crossfire, the Roses resolve to destroy each other or — more likely — die trying.

Written by Yorgos Lanthimos stalwart Tony McNamara, The Roses is exactly the kind of fluttery, mid-budget comedy for adults that we all complain never makes it to theaters in the age of Netflix and Hulu. Benedict Cumberbatch takes advantage of a rare break from playing savants and sorcerers, expertly crafting Theo as the Unremarkable White Man Emasculated by His More Successful Wife. It’s always delightful to see his thundering gravitas reduced to petty needling — recall the funnier bits from Sherlock or his recent work with Wes Anderson — and his sharp chemistry with Olivia Colman is the engine that keeps The Roses humming. Colman can play the witty and caustic Ivy in her sleep, of course, but trading the usual A-type British Wife stereotypes for Ivy’s maximum-chilling stoner energy goes a long way toward giving the Roses’ marriage the necessary texture. Even in the film’s messier moments, there’s always joy to be found in their flirtation, even as it morphs into myriad forms of attempted manslaughter.

Unfortunately, The Roses has more than its fair share of messier moments. As in the 2000s Manchild Era (Era) led by Judd Apatow, it feels like a movie found —well, if not found, at least endlessly searched for — in the editing room, a tonal mishmash of scenes and sequences arranged with little attention to character or clarity. Precious few exchanges actually illustrate why the Roses have soured on each other, and we’re forced to conclude that they’re just selfish, pessimistic people who have let everyday domestic problems spiral out of control. Even flashbacks to better days are useless here, as Ivy and Theo’s fight-or-fuck instincts seem to have been as foundational to their courtship as they are to their separation. This is part of the point, of course — these are two broken narcissists stuck in a vicious cycle — and McNamara’s screenplay is chock-full of memorable zingers you should set aside for your own couples’ skirmishes, but it’s impossible to hope for catharsis when we barely understand the people searching for it.

Thinking back to last week’s Highest 2 Lowest, I was struck by how much better Danny DeVito’s black comedy sensibilities serve this material in The War of the Roses, making this Roses the kind of remake that, unlike Lee’s film, ultimately fails to justify its own existence. Cumberbatch, Colman, and the rest of the cast — including Allison Janney, who swoops in for one largely inconsequential scene and never returns — are charming enough to drag this thing across the finish line, but Roach simply isn’t canny enough to make The Roses as bitter and acidic as it needs to be. He stages dialogue exchanges and shootouts with the same stylistic indifference, which is especially frustrating in a few potentially great scenes, like one where Theo literally triggers a deadly raspberry allergy to pressure Ivy into signing a divorce agreement. Demented shit like that demands a true pervert like DeVito at the helm, and Roach can’t measure up. He’s just another chef unworthy of his premium ingredients, another relic better left in his bygone era (era).

The Roses opens in U.S. theaters on Friday, August 29th.