Jay Roach is no stranger to directing remakes of “darker” films that are much more diluted than the original. Take, for example, 2010’s Dinner for Schmucks, the ill-advised attempt to re-create the 1998 French comedy, Le Dîner de Cons. In fact, much like the former, Roach’s remake of The Roses relies on its lead actors, Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman, to mitigate the overwhelming inferiority of this new iteration. One that seeks to dilute, as much as possible, the macabre tone of the 1989 version, written by Michael J. Leeson and directed by Danny DeVito. The latter also plays a key role as the narrator of the anti-fairy tale (in fact, without him [or at least someone to “replace” him], the narrative framework can’t help but feel totally lacking, unmoored). And it is a tale…or is it? For, throughout the film, there’s this sense that it could be nothing more than a divorce urban legend, so “absurd” and “implausible” is the behavior of Oliver (Michael Douglas) and Barbara Rose (Kathleen Turner) as their marital “strife” escalates to an all-out war.
Even at the outset of their relationship, there’s an element of the fantastical, with Oliver and Barbara initially encountering one another at an antique auction in Nantucket in the midst of a brewing nor’easter. Though this is mostly how it happens in Warren Adler’s 1981 novel of the same name, with Jonathan Rose (as he’s named in the book) encountering Barbara Knowles (whose first name, for whatever reason, remains the same in the movie) at an estate sale auction in Cape Cod. The two have a similar bidding war over a “nominal” item, establishing their competitive natures with one another—and the turn-on it provides to each of them to “spar.” Or, as the “Jonathan” of Cumberbatch’s interpretation, now renamed to “Theo Rose,” calls it, “repartee.” More specifically, he says that what Americans (particularly American therapists) deem unhealthy bickering, the Brits know merely as repartee. A little flirtatious tit for tat that reveals the mark of a worthy and witty opponent, er, partner.
Theo and Ivy (Colman)—no longer Barbara either—certainly have that going for them. In fact, tweaking the leads to being British in nationality is just one of many “new elements” in The Roses. Including shifting the setting from the East Coast (Massachusetts, in the beginning, and then the “Potomac area”) to the West. More specifically, Mendocino. But it’s Ivy who makes it her goal to flee somewhere as antithetical to London as possible. Someplace that isn’t so stodgy (and what is California if not, even still, a liberal’s haven?). Before embarking on her escape to America, she encounters Theo at the restaurant where she’s working as a chef whose creativity is being constantly stifled. In a similar fashion, Theo has just entered her kitchen to get a reprieve from a “boss type” who doesn’t understand his rage over his apartment housing design being compromised by the removal of all the balconies. Because, yes, in this iteration of the story, Theo is an architect (not a corporate lawyer like Oliver). With both seeing something creatively stymied in the other, a spark of attraction is ignited, and they end up having sex in the freezer after Theo suggests that he should move with her to America (so clearly, this must be some alternate timeline of the U.S., wherein the orange creature is not the current dictator).
Ten years on, they’re living the so-called American dream, entirely on Theo’s architect’s salary (further perpetuating the myth that the job of architect is inherently high-paying). This classic case of “expected” gender roles/women still being relegated to “homemaker” and “household manager” holding true in the update as well. The difference, however, is that there is a reversal of fortune moment at the beginning of the film. Thanks to a storm that not only ruins Theo’s freshly unveiled design for a maritime museum (with a sail-bedecked rooftop as its crowning aspect of the design), but also directs large amounts of foot traffic to Ivy’s erstwhile sparsely attended restaurant, We’ve Got Crabs!. The place that Theo bought for her as a sort of pet project so that she could keep channeling her culinary skills into something other than just whipping up sugary confections for their children, twins Hattie (first played by Delaney Quinn and then Hala Finley) and Roy (first played by Ollie Robinson and then Wells Rappaport).
Indeed, spending time with her children is Ivy’s most treasured experience—until she realizes just how much her talent has been going to waste with the advent of all these new mouths to feed; mouths that, in turn, lavish praise on her for her cooking. And so, as Theo becomes an unemployed persona non grata in his field (complete with a rash of humiliating viral videos “remixing” the well-documented destruction of the museum), Ivy becomes the premier, most sought-after person in hers. And thus, the two strike up an accord that, while Theo finds a way to get back on his feet, he’ll take over her role, and she’ll take over his. So it is that the children are no longer operating under such a liberal parenting attitude, as Theo takes the helm and turns them into fitness freaks. In contrast, the children in The War of the Roses, Carolyn (played first by Bethany McKinney and then Heather Fairfield) and Josh (played first by Trenton Teigen and then by Sean Astin) end up obese during their childhood as a result of Barbara’s influence and laxity, whereas Hattie and Roy end up hyper-athletic and fit in The Roses as a result of Theo’s.
The missing piece in The War of the Roses is this “high-powered career swap” plot device. Though Barbara, a former gymnast (this “little detail” being useful to the story during many instances), does start to parlay her talent for cooking into a catering business around the same time she has the epiphany that she doesn’t want to be married to Oliver another second. This revelation fully crystallizing after Oliver has a heart attack scare (which turns out to be the angina-like effects of a hiatal hernia). Because, upon hearing this news, Barbara doesn’t feel sadness, but total relief. “Like a weight had been lifted.” Like she was finally free…from the oppression of being a full-time wife and mother. For it is only now, as their children are going off to college, that she’s started to regret every sacrifice she ever made. In The Roses, the inverse of this occurs for “the wife” in the permutation, with Ivy regretting that she chose her career over her children as they go off to some special fitness camp at thirteen. She blames Theo for this, too: pushing them away sooner than they needed to go with his “excellence conditioning.” Something she finds ironic considering what a “dud” he turned out to be on the provider front.
In this sense, too, The Roses deviates from The War of the Roses in that Barbara ultimately wishes Oliver hadn’t turned out to be such an alpha male, such an “exceptional earner” (as Britney would say)—because it left no room for her to contribute financially. Something she knows is the only way to truly assert some form of power in a monogamous relationship. But beyond that, to feel some sense of independence for herself. And, speaking of having an independent nature, it’s no wonder Barbara is a “cat person,” while needy, constantly-searching-for-validation Oliver is a dog person. As such, they each have what amounts to their own pets: Kitty Kitty and Bennie. Both of whom will serve as collateral damage in the ensuing war (though Bennie does technically survive, per one specific scene shown right after Barbara tells Oliver he’s eating dog-filled pâté; however, one imagines that scene of Bennie was only added conciliatorily after a bad test audience reaction). The Roses is markedly missing any pet subplots, just one of many facets removed that serve as a sign o’ the times in terms of studios responding more cautiously toward audience sensitivities.
This is also perhaps why, where The War of the Roses starts showing the eponymous war in the second act, the war between Ivy and Theo doesn’t really start until act three (ergo, possibly the reason for just calling it The Roses), after he builds her the house that is at the center of it. Because what was the point of reassigning his career from lawyer to architect if he wasn’t going to build it instead of, as in The War of the Roses, Barbara “finding it.” A.k.a. lusting after it for years until happening upon the owner’s wake at the house one day and becoming the first buyer in line as a result.
In both films, the house, in some sense, represents the wish to cling to the relationship in its idealized form. Though not for Barbara. She sees it as the only tangible proof of all the years she sacrificed to marriage and family. Carefully furnishing it and outfitting it with the best objects that Oliver’s money could buy. Particularly a creepy array of Staffordshire figurines. But Barbara’s struggle to find “the perfect Staffordshire figures” for the house is also a nod to the book, in which these figures become something of an obsession of Jonathan’s—hence, the reason why he’s at the estate sale auction that leads to his “meet-cute” (or rather “meet-brutal”) with Barbara.
Although, for the present era, Theo and Ivy’s briefly-shown war might seem “nasty,” it is nothing compared to the depths of darkness that The War of the Roses sinks into. After all, as Gavin D’Amato (DeVito), Oliver’s lawyer and friend, says to the would-be client he’s telling this tale to, “We came from mud. And after 3.8 billion years of evolution, at our core is still mud. Nobody can be a divorce lawyer and doubt that.” Speaking of divorce lawyers, the best that Jay Roach and writer Tony McNamara (usually more dependable for a great script, adapted or otherwise—see: The Favourite, Cruella and Poor Things) can drum up to represent Theo in the divorce is his hapless real estate friend Barry (Andy Samberg), clearly some ill-advised stand-in for Gavin.
As for Barry’s wife, Amy (Kate McKinnon), her entire presence is non sequitur. Providing the kind of “cringe comedy” she’s known for, but that is totally out of place within the universe of this movie. There’s also the numerous glaring issues pertaining to half-assed storylines, like one of Ivy’s employees getting caught having sex with another employee—something that never comes up again. Or the trip that Ivy and Theo take to New York together to “reconnect,” but that serves no real purpose for progressing the plot forward. In this sense, these scenes come off more as “time fillers” to avoid getting to the same kind of “meat” that The War of the Roses was unafraid to dive right into by Act Two. Because, at its core, The War of the Roses is about the fundamental disappointment that comes after you’ve achieved everything you were “supposed to” (particularly as a woman)—the marriage, the kids, the house, the financial security. The Roses is about a more conventional form of resentment related to who makes the money, who serves as the breadwinner in a relationship. And how it leads to power imbalances in different and unexpected ways.
Arguably the most vexing thing about this remake is not only that many people (*cough cough* Lily Allen) don’t even seem to recognize that it is a remake, but that it feigns being equally as “daring” in its dark tone as the original, while having the gall to end the movie on a note that suggests the two might actually get back together. In The War of the Roses, Barabara remains steadfast in her contempt until the bitter end. And oh, how very bitter it gets, with her pushing his hand away from her as the two expire at the same time thanks to falling from the ceiling while perched on their chandelier.
Worse still, Roach and McNamara don’t have the cojones to actually full-on show Theo and Ivy dying together due to a gas leak in their precious home that Theo unintentionally caused when he smashed the shit out of Ivy’s Julia Child stove. Instead, it cuts to black before the audience can even see an explosion. Which means their death isn’t necessarily “assured” (nor, as mentioned, is their divorce). And so, these characters didn’t categorically die on their respective hills the way Barbara and Oliver did. Making for a more “light-hearted” viewing experience for modern audiences who can’t stomach the notion of two people who were once in love now irrevocably despising each other. Not that such a conclusion should be any shock considering the near extinction of monogamy when compared to the 80s.
