“Till death us do part” – a phrase embedded in the global culture, almost to the point of becoming a cliché. Yet, it ends most conventional wedding vows, a continued choice that highlights the lifelong commitment two individuals make to each other at the altar, whether proverbial or physical. Yet, that’s not all that interesting, at least not in the context of today’s discussion, which is far more concerned with examining the fact that this statement is often an empty promise for many couples – a glimpse at the divorce rates for any given country (particularly those in Europe and the United States) underlines the staggering number of marriages that fall apart for one reason or another, and the circumstances surrounding them tend to be quite intriguing when done properly. This is the premise for The Roses, in which Tony McNamara writes a screenplay that is based on the novel The War of the Roses by Warren Adler, which was also previously the subject of an incredible film by Danny DeVito that remains one of the best comedies of its era. Unfortunately, the same can’t be said about this interpretation, which is helmed by Jay Roach, a peculiar choice in every way for a film that needed a strong directorial vision. The Roses follows Theo and Ivy, who have been married for the better part of a decade – he’s a critically-acclaimed architect, she’s an endlessly creative chef, both of them being wholeheartedly committed to mastering their chosen fields, which they seem to do without too much difficulty. Unfortunately, beneath the seemingly idyllic professional personas lurk two deeply miserable individuals, both of whom have grown unsettled by the malaise of long-term marriage, existing somewhere between frustrated boredom and outright disdain for one another. A few incidents accumulate in a ruthless showdown between the pair, who come to the difficult decision to end their marriage, but fail to realise the emotional – and eventual psychological – toll it would take on them, especially when their love transitions to hatred, a very different kind of passion. The reasoning for reinterpreting material that was more than worthy of standing on its own remains to be seen, and The Roses doesn’t offer all that much in terms of a clear justification, being a dull and heavy-handed mess with very few redeeming qualities.

Part of the appeal of the original adaptation of Adler’s novel was the opportunity to pair Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, two of the biggest stars of the 1980s, who had already been critical darlings and box office draws based on their work in Romancing the Stone, which saw their incredible chemistry light up the screen. It would be foolish to say that The Roses is much of a downgrade, on a purely objective level – the idea of seeing Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman, who are similarly the gold standard of their contemporaries, is enticing to say the least, for several different reasons. Primarily, as their first collaboration (a shocking discovery, considering how they’re seen as the cream of the crop of British actors in their age group), they prove to have immediate chemistry – we can entirely believe that these are a longtime married couple who have grown complacent in their placid domesticity, and turn towards hating one another once they grow bored of the affection, which proves to be a more worthwhile outcome for them both, if not a slightly shallow one. The way McNamara adapted the novel was to focus on as many tender, heartfelt moments as he did scathing, harrowing dark humour (the effectiveness of which remains up to the interpretation of the individual viewer), does allows both actors to showcase their comedic and dramatic talents in a way that feels natural and genuine. The promise of seeing them be at each other’s throats for 100 minutes is very appealing, and they make sure to deliver, enough to compensate for some of the questionable work being done by the supporting cast, which incudes Kate McKinnon at her most peculiar, Andy Samberg, a scene-stealing Allison Janney and Ncuti Gatwa (who is a magnetic presence, but has apparently been instructed to act in the most atrocious American accent imaginable), as well as several bit players who exist merely as set dressing for a film intended to be built entirely around its two wonderful leads, who are at the very top of their game and seem to be willing to do just about anything to get a laugh, which is not a bad way of approaching such a concept.

There are some films in which you can have weaker material but have it salvaged by exceptionally strong performances. Unfortunately, The Roses is not such an example – Colman and Cumberbatch are beyond dedicated, but there’s only so much that they can do before the film falls apart at the seams. This begins with the inception – McNamara chooses to go in his own direction with the story, only being marginally inspired by the novel, and aiming to create a riff on Adler’s concept, rather than a faithful adaptation. The previous version took a similar approach, but still kept the bare-boned structure intact, which is not the case here. The Roses lacks any real focus, and considering the number of films we get about divorce or relationships falling apart (especially those that feature reconciliation at the end), there’s something so outrageously toothless about this film. Part of this comes when we realise how it takes nearly the entirety of the first two acts for the story to get to the moments we anxiously await, namely those in which the two leads would descend into a state of madness and become combative towards one another, Frankly, we don’t need a film where two thoroughly mediocre middle-aged hedonists engage in spirited conversation about their loveless marriage. We want to see them at each other’s throats, threatening to go to extreme measures. This is where the film soars, because it allows much more space for dark humour and subversive commentary. Sadly, all of this is compressed into the final twenty minutes, feeling more like an afterthought than the apex of the film. For whatever reason, McNamara writes The Roses as some intensely moving portrait of how true love can overcome even the most impossible obstacles, which is motivating to those who want to believe that there is still hope for their rotting relationship, but hopelessly boring for those of us who simply want to see the antics we were promised, which eventually become nothing more than a footnote in a film that lacks any real focus. 

It also doesn’t help that The Roses struggles to establish even the most basic, fundamental tone. McNamara clearly intended this film to be given to his friend and former collaborator Yorgos Lanthimos – its the only way we can explain this milquetoast, surface-level screenplay, which would make more sense as a rough text to be further developed than the standalone script all on its own. Unfortunately, the task to bring this story to life is handed to Jay Roach, who is such a deeply uninteresting filmmaker and someone so extraordinarily wrong for this material. Perhaps it was his experience with films like Meet the Parents that led them to believe that he’d be able to helm yet another outrageous family-based comedy, when this was most certainly not the case at all. The tonal balance in particular is so entirely wrong, it boggles the mind to imagine how it was approved. The comedic moments are very funny, but they’re almost rendered invalid by the dramatic scenes, which are so heavy-handed and frustrating that we lose any sense of being entertained, and just have to watch as the film struggles to make sense of its own shortcomings. It is also visually very drab, with large portions of the film clearly being recorded via green screen technology, a singularly unnecessary choice that only confuses us as the viewer even more. Roach has very little skill as a voice or a visual talent, and there’s nothing really contained in The Roses that proves otherwise. In fact, the flaccid, uninteresting filmmaking actually becomes something of an impediment, since it refuses to give us anything onto which we can grasp, making this a truly lacklustre experience.

The Roses is a thoroughly mediocre film (which is practically a compliment considering how closely it comes to squandering absolutely every bit of potential), and one that is deeply unnecessary, which is perhaps its most notable artistic transgression. The least a film like this could do is make it clear why it exists, but no one seems to actually know themselves, creating a film that is as boring as it is needless, a fatal combination from the first moments. It serves the purpose of allowing two very respected thespians to give priority to the intrusive thoughts by adopting the foul-mouthed, intentionally lowbrow personas that are so entirely unexpected for performers of their calibre. This novelty quickly runs out, and when it does, all we are left with is a dreadfully dull film that has absolutely nothing to say, and which feels genuinely lacking in every area that we would otherwise find to be at least partially valuable. There is no reason for this film to exist, and it almost feels insulting that two exceptional actors were finally cast together and forced to appear in something that will forever stand in the shadow of its source material and a film adaptation widely considered a true classic. Whatever drove them to make this film remains to be seen, but if it was to update the story to a contemporary perspective, or to focus on ideas that were previously overlooked, the results are minimal and ultimately quite trivial at the best of times. Boring, uninteresting and frankly a waste of time, The Roses squanders all of its potential in favour of the most surface-level comedy imaginable – it doesn’t aim for the low-hanging fruit, it scrounges around for the decaying pieces that have fallen already, and seems deluded enough to think that it is being subversive and interesting, when in reality this could not be further from the truth.