Jay Roach’s The Roses takes on Warren Adler’s infamous tale of marital implosion, already immortalised in Danny DeVito’s 1989 classic The War of the Roses. Rather than a direct remake, this new version positions itself as a modern retelling, with Olivia Colman and Benedict Cumberbatch stepping into the lead roles of Ivy and Theo Rose. With a sharp script from Tony McNamara (The Favourite, Poor Things), biting dialogue, and two actors at the height of their craft, the pieces are all here for a scathing dark comedy about the disintegration of love and the corrosive power of resentment. Unfortunately, while the film has moments of bite and a closing act that finally commits to its nastiness, the lack of chemistry between Colman and Cumberbatch undercuts the entire premise, leaving The Roses more polished than potent.
The setup is familiar but effective. Theo is an architect whose career collapses at the very moment Ivy, a gifted chef, finds herself propelled into culinary stardom. Once the balance of their marriage tilts, the couple’s relationship begins to fray. He resents her success; she resents his entitlement and emotional neediness. What begins as passive-aggressive bickering escalates into open warfare—culminating, as in Adler’s novel and DeVito’s film, in a battle over their prized home.
McNamara’s script is full of sharp exchanges, psychological jabs, and therapy-speak turned into weapons. Colman, one of the finest screen actors working today, delivers every barb with surgical precision, layering Ivy’s frustrations with both exhaustion and pride. Cumberbatch, meanwhile, finds understated humour in Theo’s pompous fragility, leaning into his character’s man-child qualities with a knowing wink. On an individual level, they are both compelling. Together, however, something essential is missing.
That missing element is heat. For the Roses’ breakdown to feel tragic, we need to believe that the fire of their love burned hot enough to make their hatred equally scorching. DeVito’s 1989 film achieved this by casting Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, whose smouldering chemistry made their collapse both inevitable and horrifying. Here, by contrast, Colman and Cumberbatch feel like two actors delivering finely tuned performances in parallel rather than two halves of a combustible whole. Their banter feels intellectual, even theatrical, rather than lived-in. The supposed passion that once bound them together never feels real, which makes their descent into cruelty ring hollow.
Roach’s direction compounds the issue. Known for his flair in comedies like Austin Powers, he opts here for a strangely restrained approach. The film often looks more like a prestige TV pilot than a cinematic black comedy, relying heavily on exposition and dialogue at the expense of visual audacity. The cinematography is clean but uninspired, and obvious needle-drops like “Love Hurts” during the marriage’s collapse feel lazy rather than clever.
Supporting performances also land unevenly. Andy Samberg brings weary charm as the Roses’ long-suffering friend, but Kate McKinnon’s broad, sketch-style humour feels imported from another film entirely, clashing with the more grounded performances of Colman and Cumberbatch. Instead of heightening the absurdity, these tonal clashes sap the film of menace and edge.
Where The Roses does find its footing is in its final act. Once the couple’s simmering resentments boil over into outright destruction, the film finally embraces the cruelty and absurdity that the material demands. The ending itself is sharp, bold, and memorable—arguably too good for the more hesitant, polished movie that precedes it. For a brief stretch, Roach allows the ugliness to shine through, and it’s here that the film brushes up against greatness.
As a whole, though, The Roses feels like a missed opportunity. With a biting script, two extraordinary leads, and a premise ripe for brutal satire, this should have been a cutting exploration of marriage, ambition, and ego. Instead, the absence of genuine chemistry between Colman and Cumberbatch robs the story of its tragic weight. You admire the craft, but you never quite feel the heartbreak.
A handsomely mounted but emotionally hollow retelling that never musters the heat to make its central war believable. Strong performances and a killer ending aren’t enough to disguise the lack of spark at its core.
