To hear movies tell it, divorce is one of the worst things that has ever happened in the history of the universe. Two people enter into a legally binding contract, sometimes getting religion involved, but then one or both of them realize they’d rather not be in that contract anymore. So they ask to cancel that contract. It should be reasonable. It should be easy. Instead, according to movies, people end up miserable, broken, maybe even murdered. The best case scenario is your identical twin daughters team up, switch places, and trick you both into getting remarried. If you don’t have twins, I guess it’s misery and death for you.
One of the bleakest stories ever told about modern marriage, Warren Adler’s “The War of the Roses,” was previously adapted by Danny DeVito into a pitch black comedy in 1989, starring Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner as a once-promising couple whose resentments warp them into monstrous versions of themselves. It culminates in cruelty and violence. DeVito’s version was a cautionary tale, an attempt to convince couples to stay together or, if nothing else, go through a divorce without letting their egos get in the way. And like many cautionary tales, it was also a horror movie. Rarely has marriage, or divorce, seemed scarier.
Jay Roach’s remake, “The Roses,” tells very much the same story. This time it’s Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman who get married and destroy each other. Cumberbatch plays Theo, an architect whose biggest project literally falls apart on the same night Ivy (Colman) receives a glowing review for her fledgling restaurant, propelling her into the national spotlight. (Critics! Thank God for us, right?) Theo screwed up so badly he can’t find work, but they have bills to pay, so Ivy suggests he stay home with their two children while she focuses on her career. It’s kinda like “Mr. Mom,” but with the specter of death hovering over Michael Keaton and Teri Garr.
Before this incident, Theo and Ivy seemed happy. They quibbled and sniped but they loved each other and they loved their children and they loved their jobs. When Theo’s life collapses, Ivy doesn’t know how to talk to him about his feelings, and he’s too proud to admit he has any. So the resentment starts to trickle into the marriage, and their annoyance with that resentment seeps into that same toxic pool. Over the years that malignancy grows, finally turning terminal in more ways than one.
Roach’s film somehow manages to be hopeful and hopeless, usually at the same time. Tony McNamara (“Poor Things”) wrote an adaptation that firmly believes the horror could have been avoided, and that there were countless off-ramps from Theo and Ivy’s road trip to tragedy. They even go to couples counseling, which they don’t take seriously. So they ignore their therapist, who wisely observes that they’ve already checked out of their partnership and should call it quits before it gets even worse. (Criticism! If only people would listen!)
One of the running jokes in “The Roses” is that because Theo and Ivy are British, but living in California, their friends think their cruel insults are just playful banter. It’s a clever joke, aimed at the obliviousness of those friends — and Americans in general — but also at our protagonists, who can no longer tell when they’re kidding either. Roach’s approach is that Theo and Ivy were perfect for each other and just needed to work on their communication skills. That part’s not funny. It’s really, really sad.
The actors are funny. Well, most of them are. Cumberbatch and Colman get a kick out of each other, turning every other line into a gem. Andy Samberg tones it down admirably as Theo’s best friend, and later divorce lawyer, who’s come to terms with his own miserable marriage. But for some reason Kate McKinnon, who plays Samberg’s horny and straying wife, is in a completely different production. Everyone else is in a sharp, dark comedy. McKinnon is in a “Saturday Night Live” sketch, and not one of the good ones. It’s as though Jay Roach was afraid his movie was too smart or subtle, and told McKinnon to ham it up, for fear that crass American audiences wouldn’t understand “The Roses” was a comedy unless someone got hit by a banana cream pie.
Then again, I understand that fear. “The Roses” is an ambitious comedy, not because it’s so big but because it’s so delicate. This film could crumble at any minute. It veers dangerously from misery to whimsy to horror to hope, and nearly topples whenever the (otherwise, usually wonderful) Kate McKinnon is on-screen. To his credit, Roach always rights his ship when it teeters, and “The Roses” comes to one hell of a conclusion, which is bound to leave audiences wondering how the hell they’re supposed to feel. Maybe they’ll feel amused, maybe they’ll feel depressed, maybe they’ll feel horrified. But they’ll probably feel like divorce is a frightening and dangerous thing. Hollywood strikes again.
“The Roses” opens in theaters on Aug. 29.