War of the Roses (1989
The love story of Barbara and Oliver Rose begins very much like a traditional rom-com – they meet cute in an auction bidding war on a rainy Nantucket afternoon and instantly give into their magnetic attraction to one another (Barbara: “If we end up together, then this is the most romantic evening of my life. And if we don’t, then I’m the world’s biggest slut.”). If 1989’s War of the Roses were a typical love story, it would close on a scene of the Roses’ early domestic bliss, perhaps that joyful Christmas Eve when their sweet, young children and a fixer-upper of a vintage car seemed to promise a golden future ahead and a happily-ever-after assuredly on the horizon. Yet Danny DeVito’s pitch black comedy goes on to give us glimpses of that love as it withers and dies on the vine and slowly boils over into animosity, open hostility, and a battle of the sexes for the ages – a great romance grown to an all-consuming hate.
Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas had previously demonstrated a great on-screen chemistry in 1984’s Romancing the Stone and its 1985 sequel Jewel of the Nile but they’re never better than when sparring to the death (and pissing on a lovely fish dinner in the process) here and they absolutely crackle on the screen. Douglas’ hot-shot yuppie lawyer is all arrogance and entitlement, stubbornly refusing to abdicate his kingdom, abandon his palace filled with over-priced chotchkis, and release his queen – partly because he still loves her, but mostly because she represents another one of his many fine belongings and, as such, an integral piece to his identity and he’d be damned if anyone’s going to take what’s his. Oliver’s divorce lawyer, Gavin (played by director DeVito) advises him never to underestimate his wife an adversary, warning that women are incredibly adept and creative when it comes to cruelty, and Barbara certainly doesn’t disappoint in that regard. Turner’s stone-cold multiorgasmic gymnast turned housewife turned catering entrepreneur is vicious in her cruelty, busting Oliver’s lip, exploiting his heartfelt vows in divorce proceedings, and eventually attempting vehicular homicide. The very home they each fight to keep becomes the stage for their war, their state-of-the-art kitchen in flames, their beloved Staffordshire’s turned projectiles, and their beautiful crystal chandelier the scene of their ultimate marital Waterloo.
Unrelentingly vicious and darkly funny, War of the Roses presents a bleak take on romance, the idea that love, no matter how seemingly perfect its beginnings, is likely to sour – no one escapes unscathed and the best one can hope for is to emerge alive. While that may be a bitter Valentine chocolate to swallow, when staged as wickedly hilariously as it is here, it’s still good to the last bite. Woof. –Kimberlee Rossi-Fuchs
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