Remember the brutal divorce satire of The War of the Roses? The new remake is here, but some critics are saying it’s lost its edge! We dive into how modernizing the story might have stripped away its most crucial commentary on marriage and class conflict. Has Hollywood defanged a classic for today’s audiences?
The highly anticipated remake of “The War of the Roses” has ignited a crucial discussion among film critics and audiences alike: has modern adaptation inadvertently stripped away the original’s potent social satire? While the 1989 film, starring Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner, and Warren Adler’s 1981 novel were lauded for their scathing portrayal of a divorce gone terribly wrong, many argue that the 2025 version, despite its contemporary sheen, misses the mark on its predecessor’s sharp commentary on marriage, class, and the dark undercurrents of the American dream. This film critique delves into the nuanced changes that have transformed a domestic horror show into a potentially defanged narrative.
The original “War of the Roses” resonated deeply by capturing the rancorous spirit of the 1970s, a decade marked by intense culture wars surrounding heterosexual partnership and evolving gender roles. It meticulously skewered not just the breakdown of a marriage, but also the toxicity of upward mobility and the consumerist obsession with material possessions. Jonathan and Barbara Rose, portrayed as both working-class and upper-middle-class aspirants, ascended to a beautiful Kalorama home filled with antiques, making their conflict a pointed social commentary on the trappings of perceived success. Danny DeVito’s adaptation further amplified these themes, presenting a claustrophobic and cruel narrative that audiences at the time found both shocking and compelling.
In stark contrast, the 2025 remake introduces Theo and Ivy, a pair of well-paid creatives—an architect and a cook—whose relationship is initially one of mutual support and ambition. While the narrative attempts to modernize their dynamic by showing alternating career trajectories and bickering over family responsibilities, the fundamental conflict that fueled the original is significantly diluted. The early departure of their 13-year-old twins to boarding school conveniently resolves the tension of balancing careers and family, effectively removing a potent source of marital discord and societal reflection present in Adler’s work.
Crucially, the new film abandons the overt class conflict that underpinned the original’s satirical edge. The midcentury names are replaced with more modern monikers, and the characters become British expats living a luxurious California lifestyle, moving between increasingly nicer homes. This shift from two Americans ascending the social ladder to established wealthy individuals blurs the class distinctions that previously informed the Roses’ relentless battle. Subtle gestures toward class tension, such as Jonathan correcting Barbara’s pronunciation or criticizing her parenting, which were key to the original’s social commentary, are flattened into minor, almost narcissistic differences, losing their incisive bite as a divorce satire.
The new Roses, Ivy and Theo, instead bicker over relatively trivial matters of taste—an antique stove in a modern design, or the specific shade of Irish moss for a roof. While these details hint at the original’s themes of possessiveness, they feel like mere vestiges. The profound insights into societal expectations and personal identity, once tied to economic aspirations and gender roles, are largely absent. The original was as much about the destructive nature of upward mobility as it was about love and marriage, themes largely muted in the contemporary rendition of this classic story, reducing the impact of the film adaptation.
Furthermore, the remake’s structural changes significantly impact its dramatic thrust. The highly imaginative tale of domestic destruction, which comprised the bulk of Adler’s novel and DeVito’s film, is condensed into a mere 15 climactic minutes. This decision transforms what was a slow, agonizing descent into chaos into a rushed spectacle, diminishing the pervasive psychological torment and the poignant battle over material possessions that made the original so compelling. The original critique that the Roses valued their house and antiques more than their children highlighted a profound societal flaw, a powerful element missing when the destructive acts are so compressed.
The very symbolism of the Roses’ home has been reimagined, further distancing the remake from its predecessor’s core message. The original Kalorama mansion, stuffed with antiques that diminished in value as the couple did, served as a stark metaphor for the illusion of material worth. The new movie’s cliff house, filled with stylish modern furniture and a digital assistant, represents a different kind of California creative-class wealth—one that embraces the artisanal and organic. While this updated setting presents new avenues for satire, the film appears to lack the necessary meanness to effectively twist the knife, softening the cultural commentary on contemporary affluence.
Perhaps the most significant departure lies in the ending, which epitomizes how defanged this story has become. Adler’s novel concludes with the Roses dying in a protracted, brutal battle within their boarded-up house. DeVito’s film similarly leaves them dead in their entry hall, with Barbara rejecting Jonathan’s final plea for forgiveness. In stark contrast, the 2025 adaptation presents a “cuddly rapprochement” before an accidental, gas-leak-induced demise. This softening of the climax completely undermines the original’s relentless critique of marriage, divorce, and human cruelty, leaving audiences with a more palatable, yet less impactful, conclusion to the once-biting social satire.
Ultimately, the question arises whether “The War of the Roses” can still capture the marital zeitgeist in an era where discussions around divorce and relationship breakdowns are abundant and multifaceted. While the original novel tapped into the relatively new phenomenon of easily available divorce and its societal ramifications, modern culture offers countless platforms and narratives exploring relationship dynamics. The remake’s struggle to find its unique voice amidst this cultural dispersal suggests that, perhaps, some classic film adaptations are best left in their original, unadulterated form, preserving their powerful and often uncomfortable social commentary for future generations.
