Love is a battlefield, sure, but in 1989, Danny DeVito decided it should be a scorched-earth tactical strike. If you haven't revisited The War of the Roses movie lately, you might remember it as a dark comedy. Maybe a "bitter" satire. But honestly? Watching it now, in an era where "conscious uncoupling" is the goal but "scorched earth" is the reality for many, the film feels more like a documentary about the fragility of the American Dream. It’s mean. It’s claustrophobic. It’s brilliant.
Barbara and Oliver Rose, played by Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas, start out with the kind of chemistry that makes you believe in soulmates. They have the perfect house. The perfect kids. The perfect collection of Staffordshire porcelain. Then, one day, Barbara looks at Oliver while he’s eating and realizes she wants to smash a plate over his head. Not because he did something unforgivable—no infidelity, no gambling debts—but simply because he is.
That’s the terrifying core of the movie. It’s not a story about "bad" people; it’s a story about how the legalities of property and the ego of ownership can turn two decent humans into monsters.
The Architecture of a Divorce
The house is the third lead actor. This 18th-century-style mansion isn't just a setting; it’s the physical manifestation of their ego. When the marriage dissolves, neither will leave. Why? Because the house represents their work, their status, and their identity.
Danny DeVito, who directed and starred as the lawyer-narrator Gavin D’Amato, uses wide-angle lenses and weirdly distorted framing to make this massive home feel like a cage. You’ve got Michael Douglas trapped in a sauna, Turner Sawzalling the heels off his shoes, and a literal chandelier hanging over their heads like the Sword of Damocles.
Most movies about divorce, like Kramer vs. Kramer or even Marriage Story, focus on the emotional fallout for the children or the sadness of a lost connection. The War of the Roses movie focuses on the stuff. It’s about the grotesque side of materialism. As the film progresses, the house is slowly dismantled, just like their civility. By the time they’re swinging from that chandelier, the house is a ruin. It’s a literalization of the phrase "if I can't have it, nobody can."
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Why it feels different than modern rom-coms
Modern movies are often too scared to make their leads truly unlikable. In this film, Barbara Rose tells her husband, "When I watch you eat, when I see you asleep, I just want to kick you in the face." That is brutal. It’s visceral.
There is no "lesson" learned here, at least not for the Roses. The lesson is for us, the audience, delivered through DeVito’s character. He’s the one telling this story to a client who wants a divorce, trying to scare him into being reasonable. He tells him that there is no winning in a "civilized" divorce, only degrees of losing.
The Michael Douglas and Kathleen Turner Dynamic
You have to remember that in 1989, Douglas and Turner were the "It" couple of cinema. They had incredible, fun chemistry in Romancing the Stone and The Jewel of the Nile. Audiences went into the theater expecting a playful romp.
What they got was a bloodbath.
Michael Douglas plays Oliver with this specific brand of oblivious arrogance. He thinks he’s the provider, the "good guy," even as he ignores Barbara's needs for years. Kathleen Turner is even better. She plays Barbara with a cold, simmering rage that feels entirely earned. When she says she feels "freer" once she stops loving him, it’s chilling. She isn't a villain; she’s someone who has woken up from a 20-year coma of domesticity and realized she hates her life.
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The physicality of their performances is what makes the third act work. This isn't CGI. This is two actors throwing themselves into stunts, getting covered in dust, and looking genuinely exhausted. It’s a physical manifestation of emotional burnout.
How The War of the Roses Movie Predicted Modern "Property Wars"
If you look at celebrity divorces today—think of the multi-year legal battles over French vineyards or Palm Springs estates—they look exactly like this movie. The film highlights a specific legal loophole where both parties have a right to stay in the home during the proceedings. This creates a "deadlock" that Gavin D'Amato warns about.
It's about the "Sunken Cost Fallacy."
Oliver Rose can't leave because he paid for the house. Barbara Rose can't leave because she decorated it and made it a home. They are both right, and they are both fundamentally wrong. The movie argues that the law is a blunt instrument that can't fix a broken heart, only redistribute the assets.
The Darkest Comedy Ever Made?
There’s a scene involving a pâté that people still talk about. I won't spoil the exact detail if you haven't seen it, but it involves a pet and a dinner party. It’s the moment where the movie shifts from "bitter comedy" to "psychological horror."
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DeVito’s direction is surprisingly stylish. He uses shadows and heights to make the Rose mansion look like a gothic castle. The humor comes from the absurdity—like Oliver crawling through the attic—but the stakes are deadly serious. It’s one of the few movies that actually commits to its ending. There’s no last-minute reconciliation. There’s no "we’ll always have the kids." It is a total, final collapse.
Common Misconceptions About the Film
People often think this is a movie about why marriage is bad. I don't think that’s true. It’s a movie about why unprocessed resentment is bad.
- Misconception 1: Barbara is the "crazy" one. If you watch closely, Oliver’s dismissal of her business ambitions and his patronizing attitude are what light the fuse.
- Misconception 2: It’s a parody. It’s actually quite grounded in the reality of 1980s property law and the "Me Generation" obsession with status.
- Misconception 3: The ending was forced. The studio actually wanted a happier ending, but the creators fought for the grim finale because any other ending would have been a lie.
Practical Takeaways for Your Next Rewatch
If you’re going to sit down and watch The War of the Roses movie this weekend, pay attention to the colors. At the start, the house is warm, gold, and inviting. By the end, the lighting is harsh, blue, and cold. The environment reflects the death of their intimacy.
Also, look at the kids. They are almost non-entities in the second half of the movie. That’s a deliberate choice. In a high-conflict divorce, the parents often become so obsessed with "winning" against each other that the people they claim to be fighting for—the children—become background noise. It’s a stinging critique of parental ego.
What to do after watching
If the movie leaves you feeling a bit shaken (which it should), here are a few ways to process it:
- Audit your "stuff": Look around your house. If you had to leave tomorrow with nothing but a suitcase, could you do it? The Roses couldn't, and it killed them.
- Check your resentment levels: The movie shows that the "little things" like how someone chews or hangs a towel are actually symptoms of much deeper issues.
- Read the source material: Warren Adler wrote the novel the film is based on. It’s even darker, if you can believe that.
- Watch "The 70-year-old lawyer": Pay attention to Gavin D’Amato’s office scenes. His warnings are the most practical legal advice you’ll ever get from a fictional character.
The film serves as a cautionary tale that has only aged better with time. In a world of filtered lives and "perfect" homes, it reminds us that the most expensive chandelier in the world isn't worth much if you're using it as a weapon. If you want to understand the psychology of "winning at all costs," you need to watch this movie. Just maybe don't watch it with your spouse on your anniversary. Or do. It might be the best honesty session you've ever had.