Sometimes a film doesn’t just show a relationship; it invites you to sit on the couch with it and feel every tiny jab, every unspoken eye-roll, every ridiculous argument about nothing that secretly means everything. The Roses is that kind of movie. It arrives as a bright, polished comedy-drama—a smooth 1 hour 45 minutes in English—yet under its glossy surface it’s prickly, sour, and often very funny. It’s a battle of hearts and egos disguised as a domestic story, and the pleasure is in watching brilliant actors play emotional tennis until the rackets snap.
The film is directed by Jay Roach, a filmmaker who knows how to balance sharp humor with human stakes. You can feel the steady hand behind the chaos: the jokes land, the tension builds, the set pieces grow bigger and bolder, and yet the characters never turn into cartoons. Tony McNamara’s writing gives the dialogue a sly bite. People don’t speak like movie characters giving speeches; they speak like people trying to win—trying to win the scene, win the moment, win the day. That’s what gives the film its engine. Every conversation is also a competition.
At the center are two titans: Benedict Cumberbatch and Olivia Colman. Watching them together is the main reason this movie works as well as it does. Cumberbatch plays the partner who desperately wants to appear in control, clever, and composed even when his life is wobbling. He’s all quick retorts and tight smiles, the kind of person who will fix a crooked painting while ignoring the collapsing wall behind it. Colman brings a different voltage: warm, witty, and devastatingly precise, she can say a cutting line and somehow wrap it in charm. The joy here is not just in their fights but in the tiny moments in between—the shared glances, the strategic silences, the little betrayals of body language that tell you this couple knows each other too well. Together they create a believable, complicated bond that makes the fireworks feel earned.
The supporting cast turns the screws and sprinkles in surprise. Andy Samberg loosens the film with quick, off-beat humor right when the mood threatens to turn mean. Allison Janney arrives like a truth bomb, the person in the room who knows where the old secrets are buried and is not afraid to dig. Belinda Bromilow and Sunita Mani slip in with knowing asides and sly observations; they’re the kind of characters who listen carefully and then say the one thing everyone else is too polite to admit. Ncuti Gatwa and Jamie Demetriou bring their own flavor—playful, nervy, and just a little chaotic—nudging the story into sharper comic territory without breaking its emotional spine. It’s a true ensemble, and Roach gives everybody a moment to score.
Visually, the movie looks elegant and intentional. Florian Hoffmeister’s cinematography catches the mood swings with quiet artistry. Early scenes are airy and inviting; light bounces off tidy rooms and warm kitchens. As the relationship sours, the frames grow tighter, the angles slightly off, the spaces more cluttered and shadowed. You start to feel the environment closing in on the characters. It’s not flashy, and that’s the point. The camera keeps us close enough to read faces while allowing the comedy to play in full—especially during the larger, more physical sequences where domestic life turns into a contact sport.
Structurally, the movie moves in clean chapters. It starts with little frictions—those tiny cracks that most couples plaster over—and slowly escalates to bigger, pettier, and funnier battles. The tone is a dance between elegance and madness: refined conversation, sudden chaos, a sweet memory interrupted by a sharp insult. That balance is tricky. On purpose, the film lets you laugh and then makes you wince at the cost of that laughter. At times, you may wonder if the humor is giving you permission to look away from the hurt. But the script keeps circling back to the truth that affection and resentment can live in the same house, and sometimes in the same breath.
Because it’s a comedy-drama, the laughs matter. The jokes aren’t only punchlines; they are strategies. One partner will use a gag to dodge intimacy, the other will use sarcasm as a shield. When the big comic set pieces arrive, they don’t feel imported from another movie—they feel like extensions of the characters’ worst impulses. Imagine a small disagreement turning into an elaborate game of one-upmanship that spirals out of control. The pleasure is in the escalation and the invention: how far can two people go to not apologize?
The film also understands the emotional rhythm of long relationships: the private language, the inside jokes that become weapons, the way a simple phrase can carry years of history. There are genuinely tender beats here. We see what drew these people together and why it’s so hard for them to let go. That’s important; without that warmth, the satire would feel mean. With it, the comedy stings in the best way—because it lands on something recognizable.
On the craft side, the pacing is surefooted. At 1h 45min, the movie doesn’t dawdle. Scenes snap into one another with a purposeful tempo that mirrors the characters’ escalation. The soundscape and song choices (teased in marketing and woven lightly through the film) keep the energy buoyant without drowning out the performances. Editing keeps the comedic timing crisp and the emotional beats readable. You always know where you are in the arc of this relationship—even when the characters pretend they don’t.
If there’s a place where some viewers may feel friction, it’s in the tonal whiplash. The film enjoys jumping from clever banter to near-farce to genuine heartbreak, sometimes within minutes. For many, that’s exactly the fun: it feels like life, messy and mismatched. For others, the leaps may feel a touch uneven. A couple of supporting turns are pitched ever so slightly broader than the leads, and a scene or two flirt with cartoon logic. But the movie usually recovers quickly, returning to that rich center—the two leads sparring like champion debaters who can’t bear to concede.
Thematically, The Roses is about power inside love. Who gets to be the “success”? Who gives up what, and who keeps score? It’s about how money, work, talent, and ego can tangle into a knot that looks like romance from far away and war up close. The film doesn’t demand that you pick a side. It invites you to notice how both people are right, both are wrong, and both are funny and terrible in ways that only people who once adored each other can be.
By the time the credits roll, you may feel exhilarated, a little bruised, and secretly grateful you watched someone else’s fight instead of having your own. That’s the movie’s sweet spot. It’s entertaining, quick on its feet, and surprisingly thoughtful. It gives its stars room to shine without turning them into saints. And it leaves you with a simple, uneasy truth: love is beautiful; pride is louder.
Should You Watch The Roses?
Yes—especially if you enjoy sharp, character-driven comedy with real emotional stakes. The lead performances are outstanding, the writing is witty and pointed, and the direction keeps the humor and the heart in conversation. If you like films where dialogue crackles, where a raised eyebrow can be funnier than a pratfall, this will hit the spot. It also rewards viewers who appreciate style: elegant cinematography, crisp editing, and a confident tone that dares to mix tenderness with mayhem.
Be mindful if tonal shifts bother you. The movie intentionally jumps between sly, verbal comedy and bold, physical chaos. If you prefer your comedy gentle or your drama tidy, the swings here might feel bumpy. And if stories about domestic conflict are tough for you, the emotional sparring—though often hilarious—can cut close to the bone.
The Roses is a smart, spiky crowd-pleaser powered by two world-class actors at the top of their game. It’s not cozy, but it’s alive. If you’re in the mood for a sophisticated brawl of words and wills, you should absolutely watch it.