Delaware Theatre Company presents 'The War of the Roses'

After seeing it, I felt the same way.

Though the trend is to adapt popular films into mediocre musicals (consider DTC's production of Diner, yet another musical the world didn't need, last season), this allegedly Broadway-bound play has a similar feel. Let's table the larger question of mainstream theater's desire for "safe" recycled material and the audience ready to buy recycled stories and characters for now, though.

How is the play?

Jack Noseworthy and Christina DeCicco play Jonathan and Barbara Rose, apparently nice folks — though we learn little about them as people, and the way their children are conveniently banished from the story just seems lazy. The happy, early part of their relationship is explained in flashbacks as each consults with their own lawyer. Cameron Folmar plays Thurmont, Barbara's advocate, who appears in each scene ready to play a different sport, each more outlandish than the last. Lenny Wolpe is Goldstein, Jonathan's barrister, who salts his advice with Torah wisdom. Both are very expensive, and warn that divorce can be ugly and brutal.

"I want to keep this one reasonable, civilized," proclaims Jonathan. We laugh, knowing that what's coming will be anything but.

A terrific local supporting cast plays a variety of roles. Adam Altman, Eric Kramer, Brian McCann, Kerry Kristine McElrone, and Karen Peakes all shine in brief yet vivid scenes.

Home sweet character

Midway through act one, we're dramatically introduced to the House, an ornate two-level mansion that elicits many oohs and ahhs, designed by Paul Tate dePoo III. Its assured destruction, a result of neither party vacating during the divorce proceedings, occurs mainly behind a curtain and between scenes — a stagecraft necessity, but one that also keeps the violence funny and abstract.

The House is symptomatic of why The War of the Roses fails as the dark satire Adler intends. His serious commentary about marriage falters because the couple's rage is diluted by monologues, flashbacks, and the indirect destruction of that ostentatious House. (Are the toilets gold? I wouldn't be surprised.) A chasm grows between real and ridiculous, and as the Roses straddle it more and more uncomfortably, the play sags and grinds.

The House also identifies them as members of the one percent, making their plight less real and sympathetic today. Their battles are also less entertaining now that we (hopefully) as a culture aren’t so amused by domestic violence. Or maybe we're just numbed by watching rich people behave shamelessly on television — e.g., Keeping Up with the Kardashians. Reality, at least TV's version of it, has surpassed the Roses.

Perhaps this is the right play for the Trump era, which might end in six weeks or extend for four or even eight years. As lawyers egg on the Roses, counseling them on how to force each other out of the House while racking up billable hours, greed and pettiness overwhelm whatever shred of humanity existed among the four.

Sure, marriage can be ugly — ask about my first marriage if you dare — but The War of the Roses is too glib to be ugly-real, and too real to be ugly-funny. Will that kill it on Broadway? Ask me on November ninth.