The Task: Watch and write about every movie on my shelf, in order (Blu-rays are sorted after DVDs), by June 10, 2015. Remaining movies: 195 Days to go: 200
Movie #182: Misery
Nobody ever listens to me. Before I started watching this one tonight, I told the older kids how great it is, how it’s based on a Stephen King book (which the girl likes to read), and how I think they’d really like it. And despite being rated R, there’s really not much here the kids can’t handle (except for the hobbling, which no one can handle. I’ve never handled the hobbling), so I invited them to watch it with me. Neither one of them could be bothered. Toward the end, the boy got bored and came out to slum with his mom for a while, and he really liked what little of it he saw. But why not take my word for it in the first place? Losers.
Anyway, Misery is a fantastic little bottle movie (like a bottle episode on a TV show, it takes place almost entirely in one small location, with only the principal characters interacting there) that manages to build insane (haha) amounts of tension and suspense and terror out of the littlest things — literally, it is often the pauses in conversation, or simply the expressions either shared or concealed, that create the most anxiety.
Paul Sheldon (James Caan) is a bestselling historical romance writer. His franchise heroine is Misery Chastain, and while he’s garnered a lot of success from the Misery books, he feels the need to move on. The film opens as he’s managed to do just that, finishing a new, untitled manuscript in his usual haunt of the Silver Creek Lodge. He has a closing ritual he performs with the end of every novel, and then he sets out with his single copy of the manuscript in his soft leather briefcase on snowy and treacherous roads. Conditions worsen, and he loses control of his car. It flips and launches down a steep hill on the side of the road, where he loses consciousness, severely injured.
He is saved by local nurse Annie Wilkes (Kathy Bates, knocking everyone’s socks off), who takes him to her home and patches him up the best she can, ostensibly because the roads are closed and the phones are down. She’s splinted his legs and popped his dislocated shoulder back into place (putting his arm in a sling) and she gives him fluids and frequent doses of pain pills. As the days progress, however, it becomes clearer and clearer that she’s hiding something, and soon it’s revealed that she never told anyone about finding Paul and that he’s imprisoned there with her, with no way to contact anyone on the outside.
This idea of incredible malice and, ultimately, horrible violence, coming from a place that originated in admiration — even adulation — was so scary because it was so well-hidden, so unexpected. Celebrities have many fans, and often come into contact with them in various ways, and the thought that some of them might harbor unbelievable hostility toward them resides in their deepest fears. It’s the terror of the unknown, of the unseen, like vicious piranhas lurking beneath the seemingly placid and glossy surface of a body of water. It makes the seemingly innocuous and pleasant statement, “I’m your number one fan,” into a one filled with foreboding and dread.
I like the idea of Lauren Bacall as Sheldon’s literary agent, though I wish she’d had more to do. And I really love the spice of Richard Farnsworth and Frances Sternhagen as Sheriff Buster and Deputy Virginia (when Buster finds Paul in the basement, I beg for a different ending). But Kathy Bates steals the show and every single scene she is in. Her blend of prudent goody-two-shoes and evil psychoface puts the audience on edge and never pulls back, to the point where even her hilarious absurdity (not just her raging rampages) is just as disturbing as it is funny. I mean, who knew “Mr. Man” could be such a disturbing epithet?
Filled with wonderfully suspenseful moments and a nightmare even more terrifying because of its outwardly innocent appearance, Misery is a startling, jaw-dropping, indelible film, and Annie Wilkes is an unforgettable villain. I can hardly tear my eyes away, despite how many times I watch. (Except for the hobbling part. Always look away for the hobbling.)
Viable Option 