Misery might be the Stephen King novel best suited for a theatrical adaptation. Not only because its single-bedroom setting makes it decidedly stage-sized, but also because its two main characters are so idiosyncratic and grounded the tale belongs in the literary canon more than most of King’s supernatural work. Suffice it to say, I thought a Misery play was a good idea and was eager to see it.
Playwright William Goldman, who wrote the 1990 Rob Reiner movie, penned the play as well, originally performed by Laurie Metcalf and Bruce Willis on Broadway in 2015. Now under Halena Kays’s direction, American Blues Theater presents the story of Paul Sheldon (Steve Key), a famous gothic-romance author rescued from a terrible car accident by his self-appointed “number one fan” Annie Wilkes (Wandachristine). But Paul’s nurse can’t seem to let the bed-ridden celebrity leave her isolated wintry home, and Paul must write for his survival when his increasingly deranged captor demands a new ending to her favorite series.
What makes Annie such a compelling character is her ridiculousness. King’s villains reveal the evil possibilities of oft-benign figures, like Christine’s evil car or Cujo’s evil family pet. Misery explores the hidden evil of the small-town American woman, a creature whose casual cruelty hides beneath a hypocritical layer of folksiness and religiosity. It’s very Fargo-esque, really. And Wandachristine captures the silliness of the character to great effect. She dotes over Paul as if ensnared by a school-girl crush. “I’m your number one fan,” she repeats ad nauseam. At one point she honks and squeals animatedly, imitating her pet pig which she named, of course, Misery, after the main character in Paul’s novels. She’s obsessed with Liberace. It’s a funny performance, full of comedic energy.
But it’s missing a crucial element. Annie Wilkes’s silliness is fascinating because, you realize as the story unfolds, it’s a perverse mask hiding a deranged soul. And all those idiosyncrasies—the phrases, the obsessions—are born from the same pot of insanity that compels her to, for instance, break Paul’s ankles with a sledgehammer. For the complete character profile you need to see Annie’s darkness fully formed, to see the evil side without the folksy sheen. With those ingredients together you can appreciate the character completely.
In the film Kathy Bates betrays this side of the character miraculously in a scene where she recounts a chapter play she watched as a child. In the play and movie Annie bemoans an anachronism in the serial’s plot, “I stood right up and started shouting, ‘This isn’t what happened last week—have you all got amnesia? Are you too stupid to remember?—THEY JUST CHEATED US . . . HE DIDN’T GET OUT OF THE COCKADOODIE CAR!’”
In Bates’s performance the frustration builds and builds, eyes widening like two black holes, until she’s screaming, almost possessed. It’s the scariest reading of the word “COCKADOODIE” ever put to film. But the same moment falls flat in American Blues Theater’s production, where Wandachristine yells and stomps her feet like a bratty child. The audience laughed at this moment, as they laughed often throughout the show. I wonder if that kind of feedback did the actors a disservice. Were they playing for laughs too much?
Steve Key’s performance also feels oddly out of place. The actor adopts a New York accent, a decision based solely, it would seem, on the fact that Sheldon is from New York. Confined to a bed, Key must rely a great deal on facial expression, bobbing his head with smart-alecky inflection and mugging a Vito Corleone grimace. It’s a strange actor’s impulse building a character by attaching yourself to the most appropriate stereotypes, and I wonder how the performance would have improved without those caricatures.
Key manages as best he can under a very demanding job: to appear in physical pain for prolonged periods. If self-awareness builds the actor’s toolkit, moments when people lack the skill—sickness, agony, desperation—present a challenge. Making the voluntary look involuntary requires special attention, and I’m not sure Key was up to it. He appears to have a rolodex of pain-signaling motions: wince, shift weight, grunt. And he runs through them again and again, reminding us but not convincing us that he is in pain. One could imagine him thinking to himself, “Has it been a while since I winced? Better wince.”
So the show, funnier than it should be, won’t please anyone looking for a truly scary experience. This is the campiest Misery I’ve seen, much more than the movie or book. But with that comes its own appeal. Like I said, it is funny. And the relationship between the two characters, though shallowed by the performances, is still one of the most delicious King ever wrote. Watching the two vie for control in this odd couple from hell is entertaining on the page, screen, and stage.
Scenic design for Misery is by Shayna Patel with lighting by Michael Trudeau. Joe Court handles sound design. Lilly Wells is costume designer. Violence design is by Nick Sandys. Richard Lundy is production stage manager.
Misery continues at American Blues Theater, 5627 N Lincoln Ave, thru October 26. Running time is 90 minutes with no intermission. Ticket prices range from $30 to $60.
For more information on this and other plays, see theatreinchicago.com.
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