A horror story gives the audience a thrill of fear but stops before the world becomes too hostile to bear; it’s a way of enjoying being scared. A play is a contraption held up by the willing suspension of disbelief. In a thoroughly entertaining production of Misery, Dorset Theatre Festival lets us enjoy the mechanisms that produce a gripping story: stage illusions we see through and danger we can dissect.
The play is a 2015 adaptation by William Goldman of his own screenplay for the 1990 film based on Stephen King’s bestseller Misery. It’s still set in 1987, when stories came out of typewriters and pain medications weren’t addictive opioids. But it’s now less a claustrophobic nightmare than a what-happens-next adventure.
The play effortlessly bounces from situation comedy to psychological confrontation to twisty-turny thriller.
The story is set in the secluded Colorado house of Annie Wilkes, where popular romance novelist Paul Sheldon finds himself in a quilt-strewn bed, waking up after a car accident that nearly killed him. Annie ministers to him and admires the job she did setting his two broken legs. She’s a former nurse who found his crashed car in a snowstorm, pried open the door and lugged him to safety. She saved his life.
And now she has complete control over it. But perhaps not so much over herself, for Annie is prone to gravity-defying mood swings. She proclaims herself Paul’s No. 1 fan, staring at him with bovine reverence, but she can just as quickly turn cold enough to withhold his pain meds — or worse. Annie is deranged, funny, puritanical, resourceful and sadistic; essentially the most dangerous caregiver on Earth.
She needs something from Paul, and it begins with the attachment she’s formed to Misery Chastain, the main character in his best-selling series about a hard-luck heroine in the 1820s. She demands a new Misery story and supplies the typewriter, paper and locked door necessary to get it. He can keep himself alive by writing it.
The play effortlessly bounces from situation comedy to psychological confrontation to twisty-turny thriller, never landing in one genre for long. Goldman’s script is propelled by disarming humor, and this production emphasizes the comedy. Paul is trapped and Annie is unstable, but this is no nail-biter. If it isn’t quite imminent danger, it’s also not quite madness — it’s entertainment.
Director Jackson Gay lets the laughs keep both characters likable but never neglects the grim situation as Paul struggles to outwit the volatile Annie. Gay clarifies the actors’ intentions moment by moment, even as Annie’s objectives keep changing.
The fine acting by Kelly McAndrew, as Annie, and Dan Butler, as Paul, is the production’s hallmark. Given the diabolical situation, the actors contribute contrary qualities to each scene. Butler is largely immobile while McAndrew has control of every object in the house, including the door. McAndrew’s character says what she’s thinking, while Butler’s must conceal his thoughts. The actors complement each other to keep the characters in absolute opposition.
McAndrew’s strength is taking up each new mood of Annie’s and committing to it fully. Her performance surprises viewers as much as Annie startles Paul. One moment she is a steadfast nurse; next she’s infatuated with the great author who’s created a character she adores; and next she’s capable of merciless oppression. She skillfully underplays the extremes and makes a madwoman lovable by lacing her with just enough humor to keep us more curious than horrified. She pinballs through emotions, truly dangerous because she’s making it all up as she goes along.
Butler makes Paul’s physical struggles wrenching. When he tries getting out of bed, we watch him drag himself and pause at the inexorable point where he must fall and let his two badly broken legs bear the brunt. Butler shows us a battle between hesitation and commitment in task after task, but he never resorts to theatrical wincing or overcooked agony. Butler plays the humor deftly while maintaining a stoic certainty that he’s more than a match for Annie. Paul’s lack of fear keeps the play from frightening us as we wait for his inevitable, if unlikely, escape.
With a slow folksiness, Greg Stuhr plays a sheriff destined not to ask enough questions. Throughout, the fictional tropes keep the pot boiling while the well-written laughs land perfectly.
In a story about captivity, scenic designer Riw Rakkulchon makes the house’s architecture part of the play. On a turntable the size of the full stage, Rakkulchon creates a bedroom, kitchen and front porch that revolve into view. The walls are partially open studwork, so only Joey Moro‘s exceptional lighting creates the final edges. The stage illusion is a captivating wonder, and when Paul rolls out of his room in a wheelchair and the house revolves around him, it’s an astonishing expression of movement and space.
Lighting designer Moro produces luscious statements of atmosphere and terrifying lightning cracks, then adds bravura touches, such as a shimmering glow caressing the open walls at the end to explain we’ve just seen a fairy tale. Costume designer Fabian Fidel Aguilar defines Annie’s loose grip on the world through formless dresses and dumpy cardigans with pockets hanging down to her knees.
The stagecraft is designed to be noticed, including the black-clad crew who rotate the stage and deserve their part in the curtain call. Paul’s circumstances remain dire, but we admire the trap’s design more than we fear its teeth. In a burnished, beautiful production, the actors uncork surprises, but Friday’s full house laughed much louder than it gasped.
King’s author hero is a modern Scheherazade, keeping himself alive by doling out the pages of a story his captor demands. Paul can counter Annie by dangling a blank page and asking if she wants to know how it all comes out. The audience is likewise gripped, not by suspense but by observing the craft underneath it.
The original print version of this article was headlined “Bad Muse | Theater review: Misery, Dorset Theatre Festival”
This article appears in Jun 28 – Jul 4, 2023.
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