Flashes of brilliance

Misery
Review | by Sean McQuaid
Watermark Theatre, July 13, 2024

It’s a slimmer, sadder summer for smaller PEI theatres, with fewer Island venues staging plays. Thankfully, the stalwart Watermark Theatre is bucking that trend with multiple shows. Darkest of these is Misery, based on the 1987 psychological horror novel by Stephen King. That book was adapted into the iconic film Misery (1990) by screenwriter William Goldman, who wrote this stage version of the story in 2012.  

Said story features celebrated romance novelist Paul Sheldon (played here by Robert MacLean) and his self-proclaimed “number one fan,” eccentric nurse Annie Wilkes (Jody Stevens). Annie rescues Paul from a wintry car crash and treats his injuries in her nearby country cabin, but Paul soon wonders what his intensely odd savior really wants from him… and whether she’s ever going to let him leave. 

Goldman’s script distills the story to its key elements with a single location (Annie’s cabin), streamlined action and an even smaller cast than the already-condensed movie. The play is mostly Annie and Paul, though wily Sheriff Buster (Cameron MacDuffee) eventually pops up, too, investigating Paul’s disappearance. 

The play’s 2015 Broadway production had a revolving set with multiple rooms. On Watermark’s compact stage, it’s a single room that transforms into other rooms. These look nice (kudos to designer Khushi Chavda’s solemnly homey puzzle box of a set), but the changes sometimes require prolonged intervention by multiple stagehands. Depending on how their movements are placed or lit, it feels disruptive at times. 

At their best, some of the scene changes feel like mini-scenes of their own—MacLean engaging in business while stagehands move murkily in semi-darkness behind him, Stevens staying in character as Annie while moving things herself—but some of the bigger, brighter, longer switches have a slightly awkward Kuroko feel. 

Misery has lots of violence, and while much of it is harrowingly convincing here, some action doesn’t fully land—a clearly nonexistent barbecue fire, a pivotal climactic downstage bludgeoning that doesn’t quite click—and in a venue as small as Watermark, little glitches feel bigger.

While the space’s intimacy magnifies technical hiccups, it also enhances the story’s immediacy and emotional potency—watching this production is a bit like being trapped in that cabin with Annie and Paul yourself, ratcheting up the tension of Goldman’s already inherently suspenseful script.

Director Rahul Gandhi’s best assets in this regard are a crackerjack cast. MacDuffee conveys sly, understated intelligence as Buster, and MacLean (full disclosure: a past collaborator of mine) runs a multi-faceted stage marathon here as the long-suffering Paul, depicting pain and fear and frustration, often wordlessly, while adroitly mining the character’s archly comedic streak. 

Best of all is Stevens as Annie Wilkes, one of the meatiest, creepiest roles an actor could ever want, and Stevens crushes it. There are brief echoes of Kathy Bates’ star-making turn as the character, but Stevens makes the role uniquely hers with a child-like energy that layers dark girlish charm into the part, Annie Wilkes mixed with Anne Shirley. 

Watermark’s thrust stage, enveloped by its audience on three sides, always has tricky conflicting sight lines. Gandhi’s blocking gives the center seating a bit too much of Stevens’ back by times, especially in the first act; but overall, it’s a well-balanced, shifting array of angles over the course of the show. 

Aaron Comeau’s sound design builds place and mood, from quiet tension to seat-rattling booms, bangs and crashes. Even better is Alison Crosby’s artful lighting design, especially during lightning-splashed storm scenes where the characters flicker in and out of darkness, flashes of movement captured like still photographs. One scene’s brief glimpse of a shadowy, lightning-silhouetted Annie in a doorway behind Paul is gloriously eerie, like a Night Gallery painting come to life.

Weirdly beautiful lighting, Goldman’s harrowing script and Stevens’ wickedly giggly, quicksilver-faced Annie all help make this sometimes inelegant, oft-brilliant rendition of Misery an indelibly memorable thriller.