A Story of Obsession and Control that'll Leave You Breathless

I still remember watching Misery for the first time and being blown away by its dark, twisted genius. As an adult, I can confidently say it's like a crash course in the complexities of human relationships.

How do you explain to someone that caring about someone who's been broken for you isn't exactly a concern? It's like the film is saying, 'Hey, just watch Misery and you'll get it.'

The film is an adaptation of Stephen King's novel of the same name, and it's no surprise that it's a masterpiece. Lead actress Kathy Bates won Oscars and Golden Globes for her role, and she even impressed King so much that he wrote the novel Dolores Claiborne based on her character. She went on to play the lead in the film adaptation as well.

As for the role of the disabled writer, there was no shortage of interest. They offered it to Jack Nicholson after Shining, as well as Dustin Hoffman, Al Pacino, Robert De Niro, Harrison Ford, and even Arnold Schwarzenegger. In the end, James Caan took on the role and nailed it – he's a charismatic guy.

The film's tagline:

"Paul Sheldon always wrote to make a living. Now he writes to stay alive!"

Misery was released in 1990 and was commercially successful:

Budget: $20 million

Box Office: $61.3 million

Plot:

I was excited to hit the road and finish writing my latest novel. I'd been stuck in Colorado for a while, and the snowstorm that rolled in was the perfect excuse to get moving. But as I was driving down to LA, my car got blown off the road by a fierce gust of wind. Luckily, I was rescued by a kind-hearted nurse named Annie Wilkes, who pulled me out of the wreckage and took me in to her home. She was a huge fan of my work, claiming to be my number one fan, and she was thrilled to hear that I was working on a new novel.

With the fireplace going and Annie being so courteous, I started to feel a sense of obligation towards her. I took her words at face value and pushed my own boundaries.

I've gotta admit, he doesn't even notice the huge red flag when she's telling him the story of his rescue – while she's literally cutting him with a razor as a symbol of it. Or at least, he's pretending not to notice, turning it all into flirtatious jokes like he does later to keep himself alive.

Annie says she's been following him because he's a great writer and she's his number one fan, and on that snowy day, she was driving to meet him, which is why she saw the accident. Paul understands that he wouldn't have stood a chance of surviving with those injuries in the cold, and nobody would have found him if Annie hadn't been there, so he wants to be useful in some way.

So when she asks if she can read the manuscript in his folder, he breaks his own safety rules:

I have strict rules. Only my publisher can read it... and the woman who saved my life.

Paul not only lets her read the manuscript before anyone else, but he also asks for her opinion and suggests she come up with a title because he's unsure himself.

This is where the classic 'I know what's best for you, and I'm going to fix your life' dynamic starts to play out – with a healthy dose of 'you're a messed-up woman and I'm going to kill off your favorite character in my story' thrown in for good measure.

It's like, 'I know how to live your life better, and I'm going to feed you a bowl of oatmeal to make you a better person.'

Paul's situation is eerily reminiscent of a period in everyone's life - early infancy.

Think about it, a swaddled infant, unable to defend themselves, feed themselves, or even change their own diaper. If their mom is cold or cruel, they'll survive, but with emotional scars.

It's amazing how differently babies react to their environment, and it shapes their behavior for life. Some scream and demand attention, others quietly suffer, some even lash out, like this kid who's constantly trying to manipulate his mom by being cute, only to deliver the crushing blow when she finally lets her guard down.

These patterns play out in adult relationships, too.

The film is brilliant in how it captures this dynamic - the dialogue, the subtext, the characters' reactions to each other.

Annie demands that Paul rewrite his novel.

She buys him a used typewriter and some paper, trying to get him to write.

And he tries to take advantage of her absence, showing her that the paper she bought is no good - the ink smears.

Annie, being the overbearing type, blows up:

I've gotta say, the excuses in this movie are pretty wild. I'm going out of my way for you, I'm doing everything to make you happy. I'm feeding you, cleaning up after you, dressing you, and what do I get in return? 'Oh, you bought the wrong paper, Annie, this paper can't be written on, Annie!' Okay, fine, I'll buy your stupid paper, but you'd better start showing some appreciation, Mr. Music!

- Shh, sweetheart, trust me.

- Please...

- That's for the best.

- Annie, please!

[She kicks him in both legs]

- God, I love you.

This is the classic excuse for forcing your will on someone else, using God, good intentions, salvation, and all that.

The movie is actually pretty believable. Paul can only move around in a wheelchair, Annie's house is in the middle of a snowy forest with no phone. He makes desperate attempts to escape, but he's not even sure himself, like when he tries to open a locked door with a sign that says 'invisible lock' ('Come on, you wrote about this!') and he's struggling, shaking his muscles, using the typewriter to develop his hands until Annie sees him.

I have to admit, Paul does a great job of pretending to be invested, empathetic, and in agreement with Annie, all while secretly looking for ways to get rid of her. He's also really good at making her feel the emotional pain.

I love how they dismantle the theory that you can love and fix someone who's mentally ill. Like, how do you love someone who thinks that a joint suicide is the ultimate act of love? What do you even prove to someone who has that concept of love?

- When you first got here, I only loved Paul Sheldon as a writer. Now I know I love him as a person too. I know you don't love me, don't even pretend to. You're beautiful, smart, famous, and I... am not an actress. You'll never understand what it's like to fear losing someone like you if you're someone like me.

- Why will you lose me?

- The book is almost done, and my legs are getting better. Soon you'll want to leave.

- Why should I leave? I like it here.

- That's very sweet of you to say, but I'm pretty sure that's not true.

[pulls out a gun]

One thing that really stood out to me about this movie was how it tackled codependent relationships in a ridiculously over-the-top way. I mean, take the scene where the guy convinces his girlfriend not to work, then splurges on a bunch of unnecessary expenses - it's not about being generous, it's about exerting control from the get-go. And those 'expenses' are just a metaphor for all the ways he manipulates her into doing what he wants: taking her where he wants, when he wants, hanging out with people he approves of, changing her appearance to suit his tastes, and even working for food and other perks by offering up her body. It's all so obvious, right? But then when she's down and out, and he's all like 'oh, look at me, I'm taking care of you and feeding you and washing your clothes', it's just so... transparent.

I mean, this one image has become a meme

When Annie greets him on the street, and he's just exhausted from pretending

'Hey, sweetheart! You're such a goofball!'

The film's portrayal of codependency is both disturbing and fascinating. It's like watching a train wreck in slow motion – you can't look away, but you're also horrified by what you're seeing.

One of the most striking aspects of the film is its use of setting. Annie's house is a character in its own right, a symbol of her twisted obsession with Paul. The snowy forest outside is a constant reminder of Paul's isolation and vulnerability.

The film's score is also noteworthy. It's a masterclass in building tension and creating a sense of unease. The music is haunting and atmospheric, perfectly capturing the mood of the film.

Misery is a film that will leave you breathless and disturbed. It's a masterclass in storytelling, with a complex and nuanced portrayal of codependency. The performances are outstanding, with Kathy Bates delivering a tour-de-force performance as Annie Wilkes.

Overall, Misery is a must-see film for anyone who loves horror, drama, or just great storytelling. It's a film that will stay with you long after the credits roll, haunting your dreams and making you think about the complexities of human relationships.