They’re serving popcorn in the lobby of the Phoenix Theater – and with good reason. Stephen King’s “Misery” is pure popcorn.
Popcorn films are light as air, have no nutritional value – and own a revered place in Friday night date history. A great time is had by all in exchange for only the price of a ticket and the bruise left on your arm by your twittered companion.
Rob Reiner’s 1990 film adaptation wasn’t just popcorn, it was a supersized combo with all-you-can eat scenery topped with nacho cheese to chomp on. But that kind of freaky fun is almost unheard of in the live theater. Could bringing sledgehammerin’ Annie Wilkes to the stage afford the same kind of amusement?
Regrettably, not if you have to go entirely by writer Simon Moore’s plodding and predictable stage adaptation. From the start of Paragon Theatre’s otherwise capable new production, it is clear the only thing to be gained from watching Reiner’s film performed as a live play is the opportunity to see two of Denver’s best actors at work – real-life couple Emily Paton Davies and Tom Borrillo. That’s a compelling reason, for the play is a showcase for both, but the rest is advantage Netflix.
“Misery” is, of course, King’s outrageous tale of a romance novelist who is rescued from a car crash by a sadistic nurse who happens to be his No.1 fan. When this delicious wackadoodle discovers that writer Paul Sheldon has killed off his popular heroine, she tortures and cripples him until he writes a sequel resurrecting her.
Though “Misery” was inspired by a horrifying true story – a deranged fan broke into King’s house and took his wife hostage – the novel is King at his most outlandish. I mean, come on: King had Annie chop Paul’s thumb off and put it on his birthday cake! And Reiner filmed a deleted scene that had Annie repeatedly rolling over a cop with a lawnmower!
Moore’s adaptation is never that much fun. That’s not all his fault – 15 years after the film, there are no surprises to be had, so there is no nervous laughter, no audible gasps. It’s creepy but never genuinely scary.
It’s much more difficult to sustain the suspense of a hostage drama on stage than on film or in a book. The novel’s brilliance was in forcing readers to imagine King’s horrible visuals. The film cleverly cuts out at the gruesome points. But on stage, repeated blackouts at every culminating moment of violence feels like a cheat. Sure, we see Annie wielding a sledgehammer, knife and blowtorch, but there is never a payoff, and the climactic fight is a dud.
It’s on Moore that the play, which should be staged as a taut one-act, drags on for 2 hours and 20 minutes – 35 minutes longer than the film. Part of that is attributable to an ill-conceived intermission that breaks the tension and stretches a story we already know.
Moore’s only real imprint is a regrettable effort to humanize Annie, apparently to “theatrify” things, but that’s a copout. Annie is just an irredeemable whack job, which is why we can laugh at her (with her back turned!). Moore stresses all kinds of soapy reasons for us to sympathize – she witnessed her family die in a fire, she’s a self-brainwashed evangelist, she’s been ostracized by locals – all of which is one giant sledgehammer to the fun component.
But it’s on director Warren Sherrill that the far too many scene changes are punctuated by a pace-killing, sleepy piano dirge that makes things feel like a George Winston concert.
But his creative team provides deft touches. David Lafont’s set offers a great visual clue that things are amiss – Annie’s log cabin is made of vertical cloth strips rather than common horizontal wood planks. Mel Strasser’s light design emphasizes beams flashing starkly up more so than pouring gently down. And Michael Andrew Doherty has tons of fun with a bevy of grisly sound effects.
As the sweaty, shackled, drugged and tortured writer, Borrillo never has been better. But while Davies’ Annie is a hairtrigger demon incarnate, Sherrill allows for none of the comic levity that won Kathy Bates an Oscar. Davies’ Annie is a tunnel-visioned, single-track loon, which is artistically legit but grows progressively less interesting. Davies is almost too disciplined an actor for this role. She’s always so focused and in control, she seems incongruous with going “over the top.” But what she really needs from her director here is a high-jump stick. Go nuts!
Paragon has the popcorn. Time to glob on the the butter and have some fun.
Theater critic John Moore can be reached at 303-820-1056 or jmoore@denverpost.com.
** 1/2 | “Misery”
DRAMA|Paragon Theatre Company|Adapted by Simon Moore from the Stephen King novel|Directed by Warren Sherrill|Starring Tom Borrillo and Emily Paton Davies|Phoenix Theatre, 1124 Santa Fe Drive|THROUGH OCT. 29|7:30 p.m. Thursdays-Saturdays|2 hours, 20 minutes|$13-$15|303-300-2210 or paragontheatre.com
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“HORROR: THE TRANSFORMATION” Buntport’s adaptation of Charles Brockden Brown’s Gothic 1798 novel, “Wieland,” tonight joins “Realism: The Mythical Brontosaurus” in repertory through Dec. 10. Based on the true story of a New York farmer who killed his family, it debuts at 8 p.m. today and Saturday, then plays 8 p.m. Thursdays and Saturdays at 717 Lipan St. $12-$15 (720-946-1388 or buntport.com).
“PAINTING CHURCHES” Deborah Persoff, Paige Larson and Roger L. Simon star in Miners Alley Playhouse’s staging of a Tina Howe play about an aging couple who ask their artist daughter to come home and help them move. 7:30 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays, 6 p.m. Sundays through Nov. 12 at 1224 Washington Ave., Golden. $16-$18 (303-935-3044).
“STORIES ON STAGE” This ongoing series of readings by distinguished guests continues Sunday with former Denver Center Theatre Company member Annette Helde reading from Allan Gurganus’ “My Heart Is a Snake Farm”; G.W. Bailey (TNT’s “The Closer”) reading Jim Sanderson’s “Ladies Man”; and the DCTC’s Adriana Gaviria and John Herrera (“September Shoes”) reading Isabelle Allende’s “Our Secret” and Oscar Hijuelos’ “Lunch at the Biltmore.” 2 and 7 p.m. at the Stage Theatre, Denver Performing Arts Complex, 14th and Curtis streets. Tickets $20 (303-494-0523 or storieson stage.org).
-John Moore
