The Biggest Fan

Growing up, for me, Stephen King was synonymous with the written word.  Sure Shakespeare was what they crammed down your throat in school (as they should), but King was living and breathing.  He was still producing.  Not to say that I read any of his books growing up.  No way, much too advanced for me, but I saw all the movies.  I used to watch It over and over.  Pet Cemetery was another favorite, and Stand By Me convinced me that every child actor since the 1980s are no talent upstarts that have no place being in show biz.  As a kid, reading and watching were one and the same.  Now as a much older and wiser (I hope) Stephen King fan, I can tell the difference between what’s on the page and what’s on the screen.  And after watching Misery countless times, I have to say the tried and true idiom, “the book’s better than the movie” still holds true even when the movie receives Oscar nods. 

I won’t focus too much on the story.  The story for the most part is the same.  A crazed fan kidnaps and tortures her favorite author after pulling him from a car wreck.  And while the scope of the movie is a little bigger since we get more than one point of view, the film and novel are close enough as far as that goes. 

No, what I want to discuss are the characters.  First, James Caan’s Paul Sheldon is infinitely cooler than Paul Sheldon.  And where most of the time, cool means better, here in King’s Misery, not so much.  James Caan is a tough actor.  He usually plays tough characters that remain true blue through and through and he brings that toughness to Paul Sheldon.  But Paul Sheldon isn’t tough.  He is what I imagine King is: a physically weak, squirrely kind of writer.  It’s a personality that makes you wonder if he really will make it out of this or not.  And we see this from the very beginning of the novel.  As soon as Paul is semi-coherent, he is already cowed by Annie.  He begs for his meds.  He drinks dish water.  It isn't until Annie makes him burn his manuscript that he begins to recognize he must fight.  And that's where the sly, James Caan version begins to rear his ugly-soon-to-be-one-legged-head.

And while James Caan plays up Paul Sheldon's toughness, Cathy Bates played down Annie Wilkes's.  In the film, Cathy Bates was lauded for her performance and she should have been.  She does a fantastic job.  But the artistic direction of her character is down played tremendously.  Annie Wilkes isn't the loving, manic-depressive, number one fan that slowly transforms into the crazed woman bent on killing her favorite author.  No, she's a manipulative nut-job who, from the very beginning, tells Paul he owes everything to her kindness and generosity.  The transformation in the novel is much more subtle and drawn out.  It’s more of a demotion of levels of psychosis.  Paul knows from the very first pages, it's strange that he isn't in the hospital but he's smart enough not to ask.  And she never mentions it either.  She gives him no hope from the very beginning that help will come for him.  And it’s that constant taunting as Paul struggles to find hope that Annie quickly extinguishes that brings more and more out of the story that the film lacks.

And it’s that hopelessness that brings the real horror aspect of the story out.  In the film, we’re shown in multiple perspectives what is happening. In fact, he never asks.  We get Paul and the old sheriff in town.  We get eagle's eye views of what's transpiring.  In the novel, Paul's all we get.  So we have no idea if his car is found, if there’s a manhunt, anything.  We're as much alone as Paul.  Imagine how much more terrifying that would’ve been to see on the silver screen?