Brad Hauskins and Shelley Walljasper in Misery
I love Stephen King. I mean, his mind. His creativity. I'm not his number-one fan, but for more than 20 years I bought everything he wrote, and have been guilty of standing in a bookstore reading his latest.
Anyway, I've read his novel Misery at least a dozen times, seen scriptwriter William Goldman's 1990 movie adaptation thrice, and on Thursday, saw my second production of Goldman's play, this time at the Circa '21 Speakeasy (next door to the main theatre). It was the final dress rehearsal for a four-performance run, and I urge you to get tickets now for director Jeremy Littlejohn's sometimes-unsettling, often-comedic, always-fascinating production featuring three superb, accomplished actors. Audiences must be ages 18 and up, as there are F-bombs and violence (but no blood).
Brad Hauskins plays novelist Paul Sheldon, seriously injured in a one-car crash in a snowstorm. He's found and rescued by devoted fan Annie Wilkes, portrayed by Shelley Walljasper. You'll likely have seen one or both of these actors on the larger Circa '21 stage, and I loved watching them in this intimate venue, sitting close enough to enjoy every glance and lip twitch. The pair are comedic virtuosi, and Goldman's script gives them ample opportunity to shine. They also have the considerable skills to play the drama, horror, and high stakes for both characters.
Annie was a nurse, so her having an IV setup and opioids – which Paul comes to consciousness being hooked to and hooked on, respectively – makes sense. Sort of. She lives in a remote mountainous area, and the same storm that cut Paul's trip short has closed the roads and downed the phone lines (it's pre-cell-phone 1987). So though it's plausible, at first, that he's not in a hospital, their situation gets dire. She's about to find out that in his latest book, Paul killed Misery, the heroine of the series that gives Annie a reason to live. She's going to make him fix that.
Annie initially seems harmless and earnest, and Walljasper plays her fandom and naïve ways for laughs, as Goldman wrote them. (Walljasper's pig imitation is also on point.) And she performs Annie's shyness beautifully. Her adoration of Misery, and Paul, the god who created her, is sometimes touching, even sweet. Yeah, she's a sadistic torturer with a hair-trigger temper and twisted morals. Yet even after Annie's psychological deficits become evident, I can often sympathize with her. A disturbed person is a human, not a monster – as much a victim of her illness as anyone else is. It makes the terror both more horrifying and more profound.
Hauskins has a breath of New York in his voice, befitting his character and further distancing him from his rural romance-aficionado rescuer. He exhibits a constellation of emotions, including gratitude, suspicion, thinly veiled mockery, deceit, and contempt – all while mostly trapped in a bed or a wheelchair. His horrified expression when Annie says "We are going to be so happy here" is gold. Conversely, he sometimes gets very cocky, visibly cowing Annie even though she holds his life in her hands. Hauskins is especially convincing when conveying pain and panic, and some of his screams will shatter your soul.
Mark McGinn, whose many area roles include John Wilkes Booth in the Black Box Theatre's 2019 Assassins, here plays the good-guy sheriff ("Call me Buster," he says) who makes multiple trips to Annie's farm investigating Paul's disappearance. McGinn has the best entrances, as he lopes up the theatre aisle backlit, casting his shadow on the stairs as he advances. I could almost hear figurative spurs going ching, ching, ching. Along with that silhouette of justice, lighting/sound designer Emmett Boedeker also provides lightning and natural-looking daylight through the bedroom curtains. Circa '21 scenic artist Becky Meissen works her magic with the main set, Paul's attractive country-style bedroom that, like Annie, skews a little weird with its oversize, ornate-yet-cheap-looking floral wall sconce. Bits of two other rooms flank the set, both boasting cutesy ceramic figurines, likely a wink to the novel's fans.
At Thursday's preview, the actors overcame an unscripted hindrance during a struggle when Hauskins' robe got caught on the wheelchair's footrest. To free himself, he simply crawled out of it. Walljasper had to adjust, too, and though this provoked a few laughs, the scene's drama stayed intact.
Among Goldman's many triumphs are Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid and The Princess Bride. So he's a pro. But I wish that in this script, he'd included the observation King did in his Misery novel: that both writers and readers have a fiction addiction. In the book, Paul realizes that just as he craves the painkillers, he simply must write the book that's the product of Annie's coercion. Writing eases his pain, and gives him as much euphoria, as the narcotics do. Now, please excuse me – I've got to get back to my manuscript.
Misery runs at the Circa '21 Speakeasy (1818 Third Avenue, Rock Island IL) through February 28, and more information and tickets are available by calling (309)786-7733 extension 2 and visiting TheCirca21Speakeasy.com.
