Rob Reiner
Misery

A tremendously sad, cold existence, with few sparse contacts with the outside world; only those necessary to meet one's meager sustenance. Long, almost eternal winters, during which getting through the days becomes a Herculean task. The phone is there; but you don't have to wait until halfway through the film to realize that it, unlike its factory siblings, isn't much of a chatterbox. And so, to pass the time, tasteless statuettes are collected; after all, who the hell looks at them in this home desert? She, of course, who even talks to them. The penguin, for example, on one of those snowy and cold afternoons, asked her: "please Annie, turn me towards home as I am feeling a little homesick." The penguin wants to see his beloved south on the horizon. And so she obliged. Crazy.
One day she does her shopping, the usual anonymous and low-cost food she swallows without taste as if it were soap, and in the mini-market she comes across a commercial book. She likes the title. As a devout and bigoted Christian, that name, Misery, caught her attention. She reads the summary on the back cover and discovers with deep amazement that the protagonist is a nurse! She puts her fat hand under her double chin, almost as if to keep control, she's so excited and over the moon. She was also a nurse, after all. The story is mediocre, in fact, it’s a real crap, but to her eyes, that novel is nothing more than a gripping chapter of her life. The one she never lived. From that day, Misery has given her strength, it’s a fundamental crutch and Paul Sheldon, her savior; suffice it to say that before browsing and knowing it on the creaky and crooked planks of that mini-market, she had even contemplated suicide.

No, Misery must not die!

These scenes I described were not filmed by Reiner, but they are crystal clear in my head. I saw them in that now icy and inhuman, now delirious and fanatic gaze of Kathy Bates. I don't think I'm exaggerating if I say that this acting performance is the twin sister of Jack Nicholson's in Shining.

It’s a claustrophobic and psychological thriller inspired by a very sharp idea (story by King) and captivating enough to develop a spiral plot about the writer/fan relationship and the extreme consequences of producing serial characters for already unstable people. A book, therefore, as a means capable of blurring the line between reality and fiction, leading down towards complete madness.

Paul Sheldon is nauseated by the character. He hates it deeply. If he could, he would stab it with the knife he uses to cut the steak he's now bringing to his mouth while typing away. He is fully aware that these novels are terribly mediocre and inferior to his talent. Misery, however, is easy money: he could go on until old age with the same structure and the same banal twists that would always appeal to the mediocre and wealthy audience. It took a long time, but he finally decided to put an end to this literary torture and let it die. The manuscript thus speeds along the leather seat of the passenger side of his Buick, but the road is snowy.

Salvation first, then a nightmare for an excellent thriller that has aged very well. I recommend you discover it, or watch it again if you have already made its acquaintance in the past, for an hour and a half definitely well spent.