Category: Lauren Bacall

MISERY

By Marc S. Sanders

The worst thing that could have happened to Paul Sheldon is that Annie Wilkes saved his life.

Rob Reiner breaks away from innocent romantic comedy to deliver a violently cruel kind of intimacy. He directs his second Stephen King adaptation, Misery.  (His first was based off King’s novella The Body, which became Stand By Me.)  With next to no prior record with horror or disturbing psychosis, Reiner achieves greatness with this film.  Much like Martin Scorsese, he focuses quite a bit on props that offer no dialogue but say so much.  A cigarette, a match, a champagne flute, a bottle, a beat-up briefcase, a clunky Ford Mustang, along with a gun, a two by four block of wood, a portable grill, a knife, a syringe, a sledgehammer, and a porcelain penguin.  Barry Sonnenfeld is the cinematographer offering brilliant clarities of color for mundane and endless discomfort.

Before leaving his mountainous Colorado cabin, Paul has smoked his cigarette and savored his glass of 1982 Dom Perignon.  He has just completed a new manuscript; a big departure from his best-selling series of novels focusing on his beloved heroine Misery Chastain.  Lady Misery is not how Paul wants to be entirely defined as an author.  

Unfortunately, on his way back down the snowy mountain, he veers off the road and lands upside down in his Mustang, buried within a blizzard.  A hulking figure carries him back to a peaceful, isolated cabin in the woods.  When he awakens two days later, he meets Annie who has already begun to nurse him back to health following two very damaged legs and a popped shoulder blade.  By his grogginess, he might have had a concussion too.  Lucky for Paul because apparently, he cannot reach a hospital or get a call out to his family or literary agent (Lauren Bacall) due to the harsh weather conditions.

It’s also convenient that Annie is quite the fan of Paul’s work, particularly his series of Misery novels.  She has a maternal bedside manner, but oddly enough she becomes irascible at any given moment.  After honoring Annie’s request to read his untitled manuscript, Paul realizes that might have been a mistake.  Annie can easily get unhinged to say the least, and that temper…

Paul Sheldon is portrayed by James Caan, and he was one name on a long list of leading actors considered for the role including Warren Beatty, Robert Redford, Harrison Ford, Robert DeNiro, and Jack Nicholson.  Any one of these guys could have done the part.  However, I can now only see James Caan.  He beautifully plays stationary vulnerability as he’s anchored to a bed for most of the film.  Ironically, for a writing master of words, Caan’s dialogue is not even half of the script that belongs to his counterpart.

Kathy Bates was deservedly awarded the Oscar and a slew of accolades for her role as Annie Wilkes.  This role put Bates on the map.  Her portrayal is timed so authentically with changes in tempo from childlike enthusiasm to demented rage that she only makes Stephen King seem like that much better of an author than he already was at the time.  Actually, I’d argue that before Misery hit theaters, the Stephen King factory of film adaptations was churning out subpar products like Cujo, Firestarter, Christine, and his own film that he directed Maximum Overdrive.  Misery elevated the author’s brand back to when it was celebrated with Brian DePalma’s Carrie and Stanley Kubrick’s unforgettable interpretation of The Shining.

I believe what helps is that of all the varieties of horror the author was delivering, Misery did not hinge on the supernatural.  Annie Wilkes is a very real embodiment of capable terror and disturbing psychological handicap.  Kathy Bates effectively demonstrates byproducts of schizophrenia and obsessive, compulsive disorders.  Living alone in the woods with the subconsciousness of an author speaking to her through the pages of his fictional hardcover novels only feeds the beast that she’s become. 

I’m not a big fan of Stephen King’s works.  Often, I find his material of gore stretches too hard for shock value, and hardly ever achieving insightful originality.  To the best of my recollection, I’ve only read Misery, The Stand and It.  That’s enough for me.  I read that as he was writing Misery, he was emoting his alcoholic demons that left him obsessively challenged.  Annie Wilkes developed into that tangible, physical fiend.  This story takes a far step away from the macabre world that built his literary empire.

Rob Reiner does not go for any kind of novel inventions with his film.  He’s simply telling a story with the tools provided by celebrated screenwriter William Goldman (The Princess Bride, Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid, All The President’s Men) and his wise adjustments from King’s piece.  Goldman and Reiner wisely cut out a lot of King’s gory schlock.  (That foot scene, for example.  Either way?  YEESH!!!) Smart move, because Annie Wilkes is such force of power personified by the hulking physicality (by choice of Reiner’s lens) and range of Annie Wilkes.  Even though Kathy Bates is short, she is a hulking menace here. Kathy Bates is doing stage work in front of a camera.  I’d argue her performance inspired the idea of eventually converting Misery into a Broadway play that featured Laurie Metcalf and Bruce Willis in the roles.  I wish I could have seen that. 

Goldman wisely allows the picture to move on with another perspective in the form of two characters that were not part of King’s story.  A perfect casting of Richard Farnsworth and Frances Sternhagen as the local sheriff and wife advance the curiosity of Paul’s absence from the world.  They speak for the surrounding areas that don’t reveal what is beneath the blankets of snow where few clues remain, and not even a missing 1965 Ford Mustang can show itself.  They’re funny, quirky, and unusual, almost like a combination of Jessica Fletcher or Miss Marple seeking to resolve the mystery.

Props like a gun and a knife along with visuals like uncontrollable fires and fight scenes are nothing new.  However, it’s when these scenarios are paired with Kathy Bates to victimize a small, weakened James Caan that these items become well filmed properties of Rob Reiner.  So again, I focus on the inanimate objects of Misery because Reiner lends a lot of footage to all of these working pieces.  This revolver suddenly has dialogue of its own through one of Annie’s personalities.  The knife works like a guard dog for Paul.  The aluminum can of lighter fluid sadistically squirts itself to tickle or tease an extreme point for Annie.

The cigarette and champagne flute emote those small, cheating, harmless vice escapes from commitment that awards Paul. 

The sledgehammer puts its foot down.

The match plays both sides of the duality during different points of the film.

Misery is that film that works with a small cast, but with a wide population of environment, in a snug, confined space.  I describe the picture this way because like Annie Wilkes, this exploration in psychological terror operates without fair balance.  When an animal cannot control and subdue its instincts, there’s no telling what to expect, and an unpredictable Annie Wilkes might be one of the scariest personifications any one of us could ever encounter.

MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS (1974)

By Marc S. Sanders

When considering Sidney Lumet’s admirable body of work, many would likely connect him with covering corruption within police precincts and the legal jargon of courtrooms.  Fortunately, on occasion, he experimented outside of those genres, and we are all the better cinematic viewers because we were treated to an all-star cast, devouring up the scenery in an adaptation of Agatha Christie’s celebrated mystery Murder On The Orient Express.

Lumet abandons his penchant for the metropolitan jungles of conflicted souls and high stakes drama to offer up a deliciously fun who done it, with Albert Finney gleefully playing the oddball, mustached Belgian (not French) detective, Hercule Poirot.  Despite a cast that features Sean Connery, Lauren Bacall, Jacqueline Bisset, Vanessa Redgrave, Martin Balsam, Richard Widmark, Michael York, John Gielgud, Anthony Perkins, and an Oscar winning performance from Ingrid Bergman, it is Albert Finney who makes the film wonderfully delightful.  His stature that seemingly hides his neck within his stout torso, along with a shoe polished, flattened hairstyle and a thick, echoing dialect tempo are an absolute combination of pleasure.  He makes the glossary of Tim Burton’s bizarre characters seem rather straightlaced.

He’s strange, but funny.  Before the expected murder gets underway, we observe an unrecognizable Finney performing Poirot’s nightly routines, including applying cream to his hands and unique mustache, as well as donning a kind of strap beneath his nose to keep his signature trait in its proper shape.  Batman maintains care of his cowl.  This crime fighter must preserve his facial hair.  It’s completely normal for Hercule.  While these mundane tasks of his are executed, the great inspector is also alert to several rumblings and bustles going on in the nearby cabins aboard the famous train in the title. Lumet ensures we see how smart and observant Mr. Finney chooses to portray Poirot; unique, and instinctively wise without limits.

An impolite and bossy man named Ratchett (Widmark) is discovered dead with multiple stab wounds to the chest.  It doesn’t make much sense considering the other passengers should all be complete strangers to one another.  Or are they?  Each one has an alibi, and their respective personalities couldn’t be more different.  Who would have the motive to kill a stranger aboard a moving train?

There appear to be twelve suspects for Poirot to consider.  That’s quite a list.  The standouts for me include Bergman, Bacall, and Perkins, but Lumet allows at least a scene or two for each celebrated actor to shine.

Ingrid Bergman dresses down to portray a shy, nervous, homely Swedish woman.  Sidney Lumet knows to back off on directing inventions when working with talent of such magnitude.  In one uncut take, Bergman controls an interrogation scene with Poirot and the camera stays fixed on her never diverting away and very subtly tracking behind Finney to stay with the actress’ nervous portrayal and expression.  The question is, should we trust this person? If Ingrid Bergman is putting on a façade, she’s awfully good at it.

Lauren Bacall carries such a strength on screen.  She walks with square shoulders and utter confidence that makes it seem like she’ll be impenetrable to Poirot’s inquiries.  Bacall’s booming signature voice would make me back down at any given moment.  She commands the supporting cast and appears to defy intimidation.

This film was made fourteen years after Psycho and yet Anthony Perkins portrays Mr. McQueen, a secretary of the murder victim, with youthful naïveté.  His stutter is perfectly timed and authentic, and he’s got body language that flails from one direction to the next when put to the test, not just by scenes he shares with Albert Finney, but anyone else in the cast as well.  His character is clearly unrelaxed.

I decided to watch this picture for reference.  In September of this year, I will be portraying Hercule Poirot in a stage adaptation of Agatha Christie’s story, written by Ken Ludwig.  My colleague Miguel Rodriguez is in the production as well, occupying Martin Balsam’s role.  They’re brilliant with magnificent energy by the way; Balsam and Rodriguez.  I had to watch Lumet’s film twice to appreciate the gleeful nuances he offers with this celebrated cast, including the actual train which serves as not only a claustrophobic setting but a character as well, stuck in a snowdrift, trapping the guilty party with no means to escape.  The dialogue flies fast and many of the various accents (Belgian, Russian, Scottish, Italian, Swedish, Hungarian) are challenging to decipher on a first watch, particularly Finney’s performance.

On a second watch, I was more wide-eyed to the detective’s behavior and how he breaks down a suspect during an interrogation.  No two interviews of suspects are even remotely similar.  Finney alters his way of approaching a scene partner each time.  I’ll credit the screenplay’s dialogue from Paul Dehn for that achievement as well. 

When a cabin door is opened to reveal the deceased victim, Finney’s odd mannerisms drastically change as he enters the room knowing what to say and look for immediately.  Sidney Lumet characteristically will position his camera pointing up at his actors, so the audience is the perspective of the subject being looked upon.  Albert Finney is gifted a wide scope within a narrow quarter to react as the famed detective.  This filming technique was an inspired choice by the director. Hercule Poirot is built up to be the foremost detective and now we see him demonstrating his specialty for examining a crime scene, and thus where to begin with his examination.  Albert Finney received an Oscar nomination for this role and it’s because of the skills he orchestrates under a guise of heavy makeup with a thick incomprehensible dialect.  All are meant to be taken as winning compliments from me.

The art design of the train is breathtaking.  The exteriors are magnificent too, particularly the train station located in Istanbul where the Turkish merchants crowd each cast member as they enter the film for the first time ready to board the Orient Express.  In one spot, a steward is inspecting the food cargo.  Another area has a merchant spilling over a carriage of oranges.  Locals crowd Bacall, Bissett and York with trinkets to buy.  Lumet captures the whole exotic tapestry.

Richard Rodney Bennett’s musical score is unforgettable.  A sweeping, romantically uplifting waltz accompanies the locomotive’s ongoing trajectory.  Then it gets more brooding when the journey comes to an unexpected halt in a chilling snowdrift, with the thought of a dangerous killer nearby.

Sidney Lumet is to be applauded for stepping back to allow his who’s who of legendary cast members play with Agatha Christie’s famous mystery.  He’s done this on other occasions including his outstanding cast in Network and Paul Newman’s career best performance in The Verdict. 

Those who are not familiar with the Agatha Christie’s tale are fortunate to experience the wonderfully twisted ending that serves the story’s continued appreciation.  Lumet deserves credit for the final touch though.  It’s not often that a film boasts such a collected caliber of talent together.  So, the best way to cap it off is with a charmingly giddy champagne toast.  It’s Sidney Lumet’s perfect little garnish to wrap one of greatest literary mysteries to ever be published and adapted for the stage and screen.