Escape a cold winter night with Misery.

No, not Stephen King’s 1987 psychological horror novel. Nor the 1990 film that won Kathy Bates the Academy Award for Best Actress.

This time, Misery is a short drive out to Oregon Community Theatre’s staging of the classic suspense story about an author’s fight to free himself from an obsessed fan.

After narrowly surviving a car crash, popular novelist Paul Sheldon (Brad Smith) finds himself at the mercy of Annie Wilkes (Samantha Kirsch), a former nurse billing herself as Paul's number one fan.

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As his days confined to bed from his injuries turn to weeks, Paul learns that his freedom depends on rewriting the ending for Misery Chastain, the protagonist of Paul’s historical fiction series and Annie’s favorite character of all time.

While Smith and Kirsch are new to the OCT stage, this isn’t my first time watching either lead.

Early last year, I enjoyed Kirsch’s standout job as an unhinged maid in Black Swamp Players’ The Moors; in December, I lauded Smith’s performance as a comically frank trash-to-treasure artist in the Bowling Green theater’s recent production of Be Here Now.

Joined by Kyle Walsh as the ill-fated Sheriff Buster, the actors do a tremendous job of carrying Misery — but with Paul strapped to his sickbed, this is Kirsch’s show.

Pacing and slamming doors, cleaning and keeping a careful eye, Annie’s constant movements drive home that Paul — and the audience rooting for him — are invading this bashful tyrant’s space. Kirsch summons rage on the drop of a hat only to banish it seconds later in a powerful performance that spans nearly every moment the stage lights are on.

For all you Paul Sheldon-heads out there, never fear. Smith has plenty to do despite being stuck in bed.

Smith shines in his line delivery. Accompanied by self-aware asides the poor isolated author believes he’s making only to himself, a lesser actor could fumble humility into haughtiness. Instead, Smith swings Paul’s self-effacing honesty, making it easy to root for Paul’s attempts to navigate Annie’s twisted view on the world.

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While Misery’s themes had already been thoroughly dissected before I was born, King’s exploration of the creator/fan relationship is as simple and effective as ever. It really makes you wonder if Eminem was taking notes in Detroit before he released that other great examination of the toxic fan, “Stan,” 13 years later.

Not a King acolyte myself, I nevertheless didn’t need much background to see how King’s personal struggles (cocaine, cocaine, cocaine!) influenced the central metaphor.

Stripped to even barer bones in a stage adaptation, this simple premise strains the first act’s pacing. I’m grateful to the great performances for saving what is likely the least ideal way to experience Misery for the first time.

Fans will feel differently; anticipatory laughs and murmurings preceded iconic scenes with genuine appreciation.

But don’t worry; Misery takes all kinds.

As a Misery newcomer — while I’ve neither read the book nor seen the film, I know the plot from, of all things, King’s excellent nonfiction craft book On Writing — I can’t say how closely OCT’s set resembles the references that came before.

It doesn’t matter. Rife with references to other famous King works, this fully realized recreation of the unhinged Wilkes’ rural home is a wonderful accomplishment of stagecraft. My favorite piece of environmental storytelling was the looming portrait lurking behind Annie’s front door, but fans will delight at the details dotted throughout.

Unfortunately, Misery is constrained by its location on a school stage. The Fassett Auditorium’s raised stage doesn’t let audiences enjoy the beautiful set or catch minute details in the performers’ expressions. I’m sure OCT is intimately aware of this limitation. Long-term, I hope they’re able to find a solution. For now, it won’t ruin anyone’s experience.

Whether book, movie, or play Stephen King’s Misery will upset those who don’t like to be scared no matter its state of matter. Walking out, I overheard one patron comment to her friend, “You know, I just don’t know why I thought it would be a comedy.”

But if you like horror, it doesn’t matter if you know the story: you’ll enjoy the excellent performances and direction on top of a beautifully lit, skillfully made set. There’s a special kind of fear to seeing the horror unfold in the very same room as you.

You know what they say: Misery loves company.

First Published February 22, 2025, 12:00 p.m.