We are human. Humanity’s greatest need is for contact; we crave touch and acknowledgment from others. We crave proximity to others. So it stands to reason that one of the most basic fears of man is to be separated from others. Isolation is one of the most crucial elements in most horror stories. It confines the characters to an inescapable area and forces confrontation with the villain. We’ve seen it in some of the most iconic horror films: The Thing; The Shining; Alien. One of the more overlooked films featuring isolation, however, is Rob Reiner’s film adaptation of the bestselling Stephen King novel, Misery.
Famed historical romance writer
Paul Sheldon has just finished his latest manuscript (his first “true”
In a twist to the classic Gothic
heroine, Paul Sheldon is a passive damsel in distress who is largely the
subject of Annie Wilkes’ cruelty. In both book and film, Annie outmatches Paul
in weight and (due to his debilitated state) strength. A bird with clipped
wings, he is at the mercy of her manic mood swings, which can and do turn on a
dime. One day she’s cooking gourmet meals, the next she’s literally bringing
the hammer down on him.
“Isolation produces devastating
consequences for many people, leading to lifelong emotional problems and difficulty
in relationships with others. Conversely, the condition can move others toward
extraordinary creativity and innovation as a result of having been forced to
rely solely on their own minds as a source for meaning. As one might suspect,
these two sides of the coin are not mutually exclusive; many people experience
both positive and negative effects of isolation, deriving inspiration from it
while at the same time feeling hurt and disturbed. Obviously, not all who feel
isolated are literally alone, and not all who are alone are isolated.”
When in retreat at his Colorado
hotel hideout, Paul had none of the usual distractions and thus had
optimal
writing conditions to create. A closed-off environment worked for him. When
Annie kept him trapped at her cabin the isolation had the opposite effect; he
was in fear for his life. On top of voluntary versus involuntary isolation,
Paul’s forced confinement was environmental, at a snowed-in cabin. He was also
isolated physically; first in the car crash, then when Annie hobbles him. After
the crash, his segregation is no longer by choice. Annie has cut off all means
of communication, and no one knows of his whereabouts. He needs contact, but
can’t get it. Paired with Annie’s erratic behavior and her obsession with Paul
and Misery, the danger is heightened. It becomes clear to Paul that, given
enough time and the right motivation, Annie would kill him, and no one would
ever find out. With great isolation comes great peril; it’s a great way to
build tension.
Mentally, Annie forced him to
confront an inner conflict he’s been having since before the crash: Paul
aspires to write “real” art, but will his fans allow it? Will the public allow
it? Paul has nowhere to go but into his own mind. It is here that Misery
shines, both in print and on screen. Psychological horror and isolation have
long been thematic bosom buddies, and it’s clear why: they’re perfectly
complementary. Cinematic victims of psychological torment are either alienated
or they separate themselves from the pack. Protagonists who find themselves in
isolated settings become paranoid and start to turn on each other or
themselves. It’s a theme that Stephen King has explored in multiple works of
his, including Gerald’s Game, The Shining
and Under The Dome. King understands
one of man’s greatest fears, and one of the horror genre’s greatest tools to
swing down upon the collective ankles of movie audiences: being alone.
-Anya Novak
