'Misery' review: The Dio brings Stephen King thriller to the stage in chilling production

Courtesy of Michelle Anliker photography

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Stephen King’s infamous 1987 novel was always more than just a horror story: it was a brutal character study of two people locked in a battle of wills. On one side, Paul Sheldon, a reclusive author wrestling with pain, pills, and an unmissable deadline. On the other, Annie Wilkes, the lonely, unhinged nurse who would become the poster child for toxic fandom. Rob Reiner’s terrifying 1990 film adaptation, starring James Caan and Kathy Bates in her Oscar-winning turn, captured the novel’s claustrophobia and psychological tension with unnerving precision. So it’s no wonder William Goldman adapted his own screenplay for the stage, stripping it down into a two-hander that thrives on intimacy and menace. Minimal sets, relentless tension, and a story already seared into pop culture make “Misery” an ideal candidate for theatrical revival.

At The Dio, director Steve DeBruyne and designer Matthew Tomich embrace the play’s small scale and wring every ounce of atmosphere out of it. Their staging is stark but effective: a wide-open floor plan drenched in shadows, sharp lighting cues, and sudden blackouts that jolt the audience into Sheldon’s nightmare. The story remains the same: after a devastating car accident in a blizzard, bestselling novelist Paul Sheldon (Dan Morrison) awakens in the care, and captivity, of Annie Wilkes (Sarah Stevens). Annie isn’t just his nurse. She’s his “number one fan,” a woman who religiously buys his “Misery” novels at the local general store, hangs on his every word, and now, with Paul broken and bedridden, finally has him all to herself.

Annie Wilkes is a unique monster unlike any other in the horror canon: terrifying not because she’s supernatural, but because she’s terrifyingly real. She is lonely, needy, and starved for attention, her obsession with Paul’s books are a lifeline to a world where she feels valued. But beneath her wholesome small-town exterior lurks a sadistic streak, capable of turning from chipper to chilling in a breath. It’s a role that comes with baggage — Kathy Bates made it iconic — yet Stevens never wilts under the weight. She doesn’t mimic Bates but builds her own Annie: warm and disarming one second, cold and merciless the next. The precision in her escalation, from nurturing caregiver to knife’s-edge psychopath, makes her performance riveting. When Stevens goes full throttle, it’s not cartoonish, but controlled, deliberate terror, the kind that makes you hold your breath.

Morrison, confined to the bed for much of the show, is equally impressive. Paul’s survival hinges on wit, patience, and sheer resilience, and Morrison finds the balance between desperation and defiance. His pained howls during the infamous sledgehammer scene are cringe inducing, but his quieter moments — tapping into Paul’s stubborn determination to outwit Annie — are just as compelling. Their push-and-pull dynamic keeps the tension high. Jordan Hayes-Devloo rounds things out nicely as Buster, the well-meaning sheriff whose brief appearances provide flickers of relief before the dread sets back in.

Goldman’s script, running 2 hours and 3 minutes with no intermission, can occasionally feel padded, and some sequences strain under repetition. Certain subplots from the novel and film — particularly Paul’s meticulous escape planning — don’t translate as strongly on stage, leaving gaps that assume the audience knows the story already. And while the underscore nods to the film, its heavy use sometimes reminds you of how effectively Reiner’s movie wielded music to build suspense. Still, The Dio stages the big moments with flair, including the notorious sledgehammer payoff, staged with enough grit and shock value to make audiences squirm.

But as with most Dio productions, the real power lies in the intimacy. Stevens and Morrison shoulder the bulk of the

work, and both rise to the occasion. Their chemistry is tense, electric, and unsettling, which is exactly what this chamber piece demands. Costume design by Norma Polk and fight/intimacy direction from Jen Pan and Joe Wright add polish and authenticity, while Tomich’s technical designs keep the audience immersed in Paul’s purgatory. And in true Dio fashion, the dinner beforehand, complete with Annie’s “infamous” meatloaf and a decadent red velvet brownie dessert, makes the evening feel immersive in a playful, slightly wicked way.

Ultimately, “Misery” at The Dio isn’t about jump scares or gore. It’s about psychological warfare, about how obsession can curdle into cruelty, and about two actors locked in a battle that leaves the audience equally enthralled and unnerved. Stevens, in particular, delivers a performance that doesn’t just echo Annie Wilkes. It reclaims her.

IF YOU GO:

The Dio’s production of MISERY continues through October 26th. All reservations include dinner and a non-alcoholic beverage. To make reservations, please visit here.