toBarry Levinson when Rob said, “To hell with it, I’ll direct it myself.”
And so the lopping-scene poll came into my life.
Because Hill has a brilliant movie mind and you must pay attention. Rob had no problem directing the scene. But what if George was right? I, of course, scoffed—the hobbling scene was a character scene, unlike anything yet filmed, and it was great and it was the reason I took the picture and it had to stay.
Still, we asked people. A poll was taken at Castle Rock, informally, of anyone who had read the script. “And what did you think of the lopping scene?” Rob would keep me abreast in New York. “A good day for the hobblers today, three secretaries said leave it alone.” That wasn’t exactly verbatim, but you get the idea.
Enter Warren Beatty. Beatty understands the workings of the town better than anyone. He has been a force for forty years, has been in an amazing number of flops, and whenever his career seems a tad shaky, he produces a wonderful movie or directs a wonderful movie and is safe for another half decade.
Beatty was interested in playing Paul. Rob and Andy met with him a lot and I spent a day there when the lopping scene came up. Beatty’s point was this: he had no trouble losing his feet at the ankles, but know that if you did that the guy would be crippled for life and would be a loser.
I said nonsense … it was a great scene … a character scene … was the reason I took the movie … Beatty waffled, casting continued. As did the lopping queries. I went on vacation as we were about to start, and while I was gone, Rob and Andy wanted to take a final pass at the script. I was delighted. They wanted it shorter, tighter, tauter, and are expert editors. When I got back, I read what they had done.
It was shorter, tighter, tauter—
—only the lopping scene was gone, replaced by what you saw in the movie—she breaks his ankles with a sledgehammer.
I scrreeamed. I got on the phone with Rob and Andy and told themthey had ruined the picture, that it was a great and memorable scene they had changed, it was the reason I had taken the job. I was incoherent (they are friends, they expect that) but I made my point. They just wouldn’t buy it. The lopping scene was gone now, forever replaced by the ankle-breaking scene. I hated it but there it was.
I am a wise and experienced hand at this stuff and I know when I am right.
And you know what?
I was wrong. It became instantly clear when we screened the movie. What they had done—it was exactly the same scene except for the punishment act—worked wonderfully and was absolutely horrific enough. If we had gone the way I wanted, it would have been too much. The audience would have hated Annie and, in time, hated us.
If I had been in charge, Misery would have been this film you might have heard of but never have gone to see. Because people who had seen it would have told you to ride clear. What makes a movie a hit is not the star and not the advertising but the word of mouth. So in the movie business, as in real life, we all need all the help we can get. And we need it every step of the way.
Casting Kathy Bates
“I’m going to write the part for Kathy Bates.”
“Oh, good. She’s great. We’ll use her.”
I was the first speaker, Rob Reiner the second. And lives changed.
I had seen Kathy Bates for many years on stage. We had never met but I felt then what I do now: she is simply one of the major actresses of our time. I’d seen her good-heartedness in Vanities, where she played a Texas cheerleader. I’d seen the madness when she played the suicidal daughter in ’Night, Mother. I had no sure sense that her talent would translate—a lot of great stage performers are less than great on film; Gielgud,Julie Harris,Kim Stanley will do as examples—but there is an old boxing expression that goes like this: Bury me with a puncher. And it was a moment in Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune that made me know she
And so the lopping-scene poll came into my life.
Because Hill has a brilliant movie mind and you must pay attention. Rob had no problem directing the scene. But what if George was right? I, of course, scoffed—the hobbling scene was a character scene, unlike anything yet filmed, and it was great and it was the reason I took the picture and it had to stay.
Still, we asked people. A poll was taken at Castle Rock, informally, of anyone who had read the script. “And what did you think of the lopping scene?” Rob would keep me abreast in New York. “A good day for the hobblers today, three secretaries said leave it alone.” That wasn’t exactly verbatim, but you get the idea.
Enter Warren Beatty. Beatty understands the workings of the town better than anyone. He has been a force for forty years, has been in an amazing number of flops, and whenever his career seems a tad shaky, he produces a wonderful movie or directs a wonderful movie and is safe for another half decade.
Beatty was interested in playing Paul. Rob and Andy met with him a lot and I spent a day there when the lopping scene came up. Beatty’s point was this: he had no trouble losing his feet at the ankles, but know that if you did that the guy would be crippled for life and would be a loser.
I said nonsense … it was a great scene … a character scene … was the reason I took the movie … Beatty waffled, casting continued. As did the lopping queries. I went on vacation as we were about to start, and while I was gone, Rob and Andy wanted to take a final pass at the script. I was delighted. They wanted it shorter, tighter, tauter, and are expert editors. When I got back, I read what they had done.
It was shorter, tighter, tauter—
—only the lopping scene was gone, replaced by what you saw in the movie—she breaks his ankles with a sledgehammer.
I scrreeamed. I got on the phone with Rob and Andy and told themthey had ruined the picture, that it was a great and memorable scene they had changed, it was the reason I had taken the job. I was incoherent (they are friends, they expect that) but I made my point. They just wouldn’t buy it. The lopping scene was gone now, forever replaced by the ankle-breaking scene. I hated it but there it was.
I am a wise and experienced hand at this stuff and I know when I am right.
And you know what?
I was wrong. It became instantly clear when we screened the movie. What they had done—it was exactly the same scene except for the punishment act—worked wonderfully and was absolutely horrific enough. If we had gone the way I wanted, it would have been too much. The audience would have hated Annie and, in time, hated us.
If I had been in charge, Misery would have been this film you might have heard of but never have gone to see. Because people who had seen it would have told you to ride clear. What makes a movie a hit is not the star and not the advertising but the word of mouth. So in the movie business, as in real life, we all need all the help we can get. And we need it every step of the way.
Casting Kathy Bates
“I’m going to write the part for Kathy Bates.”
“Oh, good. She’s great. We’ll use her.”
I was the first speaker, Rob Reiner the second. And lives changed.
I had seen Kathy Bates for many years on stage. We had never met but I felt then what I do now: she is simply one of the major actresses of our time. I’d seen her good-heartedness in Vanities, where she played a Texas cheerleader. I’d seen the madness when she played the suicidal daughter in ’Night, Mother. I had no sure sense that her talent would translate—a lot of great stage performers are less than great on film; Gielgud,Julie Harris,Kim Stanley will do as examples—but there is an old boxing expression that goes like this: Bury me with a puncher. And it was a moment in Frankie and Johnny in the Clair de Lune that made me know she
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