Misery

Bates turns Wilkes into the nastiest nurse to reach the screen since Louise Fletcher tormented Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest.

Like any good work of popular culture, Rob Reiner's film of Stephen King's best-selling book Misery functions on more than one level.

Popular moviemaking -- elegantly economical, artlessly artful -- doesn't get much better than this.

Bates has a field day with her role, creating a quirky, memorable object of hate.

A skillfully pared-down (if psychologically thin) horror thriller.

Reiner captures just the right level of physical tension, but for the most part wisely emphasises the mental duels. Terrific.

The film hasn't any depth to speak of, but is consistently shrewd enough not to go totally obvious ways. And the audacity in casting Kathy Bates as the dotty fan pays considerable dividends.

Among other things, Misery emerges as a great picture of fan obsession, and of that curious mix of hero-worship and hero-bashing personified in supermarket tabloids and trash TV.

Caan and Bates capture the movie's roguish spirit perfectly.

This all would have been perfect for a half-hour TV show or one of those horror anthology films. As it is, even the resourceful Reiner and Goldman are hard put to keep things going until the inevitable final clash.

Misery should be a big hit. It deserves to be.

It's Kathy Bates' Oscar-winning turn as a smiling psychopath that still provides the film's cold, cold heart and makes for one of cinema's greatest, friendliest, monsters.