There are films that go off the rails. Then there are films that never found the rails, the train station, or even the vague concept of transportation. Suffering Man’s Charity — later rebranded as Ghost Writer, as if a name change could somehow exorcise the stink — belongs to the latter category. Directed by Alan Cumming and starring Alan Cumming, this is a movie that takes the premise of “what if an unhinged man steals a dead writer’s book” and asks the audience to suffer right alongside him.
This film is not so much a dark comedy as it is a nervous breakdown with a film score. It’s campy, shrill, overwrought, and spectacularly misguided — a carnival of cringe held in a haunted boarding house. By the end, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh, cry, or send Cumming a fruit basket just to make sure he’s okay.
The Plot (Such As It Is)
Alan Cumming plays John Vandermark, a failed composer and emotional wreck with a hairstyle that suggests he’s just been electrocuted by his own pipe organ. John lives alone in a crumbling house that looks like it was decorated by a taxidermist with an Etsy account. Into his chaotic life wanders Sebastian St. Germain (David Boreanaz), a smirking, shirtless writer whose personality is roughly 70% cologne and 30% douchebag.
John takes Sebastian in, claiming he wants to help nurture his artistic potential, but the audience quickly realizes that what John really wants is a long-term subscription to “Tortured Twinks Monthly.” Their relationship teeters between tragic codependency and erotic hostage situation. It’s like Misery but with more glitter and fewer good decisions.
When Sebastian starts seeing a woman, John spirals into jealous madness. There’s shouting, flailing, and eventually, an “accidental” death that feels more like the result of bad blocking than intent. Sebastian ends up dead, and John — naturally, as one does — decides the best way to honor the man he secretly loved is to publish his manuscript under his own name. This goes about as well as you’d expect.
Cumming Apart at the Seams
Alan Cumming is a phenomenal actor when he has a script worthy of him — but here, he’s like a cat trapped in a wind tunnel of his own design. He directs himself with such feral energy that you can practically hear the camera begging for mercy. Every line reading sounds like it was performed by someone trying to do a séance through a megaphone.
John Vandermark is supposed to be tragic: a lonely man whose repressed desires and creative failures drive him to madness. Instead, Cumming plays him as if Norman Bates had taken up slam poetry. His performance is all wild eyes and twitching hands, like a Victorian ghost that’s been told to improvise.
And to make things worse, the movie never decides if John is meant to be scary, sympathetic, or just profoundly annoying. He’s a character who could have worked in a smarter satire — a dark look at artistic envy and obsession — but in Cumming’s hands, he’s pure camp without the self-awareness. It’s Sunset Boulevard if Norma Desmond had access to a Bedazzler and a fog machine.
David Boreanaz: The Human Cheeseburger
David Boreanaz, best known as Angel from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, spends most of his screen time shirtless, sweaty, and aggressively heterosexual in the kind of way that makes you question his tax filings. His character, Sebastian, is a walking cliché: the pretentious writer who quotes himself at parties and probably has a tattoo of his own initials.
He doesn’t so much act as he does smirk theatrically. You can almost hear his internal monologue: “I’m in a movie directed by Alan Cumming. Don’t look scared. Look sexy. No, too sexy. Look like you’re thinking about your novel. No, not that novel. The other one.”
When Sebastian dies halfway through the movie, it’s supposed to be tragic. For the audience, it’s a mercy killing.
Supporting Cast, or: How Did They Get Talked Into This?
There’s something almost impressive about how many talented people show up in Suffering Man’s Charity only to be humiliated by the experience. Anne Heche, Jane Lynch, Karen Black, and Carrie Fisher all appear in roles that feel like dares. It’s as if Cumming went to a Hollywood cocktail party, got drunk, and convinced half the guests to come over to his house for a “fun little project.”
Carrie Fisher, in particular, looks like she wandered onto set while looking for an escape route. Jane Lynch delivers her lines with the deadpan resignation of a woman who’s been handed a script that includes the phrase “ghost sex.” And Karen Black — bless her chaotic heart — delivers every line as if she’s auditioning for a Tennessee Williams play that’s been set on fire.
Tone-Deaf and Proud
What truly sinks the film isn’t just the overacting or the incoherent plot — it’s the tone. Suffering Man’s Charity can’t decide what it wants to be. Is it a ghost story? A murder farce? A psychological thriller? A low-budget drag opera? It tries to be all of them, often within the same scene.
There’s slapstick humor, followed by a monologue about artistic despair, followed by a jump scare that looks like it was filmed using a fog machine from Spirit Halloween. The film’s attempt at dark comedy lands with the grace of a flaming bowling ball. It’s a tonal car crash that keeps honking at itself.
Even when the movie flirts with horror, it’s never actually frightening — unless you’re scared of bad lighting and editing that looks like it was done on Windows Movie Maker. The “ghost” scenes (yes, Sebastian returns from the dead to haunt John, because subtlety is dead) are as terrifying as a Halloween party in a retirement home.
Murder, Madness, and Mediocrity
Once Sebastian’s ghost shows up, the film completely loses its mind. There’s a sequence involving blood, musical numbers, and dialogue that sounds like it was written by someone trying to imitate Oscar Wilde after a concussion. By the time John starts having public meltdowns while wearing flamboyant costumes, the film has entered the realm of performance art — though sadly, not on purpose.
Even the cinematography seems to give up. The camera wobbles, the lighting flickers, and the editing rhythm feels like someone sneezed on the timeline. The entire production has the energy of a student film made by a group of drama majors who ran out of Red Bull and shame halfway through.
The Final Encore (Please Let It End)
In the final act, John’s fraud is exposed, Sebastian’s ghost gets his petty revenge, and the audience wonders how this movie got distribution. The ending tries for tragedy, but lands squarely in “accidental parody.” Cumming collapses into melodramatic hysteria while ghostly voices whisper about fame and suffering. It’s like watching Liberace perform The Exorcist.
The credits roll, and you sit there wondering what you just witnessed — a horror film, a comedy, or an avant-garde cry for help.
Conclusion: A Symphony of Suffering
Stir of Echoes: The Homecoming may have been a dull mistake, but Suffering Man’s Charity is a loud, glittery one — a cinematic fever dream where self-indulgence meets spiritual decay. It wants to be a biting satire of art and ego but ends up as a karaoke version of Amadeus performed by ghosts who didn’t rehearse.
If Alan Cumming wanted to explore madness, love, and creative theft, he succeeded — because this movie is completely insane, weirdly horny, and unapologetically self-absorbed. Unfortunately, it’s also unwatchable.
Final Score: 2/10
One point for sheer audacity.
One for Carrie Fisher, who somehow escaped with her dignity intact.
The rest? Buried under a pile of unpublished manuscripts and broken dreams.
