Review: "The Hung Man" at BUA

Letting it all hang out

By Anthony Chase

Alex Reiser, Rick Lattimer, and Caitlin Coleman in a perplexing moment of "The Hung Man." Photo by Jay Rosado

The Buffalo United Artists production of The Hung Man, a parody of the films of Alfred Hitchcock, is a tasteless evening of low comedy perpetuated by a shameless crew of actors whose grotesquely broad performances are entirely lacking in nuance, subtlety, or respect for common decency.

I couldn’t have loved it more!

In these troubled times, what a refreshing gust of wanton, subversive laughter. The script, by Ian Bonner and Marty Shea, harks back to a Golden Age at Buffalo United Artists when camp comedies were the order of the day, and Hollywood often served as fodder for irreverent queer send-ups of such titles as The Bad Seed, Dracula, Imitation of Life, Silence of the Lambs, and even Hitchcock’s Rebecca and The Birds.

It is well known that my husband is the founder of this company, and I have written relatively little about it in the more than 30 years since it started as Buffalo’s lone LGBTQ+ company. Since he has retired from artistic direction, I feel a bit emboldened to express my unsurprising affection for the company and my pleasure at seeing its new leadership honor company traditions while forging new directions in the fluid world of queer issues.

It is, for instance, encouraging and heartening to see newer faces renewing the supply of unabashedly camp actors. The original crew, that so often skewered hetero-dominant culture, was (and still is) headlined by Jimmy Janowski—the undisputed company star, though not a member of this particular cast -- alongside a delightful crew of fabulous zanies. I hesitate to name them, lest I leave someone out, but Caitlin Coleman, an original BUA company member, is featured prominently in The Hung Man, playing the obligatory withholding Hitchcock mother. She is joined by Rick Lattimer, Vinny Murphy, Jenny Marie McCabe, and Alex Reiser, all of whom rise to the riotous occasion.

Alex Reiser, Jenny Marie McCabe, Vinny Murphy, and Rick Lattimer, seeking truth in "The Hung Man." Photo by Jay Rosado

The Hung Man is structured as an irreverent yet loving homage to Hitchcock, incorporating such signature elements as voyeurism, repressed sexuality, domineering mothers, murder, and suspense. Bonner and Shea’s script mimics Hitchcock’s dark humor and his fondness for visual metaphors and psychological themes. The title, The Hung Man, is itself a double entendre -- on one hand, a cheeky riff on Hitchcock’s The Wrong Man and the tarot’s Hanged Man, and on the other, a wink toward the show’s gleeful embrace of naughty, queer humor. It sets the tone for a production that delights in innuendo and camp from its very first moment. The plot, on the other hand, is a gleeful send-up of Rope, with nods to Rear Window, Psycho, Vertigo, North by Northwest, Notorious, Strangers on a Train, Rebecca, Topaz, and Frenzy.

Part of the joy lies in the parade of Hitchcock references, both overt and sly. The character names—John, Farley, Grace, Jimmy, Mrs. Collier, Detective Carey—are plucked from the director’s filmography. Grace Kelly appeared in Hitchcock's Rear Window and Dial M for Murder; James Stewart, John Dall, and Farley Granger all appeared in Rope (Granger later did Strangers on a Train, and Stewart would do Rear Window, The Man Who Knew Too Much, and Vertigo). All make their presence felt in name or spirit, and the play’s set is a witty pastiche: a Manhattan apartment with a “Rear Window” view, a suspicious trunk (shades of Rope), and a party that spirals into chaos.

The trick of camp comedy, and the secret to The Hung Man’s success, is to play everything with over-the-top earnestness. Here, every reaction is extreme, every incident is milked for maximal drama, but the characters’ commitment to their own reality is absolute. In this universe, no moment is too big, and the more the actors lean into the excess, the more the audience is swept along.

Director Drew McCabe orchestrates the chaos with a sure hand, keeping the pace brisk and the tone just this side of anarchic. The cast is uniformly game, with Coleman anchoring the madness as Alfred Hitchcock, embracing every opportunity for comic excess before presenting a Hitchcockian mother who is the quintessence of domineering matriarchy.

Rope is a 1948 Hitchcock film inspired by the real-life murder case of Leopold and Loeb, two wealthy university students who sublimated their troubled sexual relationship into a series of increasingly heinous crimes. These culminated in the murder of a 14-year-old boy in 1924. In Hitchcock's film, two brilliant young men, based on Leopold and Loeb, strangle their former classmate with a rope, hide his body in a chest in their living room, and then host a dinner party with the victim's friends and family.

The Hung Man features the ominous chest and introduces us to John, played by Lattimer, and Farley, played by Vinny Murphy, who would appear to have committed a similar crime. The guests at their party include John’s fiancé, Grace—a requisite Hitchcock blonde, played by McCabe; wheelchair-bound Jimmy and Detective Carey, both played by Reiser; and, of course, Coleman as John’s mother.

The plot is hardly a mystery—familiarity with Hitchcock amplifies the fun, but isn’t required to follow the obvious, if delightfully convoluted, twists. The play’s dialogue is peppered with double entendres, campy puns, and knowing winks to the audience. There are running gags about birds, and the trunk becomes a comic MacGuffin, its contents the subject of mounting hysteria. The climax is a delirious pile-up of revelations: the trunk is opened, secrets are spilled, and the true “crime” is revealed with a punchline that lampoons both Hitchcock’s era and the conventions of the genre.

Lattimer’s John is a study in cool composure, moving through the play with the assurance of a man who believes he can control every situation, even as the world around him grows steadily more unmanageable. The performance is at its sharpest when John is forced to improvise—whether deflecting suspicion from the trunk, redirecting his mother’s attention, or performing a “romantic” scene with Grace that is so awkward it becomes a highlight of physical comedy. Lattimer never signals to the audience that he’s in on the joke, even as he coolly “smokes” a candy cigarette; he lets John’s mounting desperation speak for itself.

Rick Lattimer and Vinny Murphy react as suspense hangs in the balance of this well-hung comedy. Photo by Jay Rosado

A bundle of nerves, always on the verge of collapse, Murphy delivers Farley’s lines with a sense of mounting panic, which, paradoxically, makes the character’s outbursts all the more hilarious. Farley is not a clown, but a man genuinely overwhelmed by the burden of secrets and the threat of exposure. He considers himself to be the voice of reason in this deranged world. Murphy’s comic timing in scenes of confrontation—especially with Jimmy and Grace—is perfectly calibrated.

Yes. It's a wig. Jenny Marie McCabe as Grace, pecked by bird. Photo by Jay Rosado

Giving Grace the full measure of Hitchcockian obliviousness, McCabe is a comic revelation. She enters, her obvious blonde wig perfectly coiffed and already wounded by a bird, and gives a performance that is a careful balance of earnestness and confusion. Speaking with perfect mid-Atlantic diction, McCabe’s Grace is never a knowing participant in the farce; she reacts to each new absurdity with the sincerity of someone who truly believes she is the center of a romantic drama. Her broadly absurd physical comedy—including repeated bird attacks and a transformation scene where John attempts to “improve” her—works because she never breaks the character’s internal logic. (Fun fact: to date she has never failed to clear the goal post when she hurls the wedding magazine over her head.)

Reiser, a welcome young newcomer, does double duty as Jimmy and Detective Carey. As Jimmy, he brings a disruptive energy, rolling into scenes with just enough taunting to keep everyone off balance. His banter with Farley is sharp, and he handles the character’s innuendo and threats with a deadpan that never tips into self-parody. As Detective Carey, Reiser shifts gears, playing the straight man (in every sense) to the surrounding hysteria, letting the audience enjoy the contrast between his two roles.

And then there is the divine Caitlin Coleman as Mrs. Collier. She sweeps into the room, rearranges the furniture, and derails conversation with a single pronouncement. Coleman’s performance is broad but in no way lazy; she gives Mrs. Collier a sense of her own importance that is both ridiculous and, at times, oddly moving. Her inability (or unwillingness) to comprehend the reality in front of her is played with a conviction that makes her both a figure of fun and a recognizable type. Trust me, Mrs. Collier does get pushed over the edge, and Coleman does not squander the moment. (Incidentally, her rendition of “And the Band Played On” is a reference to Strangers on a Train. Remember the out-of-control carousel?)

Jenny Marie McCabe as Grace and Caitlin Coleman as Mrs. Collier coming to terms with the disturbing truth of "The Hung Man. Photo by Jay Rosado

What unites the cast is their absolute commitment to the reality of the play’s world, no matter how ludicrous the circumstances. Whether it’s John and Farley’s mounting paranoia, Grace’s descent into avian hysteria, or Mrs. Collier’s oblivious pronouncements, every moment is played to the hilt. This is camp not as mockery, but as a form of sincerity pushed to its breaking point. The result is a production that is as precise as it is anarchic, and as affectionate as it is irreverent.

The physical comedy is relentless, and the actors throw themselves into the moment without reservation. The Hung Man is, as much as an homage to Hitchcock, a love letter to the tradition of queer camp: a place where the rules of “good taste” are gleefully upended, where the pain of the closet is transmuted into farce, and where the only real crime is taking oneself too seriously. In the end, the laughter is both cathartic and defiant.

Costume Design is whimsically and effectively executed by Isabel Urbanski-Farrell. A deliberately handmade and lighthearted set is the inspiration of Mike Doben. Fights and hilarious sound sourcing is by Stefanie Warnick, with light and sound design, appropriately as sensitive and gentle as the occasion demands, by Roy Walker.

Jimmy played by Alex Reiser (seated) gets on Farley's nerves, played by Vinny Murphy (standing). Fights by Stefanie Warnick. Photo by Jay Rosado

If you are looking for nuance or subtlety, you won’t find it here. What you will find is a cast who understand the power of camp to both wound and heal, and who are unafraid to play every moment for all it’s worth. For longtime BUA fans, it’s a reminder of the company’s roots in queer irreverence and theatrical mischief. For newcomers, it’s a wild, welcoming ride through the subversive possibilities of camp. In a world that often feels short on laughter, The Hung Man is a tonic—brash, bawdy, and, yes, utterly lacking in nuance. In these times, that feels not just refreshing, but necessary.