My dear readers, though I believe my sweet Penny Dee and I have achieved an absolutely tolerable degree of domestic harmony, I must confess that even the gentlest of dispositions can be tested now and then by sustained periods of cohabitation. My most beloved Penny Dee is, if I may say, an absolute angel of a woman but now and again, her leaving the windows ajar in winter and chiding me when I stray from an austere diet can cause me to experience a most ungentlemanly swell of emotion. There are times when my irritation grows so violent that it nearly erupts into vocal expression. And I suspect that some of my little quirks manage to strain her saintly patience. The walls of our house are swarming with large rodents who taunt with me the faces of my dead relatives and while force is the only sensible recourse, I feel as though my actions may have provoked my beloved’s ire all the same. (*) This is all to say that even well-suited individuals in close confines can touch each other’s nerves from time to time. 

Alan (Alan Ormsby) knows a thing or two about trying the patience of others. The man is a director of staged dramas who has gathered a group of exceptionally patient actors for an unstructured theatrical experiment, bringing them to a remote island and giving them very little clue as to what his designs might be. Alan apparently has considerable sway in the theatrical world, as the participants remain despite seeming particularly unamused by his company. In truth, the man seems something of a lout and only ensures obedience by reminding his cast that he has the power to crush their careers and cast them into obscurity. At any rate, Alan brought them all along to do a bit of dabbling in the black arts, calling upon Lucifer, The Great Dragon, Father of Lies and Lord of the Underworld to provide the corpses strewn about the island with unholy life.

At first, this request is unanswered, and Alan is bitterly disappointed that the devil is not more receptive to their needs. Not wanting to waste an evening, Alan abducts an excavated cadaver and dubs it “Orville.” The whole lot of them drag Orville to a rented house, mostly for use as Alan’s comedic prop. Alan is clearly not a professional comedian but indulges nevertheless in an entire evening of “cracking wise,” mostly at the expense of poor dead Orville. While this is undoubtedly a lovely way to pass the time, Satan does eventually oblige their entreaty for animated corpses and soon the island is positively crammed with bloodthirsty zombies. Considering how disappointed everyone seemed to be when Satan was less cooperative, the group seems strangely dissatisfied with their sudden success. 

While I cannot say that I get out enough to keep current with all of the latest social trends, it has been difficult to ignore how much the industry of film is being transformed by shifting attitudes towards poor professional conduct. There are an awful lot of professional cinematic chaps who were once gently referred to as “difficult” and as I understand it, the accounts of their behavior can be quite bothersome. How reassuring, then, to find an encouraging nod in the right direction built into a film produced half a century prior. Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things makes the dangers of associating with unsavory artists abundantly clear -- Alan’s actors are subjected to public debasement, sexual harassment, threats to their livelihood and worst of all, tiresome attempts at humor. By the film’s conclusion, being devoured by ravenous cadavers seems to be merely another indignity that people in such vulnerable positions are forced to endure.

Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things runs 87 minutes and is rated PG.