My dear readers, while there are certainly a few irksome individuals whose attitude and manner can put me into a huffy state, I am happy to report that thus far I have made no permanent enemies in my time and have been spared the consequences of entering into any prolonged conflict. I recall my distant uncle Alcott Hauntedhouse was not so fortunate, as he once found himself in bitter dispute with his neighbors over some trivial matter and was hoping to gain an unsurpassable advantage in the negotiation of their grievances. For this purpose, he was able to acquire a uniquely sizable canine specimen that snorted brimstone, belched columns of flame and loosed howls that made men fear for their souls. It was undoubtedly a great novelty, parading about with a dog the size of a healthy mare and I am told the effect it produced on his neighbors was the exact one he had sought. Behind the scenes, however, the story was somewhat less triumphant. The fiery discharge did not happen on command but rather whenever the sizable rascal felt like it and I am told the effect on the upholstery was noticeable. This willful little canine also had a diet that was burdensome both physically and financially and, at the risk of descending into matters most base, cleaning after a creature with at least one orifice capable of expelling hellfire proved to be a regrettable chore. Dear old Alcott did his best to chase the thing off but its keen sense of loyalty made it absolutely impossible to shake the beast.

Young Jamie (Alaina Carner) is also well acquainted with the difficulties arising from unwanted company. She is a devoted viewer of Skeletons in the Closet, a local horror hosting program starring a morbid pair of presenters. There is The Widow (Ellie Church), a woman whose moniker makes no mention of her culpability in her late husband’s demise and Charlie (Adam Michaels), the aforementioned husband who is quite deceased and yet still manages to be a vocal member of the household. Once a week, the two of them dust off the old videocassette player and take in a rented horror film, providing wry commentary and plot point clarification for delighted viewers at home just like Jamie.

But as much as Jamie would like to watch her beloved show without interruption, she is forced to share the evening with her babysitter Tina (Elizabeth Stenholt) whose attitude on horror films, if I may be permitted so colorful a term, seems a little snooty. Nevertheless, the two of them begrudgingly bear one another’s company as Charlie and The Widow work their way through the evening’s featured film. This week they have rented Chop Shop, which consists of hacked up bits of narrative. These truncated tales involve a monstrous grandmother whose mysterious business in the basement causes all sorts of bother, a woman who is considering The Widow’s method for resolving her domestic issues, a pair of scofflaws fleeing the retribution of a ghostly mafia assassin and, finally, a little segment involving hell and damnation that tries to take a step back from this colorful collage and make sense of the whole thing.

Skeletons in the Closet, a feature film not to be confused with the fictional television program described above, was clearly crafted by filmmakers with genuine affection the video rental experience of the 1980s, when the irresistible lure of lurid box art and non-brand name actors coaxed customers into leaving the store with a bewildering variety of distasteful chronicles. Why, I myself still fondly recall a time when I could visit my local purveyor of leasable videotapes and march home with an armload of masked murderers, tropical cannibals and Nazi zombies, never quite knowing what unpleasantness might pop out of the cassette case. What a fine time it was! 

Skeletons in the Closet adopts the “anthology” form and it offers viewers the varied directorial talents of Tony Wash, B.A. Lewandowski, Rhiann Lynn Owen and Robert Patrick Stern. With so many voices contributing to this nostalgic pastiche and two framing devices to sift through, it may seem difficult for some to discern what lies at the heart of it. But at the risk of sounding presumptuous, I believe it is rather obvious what the filmmakers are saying in unison -- that it’s best not to get in a tizzy over something just because it can’t be worked out right away. Despite their pugnacious banter and troubled history, Charlie and The Widow still have a warm glimmer of affection between them and given a little time, they may have tackled their problems in a less severe fashion. A similarly prudent lesson can easily be derived from each of the film’s layers. Whether it be the plot of a byzantine video rental, a difficult relationship with one’s babysitter or the kinks in a marriage, taking a moment to sort things out is a far better approach than losing one’s head.

Skeletons in the Closet runs 82 minutes and does not possess a certified rating in the United States.