My dear readers, though my sweet Penny Dee had asked for a brief moratorium on new decor until we can sort out where to put the things we already have, I simply could not help myself when I came across a distinctive stone on a stroll around our estate. When I first happened upon the thing, it was covered in moss and crawling with several territorial species of insects. But after bringing it home and giving it a hearty polish, I thought it to be remarkably altered and quite possibly a handsome little addition to our abode. The thing was so transformed by some soap and water that I fancied seeing a tiny inscription scratched into its surface. But it was obviously a trick of the light, for as soon as I spoke its contents aloud the words vanished from view. It is still attractive even without these imagined adornments and I must say, the pleasure of looking at it is a welcome distraction from the racket that has been coming from the south wing. I cannot imagine what is causing all that clamor but it seems to have begun right around the same time I happened upon the stone, which just goes to show you that sometimes things arrive just when you need them.

Patrick (Khalil Kain) knows all about seeing potential in what others might deem a grubby relic. It is a lesson his father taught him, and one that led him to purchase a dilapidated mansion on an empty block in a disreputable corner of the metropolis. Though its disheveled state goes beyond what some might consider repairable, Patrick nevertheless hopes to transform the space into the town’s most distinguished dance club. His compatriots are somewhat skeptical about being able to turn a sagging artifact into a desirable nightlife destination and they are given a bit of pause after some rather explicit warnings from local psychic Pearl (Pam Grier). But in the end they agree to assist Patrick all the same and soon enough, the lot of them are dusting off the cobwebs and whipping the old place into shape.

It is during the course of these renovations that they uncover the remains of Jimmy Bones (Snoop Dogg), a legendary neighborhood figure who vanished thirty years prior. Mr. Bones, it seems, was the victim of a dastardly scheme, one in which his own associates and an unscrupulous officer of the law conspired against him. Since then he has just been waiting about, hoping that someone might come along and unleash his vengeful soul. Some slumbering supernatural entities need an ancient latin phrase or a blood offering to be awakened but Mr. Bones is much more accommodating, requiring only that his canine proxy be given a hamburger. And once this fateful sandwich has been consumed, Jimmy’s presence manifests as both the aforementioned hellhound and as an omnipresent phantasm. Once in this semi-corporal state, he decides to look up all those fellows who turned against him three decades prior and make clear the extent of his disappointment in their actions.

While a reasonable amount of forethought is undoubtedly necessary for any filmmaking endeavor, many seasoned industry veterans will testify that a particularly special final product is often the result of happy accidents. Director Ernest R. Dickerson is more than capable of plotting out a jolly good time and I have no doubt that his vision alone would have produced a perfectly enjoyable horror film. And yet it seems a truly fantastic turn of events that Snoop Dogg, a “gangster rapper” with a canine nom de plume, was available to portray an actual gangster who transforms into a dog. Mr. Dogg provides the sort of large personality necessary for a charismatic slasher villain such as Jimmy Bones, and I can only imagine how thrilled Mr. Dickerson must have been when he expressed interest in the role. Surely, fate itself must have favored this production to have delivered an avowed scofflaw with an appropriate zoological appellation. I honestly believe it could not have worked out better if they had planned it all along. 

Bones runs 96 minutes and is rated R for violence, gore, language, sexuality and drugs.