Amidst the vast wasteland of grindhouse trash and no-budget schlock to come out of the periphery of the 1970s film world, the cult horror/black comedy Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things proves to be a rare gem of a find. Make no mistake; it’s nowhere near remarkable enough to be considered ‘misunderstood classic’ or even exceptional horror by any, uh, sensible interpretation, but in a weird workaround way that’s exactly the point—the apparent effects of the film’s almost nonexistent budget, amateur production values, and bare-bones story are exactly what adds to its charm. For in the manifestation of those things we can sense that there is an unhinged, demented kind of inspiration at work—a kind you don’t necessarily find in ‘the Greats.’
Some of the most fascinating things about the film can be found in the miracle of its own making: Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things was directed by Bob Clark, for one thing—the same Bob Clark who would later direct Porky’s (1982) and, amazingly, the much-beloved family classic A Christmas Story (1983). It was produced on a budget of only $50,000 and involved 14 days of shooting in Miami’s Coconut Grove district, with much of its cast comprised of Clark’s real-life college friends, lending the film a kind of authenticity and casualness that makes it somewhat refreshing to watch.
The movie’s plot is laughable in its stark plainness. At night, a troupe of six theater companions travel to a small island just outside the twinkling lights of civilization, used largely as a cemetery for deranged criminals and delinquents. A long night of shenanigans and snappy banter ensues as our group, spearheaded by its leader Alan (Alan Ormsby), digs up graves, performs satanic rituals, and executes pranks at the careless expense of whatever respect the cemetery ought to have warranted in the first place.
Eventually, things take a step too far when Alan orders his ‘children’ to exhume a dead body from the ground, where they proceed to host a mock wedding between him and the deceased inside an abandoned caretaker’s house. It’s at this point that the dead, rest their souls, have apparently had enough of these ill-mannered transgressions; they then crawl out from the earth to inflict their wrath upon the group of troublemakers, and the result is a satisfyingly chilling and blood-curdling zombie infestation of Night of the Living Dead proportions (or flat-out replication, if you wish to see it that way).
It’s worth noting, however, that we don’t really see any evidence of zombies for the entire first hour of the film. This may be off-putting to folks who want their zombie flicks laced with action, gore, and thrills from the get-go, but I cherish the slow, languid pace of the movie, which ends up making for excellent build-up material in light of the impending climax anyway.
And while not much action takes place for the first two-thirds of the film, that doesn’t mean it isn’t entertaining. I actually found it captivating to just watch these six different character types try to interact with each other. By far the most ostentatious of them is Alan, whose long-winded orations and attempted witticisms are both obnoxious yet fascinating to listen to (in a sardonic sort of way). And the rest of the group constantly jabs at his self-perceived eloquence and self-grandeur, which allows for plenty of amusing dialogue and banter to take place throughout the film’s first sixty minutes. There are also a couple of wonderful self-referential nods in the script (a tongue-in-cheek staple typical in films not beholden to reputable subject matter) such as when, referring to Alan’s incantations, one of the characters says, “Good thing he’s a director, because wow, what a bad actor.”
The slow-moving, first two-thirds of the film is also when we get a chance to absorb the film’s eerie atmosphere. The interesting thing is that, production-wise, it’s not fueled by much; the low budget ‘aesthetic’ of this film, far from being a creative hindrance, actually turns out to be somewhat of a silver lining. While our characters tend to be lit by some kind of flashlight, the background is almost always immersed in the darkness. Sometimes we can’t see the background at all, just that obvious foreground light tracking the characters as they walk across an empty void of blackness—triggering such phrases like ‘left to the imagination’ and ‘fear of the unknown’ to spring to mind.
In the same vein, sound in the film is likewise enhanced by its moderation. Too many horror films, it seems, try to punch up their scares with loud clangs, big bangs, and *way* too much screaming. Others opt for a buffed-up soundtrack in hopes that it will cue the audience as to exactly when they should be frightened, excited, unsuspecting, curious, etc. However, it tends to be that true horror is born out of uncertainty and restraint; and fittingly, the soundscape of Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things is comprised of sounds that are used sparingly to great effect. There is a persistent, spooky ambiance of chirping insects, croaking frogs, cooing birds, and noises of whatever other creeping organisms lie in the island’s dense, Floridian wilderness. A mix of experimental-like sounds and oh-so-’70s atmospheric ‘throbs’ also punctuate the film’s creepier moments in a surprisingly effective manner, far from the rehashed ‘suspense cues’ that are clichéd to death in much of today’s horror.
To top it off are the generally morbid subjects of exhumation, satanic rituals, and even hinted necrophilia adding to the film’s bizarre quality. While the PG (!) rating of the film ensures that the amateurish-looking makeup and lack of explicit gore somewhat dilutes the impact of these themes, it thankfully does not change the delightful fact that they’re there at all. On one hand it’s a given that these elements exist to up-play the ‘horror’ element of the film, but it’s the sheer, flat-out ridiculousness of these topics—as we watch them play out in amateurish fashion on the screen—that ultimately redeems the film. In other words, the ‘horror’ aspect of the film plays ultimately to its warped sense of humor, which is what ends up making the film so precious. In some scenes you’re not sure whether to look questionably at what’s unravelling on the screen, or bust out laughing; and usually, it’s this tension itself that ends up prompting the latter.
All in all, Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things—just take a moment, if you haven’t yet, to appreciate that title—is an eccentric mix of strange horror and macabre humor, with a charming degree of amateurish giddiness to make the viewing experience all the more enjoyable. We live in a world, for better or for worse, where some of the most forgotten, most obscure, and oftentimes most terrible low-budget films are being endowed the prospect of immortality with 4K restorations, deluxe Blu-ray treatment, and widespread prominence on major streaming platforms. So if you ever find yourself dabbling in this genre for whatever reason, keep my recommendation in mind that Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things makes for a worthy choice, Halloween or otherwise. Or if not—well, come Christmastime, just watch A Christmas Story and appreciate that Bob Clark has since moved on to finer things.
