A Bucket Of Blood (1959)

A frustrated and talentless artist finds acclaim for a plaster covered dead cat that is mistaken as a skillful statuette. Soon the desire for more praise leads to an increasingly deadly series of works. 

A Bucket of Blood is a 1959 American black comedy horror film directed by Roger Corman. It starred Dick Miller and was set in beatnik culture. The film, produced on a $50,000 budget, was shot in five days.  It was written by Charles B. Griffth.

Walter Paisley, nerdy busboy at a Bohemian café, is jealous of the talent (and popularity) of its various artistic regulars. But after accidentally killing his landlady's cat and covering the body in plaster to hide the evidence, he is acclaimed as a brilliant sculptor - but his new-found friends want to see more of his work. Lacking any artistic talent whatsoever, Walter has to resort to similar methods to produce new work, and soon people start mysteriously disappearing.

Roger Corman's Cult Classic is Bloody Good Fun!

A Bucket of Blood is one of those films that just seems to grow on you after each viewing (beginning with the first!). Dick Miller plays his most substantial role in his long and varied career as a very stupid, amoral busboy for a beatnik cafe. This sweet black comedy is one of the films that Roger Corman used to make before he got a bigger budget and went on to do fantastic adaptations of Edgar Allen Poe stores, starting with 'The Fall of the House of Usher', the year after this was made.

Aside from being a cheap black comedic exploitation thriller, A Bucket of Blood is also a commentary on the art world. Anything can pass for a masterpiece when it comes to being 'creative'.
The jazz styling makes a nice atmosphere for the movie and it helps to capture the pseudo-cool jazz trend that is often associated with art in the late 50's and early 60's.  "A Bucket of Blood" is a truly slick and ingenious little quickie that terrifically blends the classic terror premise of "Mystery of the Wax Museum" with the typical psychotronic-humor that Corman largely invented himself.

A Comedy of Errors! A Comedy of Terrors!

The character of Walter Praisley is a clumsy waiter and wannabe artist whose biggest wish to get as famous as the talkative stars he serves coffee to every day. His dream accelerates rapidly and unexpectedly when he covers his landlady's dead cat in clay and people proclaim it an art-masterpiece. Walter naturally enjoys his easily earned artist-status but he also realizes that he'll have to move on to bigger projects if he wants to stay in the picture.  You can only imagine what comes next after that cat. Daddy O what will he do?

Be on the look out for the fat bearded character Maxwell, this guy is a total riot.  Perfect portrayal of those fucking beatniks. Surrounding the film is a hip and jazzy score that manages to spice up proceedings by gelling together with its artistic context. Director Corman manages to keep things moving at a reasonable pace with it flying by quick enough. He succeeds in making a fun satire that has whole range of surprising developments and he knows when to tighten the screws with some razor edge thrills, which makes way for a satisfyingly, ingenious outcome. No way is life imitating art here.

That's right Daddy-O.  Read my poem at the end of this review.

Excellent screenplay by Charles Grifith, and fine playing by supporting cast, especially Julian Burton as the beatnik leader and Antony Carbone as the conflicted café owner. Lovely Barboura Morris is enchanting as always. The sets and locales have an oddly convincing feeling, as if we had stumbled onto a beat hangout and ended up observing the various poetry readings and art shows. Because of this, the movie captures a unique moment in time when such places and people actually existed.

Necrophiles may indeed dance upon the placemats in an orgy of togetherness.  Burn gas buggies and whip your sour cream of circumstance and hope.  A ton of fun for those with a macabre sense of humor or are genre fans of the wax-museum type horror flicks. Take me to some cool blue place...and gas me!  An excellent example of Corman's work.

The King is here

Trivia:
The line about how "artist" Walter Paisley "knows his anatomy" is apparently a nod to the similar themed House of Wax (1953) which used the same line about Vincent Price's character. Of course, a year later, Vincent Price became Roger Corman's favorite star.

The sets for this film would be re-used for Roger Corman's next production The Little Shop of Horrors (1960).

Julian Burton is reported to have actually written the entire 'Life is a bum' poem himself, taking care to make the poem imitate- and yet parody- 'beatnik' art at the same time.

When preview audiences saw Maxwell arrive in a tuxedo and sandals, it caused them to chuckle because it seemed so appropriate to the character...however, it was actually because Julian Burton had swollen feet due to wearing the sandals constantly and had no choice.

At the time of its original release there was a promotion in the newspaper's movie section advertisements that made the offer, "If You Bring In A Bucket Of Blood To Your Local Theater's Management (Or Ticket Booth), You Will Be Given One Free Admission."

Reportedly star Dick Miller was unhappy with the impact of the low budget on the film. Miller felt the film had terrific potential to be a classic and liked the script and performances, but felt the lack of funding weakened some of the films best moments. In particular Miller cited the conclusion of the film saying that it suffered due to little time or money for makeup effects.

Groovy

 Though Dick Miller is a recognizable veteran actor who's appeared in well over one hundred films, 'A Bucket of Blood' is one of only three films in which he had a starring role, the others being 'Rock All Night' and 'War of the Satellites.'

Anthony Carbone spends the entire film limping and walking with a cane. This being a Roger Corman film, one might logically assume Carbone injured himself and just soldiered on, but in fact he was perfectly healthy and adopted the limp because he felt it would make his character more interesting.

The entire film was shot in five days.

Roger Corman and Charles B. Griffith developed the idea and basic outline of the film in one day.

The working title of the film was 'The Living Dead'.

The films origin came about when American International Pictures approached Roger Corman to direct a horror film for them but only alloted a small budget and an extremely limited schedule. Corman took the challenge, but wasn't interested in directing a traditional horror film, so he and screenwriter Charles B. Griffith came up with the concept of creating a black comedy instead.

The guitar player (and singer) at the night club is Alex Hassilev, who was soon to form the popular folk trio The Limeliters with Louis Gottlieb and Glenn Yarbrough.

Inside every artist... Lurks a mad man!

Director Roger Corman and writer Charles B. Griffith went to coffeehouses on the Sunset Strip to do 'research' for the beatnik characters they would create for this film.

The films original poster art was a series of comic strips that hinted at the macabre story of the film.

In 2009 a musical production of 'Bucket of Blood' was produced by Chicago's Annoyance Theatre.

Maxwell's line, "And no one knows that Duncan is murdered and no one knows that Walter Paisley is born ...", is a reference to the death of King Duncan in "Macbeth" by William Shakespeare.

Will YOU join his human museum?

 Maxwell H. Brock: I will talk to you of Art, for there is nothing else to talk about, for there is nothing else... Life is an obscure hobo bumming a ride on the omnibus of Art. Burn gas, buggies, and whip your sour cream of circumstance and hope, and go ahead and sleep your bloody heads off. Creation is, all else is not. Creation is graham crackers; let it all crumble to feed the creator; feed him that he may be satisifed. The Artist is, all others are not. A canvas is a canvas or a painting. A rock is a rock or a statue. A sound is a sound or is music. A preacher is a preacher, or an Artist. Where are john, joe, jake, jim, jerk? dead, dead, dead They were not born before they were born, they were not born... Where are Leonardo, Rembrandt, Ludwig? Alive! Alive! Alive! They were born! Bring on the multitudes with a multitude of fishes: feed them with the fishes for liver oil to nourish the Artist, stretch their skin upon an easel to give him canvas, crush their bones into a paste that he might mold them. Let them die, and by their miserable deaths become the clay within his hands that he might form an ashtray or an ark. Pray that you may be his diadem: gold, glory, paint, clay, that he might take you in his magic hands and wring from your marrow wonder. For all that is comes through the eye of the Artist. The rest are blind fish swimming in the cave of aloneness. Swim on you maudlin, muddling, maddened fools, and dream that one bright, sunny night the Artist will bait a hook and let you bite upon it. Bite hard and die!... in his stomach you are very close to immortality.  

I'd rather see you pull out a testicle than an acoustic guitar at a party.