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.
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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.
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A Comedy of Errors! A Comedy of Terrors!
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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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.
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Will YOU join his human museum?
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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.
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I'd rather see you pull out a testicle than an acoustic guitar at a party. |