Director: Roger Corman
Writer: Charles B. Griffith
Producer: Roger Corman
Cast: Dick Miller, Barboura Morris, Julian Burton, Antony Carbone, John Shaner, John Brinkley, Ed Nelson, Bert Convy, Myrtle Damerel, Judy Bamber, Jhean Burton, Bruno VeSota, Lynn Storey, Alex Hassilev (singer-guitarist uncredited), Paul Horn (saxophone player uncredited)
Walter Paisley (Dick Miller) is the lonely and slow-witted busboy at The Yellow Door, a beatnik coffeehouse. Walter wants to be accepted by the artsy bohemian crowd at the coffeehouse and to win the affections of pretty artist Carla (Barboura Morris). Inspired by the resident beatnik poet Maxwell’s (Julian Burton) recitations proclaiming the virtues of art and creativity, Walter strives to be a sculptor. He compensates for his lack of talent by molding clay over the bodies of his murder victims.
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The film begins with a series of long and mobile shots that immediately immerse us in this beatnik culture. As the film’s title and credits are displayed, the camera moves from the close-up of poet Maxwell reciting his latest verse to roam all around the coffeehouse and its hip patrons while Walter is performing his busboy duties. It is a very efficient and impressive sequence that must have required a lot of planning and some pretty damned reliable actors to pull it off. Corman was always of the hurry-up-and-get-it-done mode of filmmaking, so this seems to be pretty ambitious, as such long sustained takes with so many people and camera moves during an ongoing recitation of poetry could go wrong so many ways.
The main characters are quickly introduced and their personalities and conflicts established. We are immediately on the side of poor misfit Walter Paisley. He wants to fit in with a beatnik group that most of society ignores or looks down on, but even being accepted by these voluntary outcasts is beyond him. Inspired by poet Maxwell’s artist-adoring rants, Walter figures he can get acceptance by making art. His hopeless naïveté trying to fashion a lump of clay into the likeness of the photo of Carla, the girl he is in love with, is both funny and sad. In just a minute Walter realizes his total lack of talent. When Walter breaks down sobbing his loneliness and squalor really register on the viewer.
Dick Miller stars as Walter Paisley. It is unique in his long series of roles. Miller usually plays cynical and street-wise types. Here he is meek and simple minded. He manages to be funny, pathetic, and have us rooting for him, even though he is this movie’s menace. This atypical role is the most dominant one he ever had in a film. As a sort of in-joke, many characters Miller played in later films were also named Walter Paisley.
While the story is poking fun at the beatnik culture it is portraying, it also seems that the characters are enjoying their affectations and pretensions. They are grooving on attitudes and language the way an accomplished jazz musician can enjoy improvising solo or as an interaction with others. The beatnik duo of Oscar (John Shaner) and Will (John Brinkley) is the finest example of this loose and self-indulgent art. Every time these two cats make the scene it’s hilarious.
The pomposity of poet Maxwell H. Brock is also terrific. Charles B. Griffith must have had a ball writing his poems, which are quite clever as they play nonsensical word games to laud creativity with a grave earnestness. Julian Burton, as Maxwell, convinces us how he became the star beatnik at The Yellow Door with his spirited delivery.
An integral element to Roger Corman’s great early films is the writing of Charles B. Griffith. He uses snappy dialogue, interesting characters, and humor to enliven the strange tales that Corman directs. He also provides motivations for his characters that not only propel the plot, but also make us think. In this film we are left to ponder: What is art and what is affectation? Can the motives behind the creation of art corrupt it? Is the reaction an artist seeks from his audience all that is needed to create something worthwhile? Where does sincere expression end and self-indulgent egotism begin? If I knew the answer to that I’d probably stop writing these damned reviews.
A Bucket of Blood is yet another great example of low budget maestro Roger Corman proving that talent and wit can outclass any over-produced, big-budgeted, hyperactive vanity project that tries to pass itself off as a movie over half a century later. Crazy, man, crazy.
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