This blog was begun Thursday night April 23rd, and completed the following evening :
Tonight I am happy to report that after more than a month in the public domain, we have our first masterpiece. It comes from none other than Roger Corman, the director I derided not all that long ago but whom I've since become a big fan of. Last night we scored big with Corman's "Not Of This Earth", and I especially raved about the Alien to Alien dialogue, superbly formal and faux serious. Overall I was impressed with what I saw as an individualistic style being developed by Corman, right down to his arty title graphics. Style is not something you'd expect in low-budget sci-fi; competence perhaps (which should be expected), but style? It seems like a bonus. For many of these directors, just making a coherent picture is sufficient.
Imagine my joy, then, as a movie buff, one who loves both sci-fi and horror, and who has only recently come to appreciate Roger Corman, having the good fortune to experience the one-two punch of "Not Of This Earth", followed tonight by (drum roll please)......"A Bucket of Blood"(1959). I must've won the Corman Lottery.
I'd seen the title before in my searches but it never grabbed me because it sounded generic and garish at the same time. "Is it another vampire movie? A gore movie? What is it"? I figured it was one of Corman's lesser works, and make no mistake, he's got several. So because of the title I hadn't thought of watching it until I saw a recommendation from an IMDB fan. He praised the lead performance in "Bucket" of Dick Miller, a recognizable character actor who had a small role in "Earth". Miller is one of those idiosyncratic performers who, by their mere appearance, add something extra to any scene or movie. I liked him as the vacuum cleaner salesman in "Earth", so I took the fan's advice to check out "A Bucket of Blood". Corman wasted no time. I was hooked from the opening moment.
As the film begins, the camera pulls back from a man speaking on a small stage. He is "Maxwell H. Brock", a Bohemian Poet (in an ingenious portrayal by Julian Burton), whose large, bearded presence holds his audience of fellow artists in thrall at The Yellow Door coffehouse in Venice, California. In a booming voice, Brock recites words of existential doom and condemnation. His fellow Bohemians lap up every syllable, breaking into applause at the poem's conclusion.
Right away I've got to step in to say that this opening scene is so great, that I knew I was looking at a five star review right away. If you thought the dialogue in "Not Of This Earth" was on target, wait til you get a load of this stuff! "Dig it, man"! And it's not just the words, but the way they are read by Burton, and responded to by the other actors in the scene. It could easily have crossed the line into black comedy (which some fans call this film, but it isn't) or camp, which would have been worse. I don't know how he does it, but Corman somehow manages to step right up to the threshold of those two possibilities, without ever crossing the line. It's as if he knows that to invite laughs would be to cheapen what he's attempting. Notice that I said "invite" laughs. That is what happens in an actual black comedy where the director wants you to laugh at the onscreen morbidity or pretentiousness. But Corman doesn't do that. He plays his Bohemianism "deadly serious" (i.e. overly serious), knowing that you might laugh, but not necessarily intending you to do so. I've never seen anything like it, and really, it's too perfect to laugh at. But back to the plot!
"Walter Paisley" (Dick Miller) is the busboy at The Yellow Door. He idolises Brock the Masterful Poet, wishing he could be like him. He also is secretly in love with Carla (Barboura Morris), the Door's resident sketch artist. As a true nebbish, he keeps his feelings to himself but his neuroses are writ large for all to see. He fawns over Carla and Brock, hoping they will notice him, then fumbles and fidgets when the owner "Mr. de Santis" (Antony Carbone) orders him back to work. Back home at his shabby apartment, he shapes the block of clay he has purchased, hoping to sculpt something....anything at all that he can take back to The Door for the others to admire and admit him to their circle. At first, Walter is all thumbs with the clay, working it and getting increasingly more frustrated. When his landlady comes knocking : "Walter, have you seen my cat"?, he gets an idea. "That's it, I'll mold a cat"! Rejuvenated, he starts his project anew, only to be interrupted again by the meowing of a real cat, "Frank", the one who belongs to the landlady.
This will be the point where I'll have to tread my own fine line, between telling you too much or not enough. So how can I put this? Hmmm, let's just say that Frank gives Walter a great idea for a sculpture, one that's even better than making a plain old cat.
The next day, Walter takes his new sculpture back to The Yellow Door, where is it roundly celebrated as a true Work of Art. Even the two dazed beatniks sitting in the corner (who spout the Craziest Lingo in the joint) agree that Walter has stepped up, and they usually pooh-pooh everything. Mr. de Santis, a gentleman hipster, is happy for Walter's acceptance but unlike the house artists, finds his sculpture a tad depressing. He urges Walter back to work once again, and Walter obliges, tucking his tail between his legs, deflated. Before he gets off work, however, an ultra-Way Out young woman named "Naolia" (what an awesome name, lol!) walks over to console him. "Don't worry about Mr. de Santis", she tells Walter. "The rest of us think you're The Most".
"Even Brock"?, asks Walter.
"Especially Brock", replies Naolia. "And Carla, too. They couldn't stop talking about your sculpture. Oh, Walter.....I'm so honored just to be in your presence! You've given us so much tonight....I've got to contribute something of my own. Here, take this as a token of my appreciation". And she places something in his shirt pocket that we don't see. Walter goes home elated, knowing that he's now an equal in the eyes of his idols, Brock and Carla. As he is preparing supper, however, there is a knock at his door. This time it is Lou (Bert Convy), a regular at The Yellow Door. Lou is more collegiate than bohemian and Walter doesn't know him well. "Oh, uh........hi....Lou is it"?
"Yes, Walter. Can I come in"?
"Uh...sure, what is it about"?
"Walter, did you talk to a girl named Naolia tonight"?
"Yes, Lou. Why"? (getting more nervous and nebbishy)
"And Walter, did she give you something before you left"?
"Yes.....why"?
"And do you still have it"?
"Yes.....it's right here in my pocket". He takes it out and Convy takes it away from him, then whips out his wallet to display a badge.
"Police, Walter. You're under arrest for the possession of narcotics".
"But I......I.......she gave it to me.....Naolia....".
"It's Heroin, Walter. We've been staking out the place for weeks, now we've got you to help us bust the entire ring".
"But I.......but I"......
Walter is no druggie, but Detective Convy doesn't know that. Walter is, however, terrified at the thought of going to jail. Here is another instance where I must leave out what happens next, and I'm not certain that I should tell you anything more about the plot. I know I usually reveal almost everything, but this is one instance where I just can't do it. I guess I can tell you that regardless of his arrest, Walter goes on to have a budding career as a sculptor. Mr. de Santis even grudgingly arranges for him to have a showing, where collectors vow to pay any price to obtain one of his works of genius. Walter makes de Santis nervous, though. He wishes Walter would give up sculpting. Walter might consider it, if only Carla would marry him, but he doesn't understand that his love for her is unrequited.
"A Bucket of Blood" has got to be Thee All-Time Ode to The Beat Generation, made during the period when it was still happening, and Corman nails every nihlistic note of it. This movie is all about the characters, the way they talk and the way they see themselves and the world around them. Walter is the spun-out nexus who brings them all together, so proud are they of the Undiscovered Iconoclast in their midst. I'm gonna leave it at that and just tell you to see it, but I'll add that there is not one ounce of fat in the story, nor really a hair out of place in the entire film. The whole thing is perfect; there's even a Protest Singer who appears onstage occasionally, guitar held chest high, singing earnestly about murder of all things, and justice. This is two or three years before Bob Dylan became famous, so again Corman is aping the scene as it is happening.
'"A Bucket of Blood" is a classic any way you look at it, low-budget or A-list, cheapie horror or Oscar caliber arthouse. I give it my highest rating, Two Gigantic Thumbs Up, and urge you to see it at the earliest possible opportunity. One note for the sensitive : there are moments that may be a little too macabre for some viewers, nothing over-the-top, but be forewarned anyway. /////
(oh, but that dialogue.......and those two beatniks!........ and poor Mr. de Santis, all he wants to do is run a nice little cafe, but Walter makes him so nervous!)
That's all I've got for you tonight. I hope I didn't disappoint you by revealing less of the plot than usual. I'm also getting a later start in finishing this review because we had a blackout in my building for a little while, due to the heat and everybody running their AC, so I'm just now finishing at 9pm. Soon it'll be time for me to begin my next blog, lol, so I'll go for a quick CSUN walk, then come back to look for tonight's movie, and I'll see you in a little while at the Usual Time.
Tons of love! xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo :):)
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