Last night, I saw Dario Argento's The Bird With the Crystal Plumage. Tonight I watched Roger Corman's A Bucket of Blood. Good thing I saw the Argento film first, because after Corman's skewed, but hilarious take on art, fashion, society and murder, I would have had trouble taking Bird seriously. Playing with the cliches of 50s hipster noir, Corman and his cast had a ball with this story of a nobody -- played by Dick Miller in the defining role of his career -- who becomes a renowned bohemian artist. Shot in an absurdly short time (3 days according to legend) on a budget that wouldn't have bought dinner for a major studio's crew, the movie is consistently engaging and funny. Always witty, with inspired, goofy beatnik poetry, a cast of eccentrics, and those great exterior shots that characterize Corman's black and white movies, Bucket is drive-in cinema at its finest. Is art murder? Are art dealers accomplices? Is this movie art? Well, no, but it's not murder either.
Review of A Bucket of Blood
