|Walter Paisley (Dick Miller), with a pancake pan|
So there's this guy called Walter Paisley. He serves tables at a cafe in the heart of America's beatnik scene. All around him are artists who seem to him great. Poets, painters, poseurs. To us, they're incredibly pretentious - a point the film rams home slightly too hard - but to Walter they're heroes. He yearns to be like them, to create a great work of art, and be respected; most of all, he wants everyone to say to him 'Walter, let me shake your hand. It's been a real pleasure to have known you Walter'. Walter has no especial talents.
Naturally, his clay cat is a big hit at the club. Suddenly he's a figure of admiration, and many artists who ignored him suddenly admire him. Maxwell, who bears a striking resemblance to an ambulant Michael Flanders, even delivers a poem about young Paisley. Walter must make more sculptures. Several of the artists even offer to model for him. Obviously, this is where things start to go wrong.
|Carla (Barboura Morris), the least arrogant beatnik, offers to model, but Walter would sooner marry her than kill her.|
P.S. There is a bucket of blood in the film, as per the title, but so briefly that you could miss it. After pancaking a policeman, Walter hides him in the ceiling, as you do, and puts out a bucket to catch any drips.
An enjoyable sorbet of a film, and currently available for as little as one pence, plus postage.