Highlights
Daredevil: Born Again Season 2 - Matt Murdock & Jessica Jones Clip
Daredevil: Born Again
The Devil Wears Prada 2 -  He Hired Me Last Night Clip
The Devil Wears Prada 2
Remarkably Bright Creatures - Sally Field and Lewis Pullman Exclusive Interviews
Remarkably Bright Creatures
Outer Banks Season 5 - Madelyn Cline as Sarah Cameron Character Poster
Outer Banks
Disclosure Day - Exclusive Interview
Disclosure Day
Outer Banks Season 5 - Drew Starkey as Rafe Cameron Character Poster
Outer Banks
Cape Fear Season 1 - What Is Your Worst Fear Clip
Cape Fear
Outer Banks Season 5 - Chase Stokes as John B. Routledge Character Poster
Outer Banks
Thrash - Trapped Between Flood and Sharks Clip
Thrash
Onslaught - Adria Arjona as Celeste Character Poster
Onslaught
The Odyssey - Zendaya Exclusive Interview
The Odyssey
The Whisper Man - Robert De Niro as Pete Willis Character Poster
The Whisper Man
Moana - Behind The Scenes Along The Way Single Clip
Moana
Whalefall - Austin Abrams as Jay Gardiner
Whalefall
A Bucket of Blood

A Bucket of Blood (1959) - Quotes

Audience Score
66

The Madness Within Every Artist

Taglines: Inside every artist... Lurks a mad man!

A New Dimension in Horror

Taglines: A new dimension in horror!

Humorous Warning About Laughter

Taglines: You'll be sick, sick, sick - from laughing!

Invitation to Join the Human Museum

Taglines: Will YOU join his human museum?

Dark Humor and Unexpected Laughter

Taglines: You'll be sick - from laughing!

Cult Classic Offers Enjoyable Bloodshed

Taglines: Roger Corman's Cult Classic is Bloody Good Fun!

A Comedy That Provokes Unease and Laughter

Taglines: The Picture That'll Make You... sick sick SICK with Laughter!

A Blend of Comedy and Horror

Taglines: A Comedy of Errors! A Comedy of Terrors!

Balancing Comfort and Craftsmanship in Clay

Alice: [Disrobing completely off camera] You could use a little more heat around this place!
Walter Paisley: [Busy work at a mound of clay) It's bad for the clay...you'll get used to it!

Tension Between Characters in Artistic Discussion

Alice: [Unimpressed with Walter and his new-found fame as a sculptor] Oh, let's change the subject. I'm sick of hearing about sculptors. Nobody knows how to do that anymore, much less the busboy from The Yellow Door.
Walter Paisley: [Offended] Who do you think you're talkin about?
Alice: Don't shout at me!
Walter Paisley: I don't like you...
Alice: [Mocking laughter] Nobody asked your opinion, Walter! You're just a simple farm boy, and the rest of us are sophisticated beatniks.

Understanding Poetry and Awareness

Maxwell H. Brock: ... my poetry is understood by that minority which is aware.
Woman: Aware of what?

Encouragement and Independence in Success

Maxwell H. Brock: I will not wish you good luck.
Walter Paisley: Why not?
Maxwell H. Brock: It would imply you could not succeed on your own.

The Cost of Creativity and Conformity

Maxwell H. Brock: To be uncreative you might as well be in your grave... or in the Army.
Walter Paisley: They tried to draft me once. I couldn't pass the test.

The Birth of Walter Paisley

Maxwell H. Brock: The bird that flies now pays later through the nose of ambidextrous apathy. Necrophiles may dance upon the placemats in an orgy of togetherness. The highway of life cuts sharply through the shady ghettos and the ivy-covered tunes. And laughter rings from every time capsule in the star-spangled firmament. And in the deep freeze it is the children's hour. And no one knows that Duncan is murdered. And no one knows that Walter Paisley is born. Duncan knows, Tuesday sunrise knows. Alley cats and garbage cans and steaming pavements and you and I and the nude descending the staircase and all such things with souls, we know that Walter Paisley is born! Ring rubber bells, beat cotton gongs, strike silken cymbals, play leathern flutes. The cats and cans and you and I and all such things with souls, we shall hear: Walter Paisley is born! And the souls become flesh; Walter Paisley is born!

Life as an Obscure Hobo in Art

Maxwell H. Brock: Life is an obscure hobo, bumming a ride on the omnibus of art.

Celebrating a Hidden Talent in Art

Maxwell H. Brock: [Crowd breaks into applause as Maxwell finishes his speech] Attention. Attention, everyone! As you passed through these yellow portals I'm sure you noticed on your right a small clay figure and assumed this transfixed effigy to be the work of a master sculptor. And indeed, so it is. That master sculptor is in our midst. He's none other that Walter Paisley, our very own busboy, whose hands of genius have been carrying away the empty cups of your frustration. Mark well this lad. His is the silent voice of creation. But in the dark, rich soil of humility, he blossoms as the hope of our nearly sterile century! Bring me an espresso, Walter.

The Loneliness of a Clear Mind

Maxwell H. Brock: Walter has a clear mind. One day something will enter it, feel lonely... and leave again.

Pride in Poetry's Exclusive Understanding

Maxwell H. Brock: I'm proud to say my poetry is only understood by that minority which is aware.

The Value of New Experiences

Maxwell H. Brock: I refuse to say anything twice. Repetition is death... When you repeat something, you are reliving a moment, wasting it, severing it from the other end of your life. I believe only in new impressions, new stimuli, new life!

The Primacy of Art in Existence

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. What 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.