This is a clear example of how a remake can fail when trying to revive the magic of a classic. The original 1959 film, directed by Roger Corman and written by Charles B. Griffith, is a cult cinema treasure, a brilliant mix of dark humor, satire and horror. However, this new version, directed by Michael McDonald, lacks the spirit and irreverence that made the original a unique work.
Anthony Michael Hall, as Walter Paisley, is simply disastrous. From the beginning, his performance is rude, dry and unattractive, which goes against the original character, who was a shy and pathetic man who slowly became a monster out of pure ambition, Max's poems clearly destroy Max's sanity. Paisley in the brilliant original version, not in this one. This misrepresentation appears to be largely the result of poor directing of actors on McDonald's part. Hall never manages to capture the essence of Walter, which makes it difficult to empathize with his character, a crucial flaw for the development of the story.
Justine Bateman, as Carla, gives a performance that could be considered Razzie-worthy. His performance is flat and without nuance, unable to convey the depth or charm that the character requires. On the other hand, Shadoe Stevens as Maxwell fails to match the grace and charisma that Julian Burton brought to the character in 1959. Her performance is so lackluster that it makes the dynamic between the main characters feel forced and boring.
The biggest problem with this film is the absence of Charles B. Griffith in the script. It is Charles B. Griffith who really gives soul to the film (from '59). Griffith, with his unique style, was a screenwriter like few others: irreverent, biting, full of wit and with a keen perception of the absurd in everyday life. His script for the original film is a raw gem, full of sharp dialogue and situations loaded with satire that still resonates today, the mockery of the Beat generation is valid today. Griffith was a beatnik, an outsider, a man who knew how to capture the spirit of his time with a touch that few could match. Griffith, with his brilliant, egy, and deeply literary style, was a unique figure in the world of cinema, a screenwriter with a special talent for sharp dialogue and incisive social criticism. His absence in the 1995 remake is deeply felt, and as a fan of his, Roger's, and the original, it hurts, because without his voice, the film loses the bitingness and grace that made the original such a special work.
1995's "A Bucket of Blood" is a failed attempt to capture the genius of the original. With mediocre direction, woeful acting, and a script that isn't up to par, this version is a reminder of what happens when you try to remake a classic without understanding what made it special in the first place.
