Coffin Joe’s psychedelic adventure is horribly paced and acted, but the deliriously bizarre third act almost redeems the interminable first hour, consisting of a psychologist telling random stories of drug-induced depravity. In all honesty, “Awakening of the Beast” would have made a great 20 minute short, since that seems to be all the color film stock the production could afford. All the B&W bullshit preceding the grand freakout setpiece only exists so director/star/demigod Jose Mojica Marins can craft a thesis: drugs don’t cause madness, they only amplify pre-existing maladies. Which would be a roundabout way of inducing psychosis, but we won’t go there. Pointlessness aside, once the four hapless volunteers receive LSD and stare into the bearded visage of “Zo de Caixao”, they find themselves caught in his hairy clutches, in a universe of his own twisted conception.
With his top hat, curving fingernails, cloak and arcane looking jewelry, not to mention total control of time and space, Joe’s a real piece of work. Whether he’s manifesting a group of women and slapping them into a pile at a man’s feet, shooting flames out of his fingers, teleporting willy-nilly or rolling corpses down a stairway, C.J. delivers surrealistic torment with a unique flair, always punctuated by his own acidic Nietzchean proclamations. Alas, his time in the playhouse is cut short. 20 glorious minutes of terror is hardly adequate, especially when the “thesis” hardly makes sense. Oh well. Would love to check out further Coffin Joe adventures, but only if they leave out any pretense of narrative or “meaning”.
Tags: awakening of the beast