The Unauthorized Serial Novelization of the 1994 Film, The Mask (pt. 3)
Part 3: "I’ll use your empty little skull to break in my nine iron."
Big thanks to Laura Gwynne for providing original illustrations.
After the hysterical horrors of the previous night, we crossfade to a shot of the Edge City skyline. It’s morning. The sun is rising on all the grime and corruption. It’s a city that can and does radicalize a man, twist him to his breaking point, push him to unleash his suppressed violent fantasies.
Stanley lies in his bed, asleep, honk-shoo, honk shoo. The morning sun filters down on his face and he stirs from his slumber. He sits up, rubbing his eyes, and the camera does this little zoom in. He freezes, opens one eye. A look of terror crosses his face. It seems that Stanley is having memories.
He jumps out of bed and lurches toward the mirror. Alas, there’s no green-face ghoul looking back. It’s him. It’s Stanley. He caresses his cheek just to be sure. The look of relief that washes over him is profound. He holds up THE MASK, which has reverted back to its natural, wooden state.
“It was a dream,” Stanley says to himself. He laughs, and repeats: “It was a dream.” But there’s no mirth in Stanley’s laughter. “Better lay off the cartoons” he says, like an idiot child.
There’s a knock at Stanley’s door. He unlatches several locks—a subtle detail that speaks to the dangers of living in Edge City. Stanley opens the door and comes face to face with Lieutenant Kellaway, a secondary antagonist of this movie. Kellaway is a no-nonsense kind of cop, kind of a throwback to what I imagine the characters on Dragnet to be like (I’ve never seen the show—too busy writing Mask novelizations).
Kellaway asks if Stanley knows anything about the previous night’s disturbance. Stanley, confused, has no idea what the detective is talking about, but there’s a slight break in his composure—the first inkling that his delusional, violent fantasies might be anything but.
“Some kind of prowler broke in and attacked Mrs. Peenman,” Kellaway says. A look of shock crosses Stanley’s face. “You didn’t hear anything?” Kellaway continues, skeptical. “She unloaded a couple rounds of 20-ought buckshot five feet from your door.”
Holy shit, 20-ought, we’re thinking.
Stanley leans his head out of the door and eyes Mrs. Peenman, yelling at a cop and pointing at the holes her shotgun put in the walls and floor. The uniformed cops scribble patiently in their notebooks, but it’s a miserable scene: Mrs. Peenman, a scared and angry gun owner, complaining about the damage she did with her own gun.
The gravity of the situation sinks into Stanley. “This is...impossible,” he says.
“Those pajamas are impossible,” says Kellaway, just a little too quickly, as if he’s built up a mental rolodex of Cop QuipsTM Meant to Alienate Eye-Witnesses. (For the record, Stanley’s pajamas are actually quite nice).
Quick to think for once, Stanley makes an excuse: “You see I have uh an inner ear problem.” To prove this point, he jams a pinky in his ear and wiggles it to dislodge some imaginary blockage. A lurid pantomime. “Sometimes I can’t hear anything,” he says, a maniacal grin plastered on his face. Truly unhinged behavior.
“That a fact?” Kellaway asks, skeptical of Stanley’s charade.
“Eh?” Stanley responds, committing to the act. Kellaway is not amused. He hands Stanley a business card, and says to call if he remembers anything unusual about last night, putting implicating emphasis on the word “unusual”, elongating it into something elastic and accusatory.
“You betcha,” Stanley says. “And uh good luck cracking the case.”
Kellaway gives Stanley a once-over, not impressed with this specimen. He’s probably thinking something similar to what Tommy Lee Jones said to Jim Carrey whilst filming Batman Forever: I cannot sanction your buffoonery.
Kellaway leaves and Stanley closes the door. Any relief he might feel from escaping the hot seat is replaced with a look of abject horror: The marauding last night was not a dream. Stanley places a hand over his mouth, holding back the scream building in his chest. How many people did he murder? How many lives did he ruin?
But then he looks at his clock and his horror turns to irritation. “Oh my God, I’m late!” he screams, shrilly. Capitalism always usurps moral conundrums.
Moving with subservient mania, Stanley rushes around his apartment, getting dressed, applying deodorant, and looking for his keys. “Keys, keys, keys,” he mutters. The horror of the night before is completely erased from his reality. I think it’s safe to say that Stanley is a sociopath.
“Milo!” he yells. “Get the keys! Get the keys!” Milo—oh sweet, sweet Milo—helps Stanley search for his keys. Again, Milo is too good for Stanley and this scene underscores the fact that Stanley has to train Milo to perform services that compensate for his own ineptitude. Sad.
Finally, Milo finds the keys under the Taz pillow, and we, the audience, just fucking love that dog. And when Stanley tries to retrieve the keys from Milo’s teeth, Milo holds on, growling. Yes! We’re thinking. Yes, yes, yes! “Drop it!” Stanley says, sternly, and Milo relents. Still, the slight insubordination does not go unnoticed.
On his way out of the apartment, Stanley sees THE MASK and hesitates. He picks it up, and stares into its hollow eyes. Fear crosses Stanley’s face. What power hast thou unleashed, he seems to be thinking. He flings THE MASK out of the window. But THE MASK will not go silently out into the night. It spins in the open air, then reverses trajectory and floats back into Stanley’s apartment, now forever latched to its pathetic host.
I used to think that this effect—THE MASK flying back into the apartment—was just a cheap editing trick where they reversed the film mid-flight, but upon thousands of views, I realize now that THE MASK’S rotation doesn’t change direction as it boomerangs back. How they accomplish this shot, I do not know. Nor do I want to!
Cut to the auto shop where, mere hours ago, Stanley as THE MASK took revenge against the boorish mechanics who grifted him. The building has been savagely defaced with an array of colors—greens, pinks, and blues so garish as to be an insult to the color spectrum. The sign above the doorway has been rearranged from “Ripley’s Auto Finishing” to: “RIP OFF”. Paramedics wheel out the two mechanics, each with a giant muffler jammed up their ass. A cop demands a proctologist.
Violated, sexually assaulted by THE MASK.
This movie is PG-13.
Kellaway’s at the scene. Between this and dealing with Mrs. Peenman, it’s been a busy morning for him. A red-haired reporter from The Evening Star approaches him. This is our introduction to intrepid reporter Peggy Brandt.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Peggy asks.
“No, and you can quote me on that,” Kellaway responds, brusquely. If there’s one thing cops hate more than pajamas and buffoonery, it’s reporters.
Peggy insinuates that the property damage and bodily injury could be some sort of “mob tactic,” to which Kellaway responds: “There it is boys, she broke the case.” Like, c’mon dude, we’re thinking. Then Kellaway tells his squad to “get these rubbernecks out of here.”
Sidenote: 1994 was the year The Toadies put out perhaps the most underrated rock album of the ‘90s, Rubberneck. Many know the eerie single “Possum Kingdom” and its repeated refrain of “Do you wanna die?”, but the whole album is exquisite. It’s a dark rollercoaster of murderous ballads and Southern Gothic despair. Perhaps the album’s not the best fit for people who favor the rambunctious chaos of movies like The Mask, but I’d argue that if anything, The Mask teaches us that we live in a world where light and dark can coexist within us all. Anyway, check out Rubberneck.
Cut to the inside of Edge City Bank. Stanley walks hurriedly in, checking his watch. Jesus Christ, he’s so late. Unfortunately, the first person he’s greeted by is Charlie, his so-called friend. Charlie seems to have been waiting for Stanley by the entrance like a little dog eager for his master, ignorant to the fact that Stanley is stressed as fuck.
“Stan, Stan! Where were you last night? The girls and I were looking all over for you?” Charlie says.
“Did you happen to look outside...in the gutter?” Stanley says, melodramatically. This is about as much anger as Stanley will ever express without THE MASK on, and it really comes out more as a petulant whine. But Charlie either doesn’t care or doesn’t have the capacity to gauge other people’s emotions, because he immediately shoves a newspaper in Stanley’s face. The main story in the art section is a review of Cameron Diaz’s performance at The Coco Bongo. It’s surprising how much coverage in the newspaper she gets. The article takes up nearly half a page, which seems appropriate for, say, a review of a Pearl Jam concert in 1994, but a low-level local lounge singer?
At that moment, Stanley’s boss, Mr. Dickey—a young, alpha male type—yells at him from across the bank, seething with anger.
“You’re 40 minutes late!” Mr. Dickey says. “That’s the same as stealing.” Questionable logic, but okay.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Dickey. It’ll never happen again,” Stanley stutters. There’s a palpable fear in his eyes, as if staring a pale horse in the face. “I’ve been a jerk,” he adds, and we’re like, oh Stanley.
Mr. Dickey plucks the newspaper from Stanley’s hands with serpentine quickness. “Well, if you weren’t busy ogling girly pictures,” Mr. Dickey says, eying Cameron Diaz’s image with predatory lust, “maybe you’d actually get some work done around here.” Although he says this line with a disciplinary tone, there’s no mistaking the covetous shift in Mr. Dickey’s attitude once he sees the picture. These shots are centered on their faces, but we just know if the camera panned down, all three of them—Stanley, Charlie, Mr. Dickey—would be rock hard.
Women in The Mask: just there to be objectified, villainized, or hag-ified.
“Sir,” Charlie says, intervening like the little insect that he is, “she’s a prospective client of Stanley’s.” And although we’ve all had just about enough of Charlie, this attempt to defend Stanley is one of Charlie’s very few selfless acts over the course of this movie.
“Okay, fine. Charlie’s okay,” I’d say if we were watching together, and you’d tell me to quit talking so close to your ear.
Mr. Dickey takes another look at Cameron Diaz’s picture. A sly, sinister grin stretches his face. “Well,” he says, perversely handing back the newspaper. “Next time she comes in, you be sure to send her to my office.”
The sheer joy on Dickey’s face.
Stanley = cucked.
Mr. Dickey walks away and Stanley deflates as if his tired, weary soul finally departs his body. Charlie tries to provide some consolation by stating the hitherto unknown fact that Mr. Dickey’s father owns the bank in which they all work, which explains Dickey’s creepy, aggressive behavior. Stanley, however, is stuck on Cameron Diaz. He picks up the paper, wonders out loud if she’ll ever come back while pining over the photo.
“Man, forget her,” Charlie says, ripping the newspaper from Stanley’s hands. “Listen to me. A girl like that is always looking for the BBD. The bigger, better deal.” Charlie seems a little too proud of this acronym that he’s obviously developed to justify his own pathetic hatred toward women. Charlie most definitely belongs to a men’s rights group.
“You don’t know that, Charlie,” Stanley says. “She’s an artist. She’s sensitive.”
“Stanley, forget her,” Charlie insists. “That girl will rip your heart out, throw it in a blender, and hit frappe.” I suppose this is a joke?
“You don’t need her, man,” Charlie continues, and, you know, just writing this scene out, it’s wild how many iterations of “you don’t need her” or “forget her” there are. This movie was written by a very damaged man.
“You need someone who’s a little more down to earth,” Charlie continues. “Somebody with integrity. Someone with...” Charlie pauses, looking at something off-camera. His mouth drops open. “Red hair, full pouting lips, a white blouse, a green jacket, and a name tag.”
Cut to the woman he’s objectifying: Peggy Brandt, the reporter from the last scene.
So, the next scene is really boring so I’m just going to bullet point it:
Charlie approaches Peggy. She asks for Stanley.
Haha.
Charlie, what a loser.
Peggy asks Stanley about Ripley Auto Finishing.
Oh no.
Remember how THE MASK ravaged those two mechanics?
Stanley = very scared.
Stanley denies being a customer of theirs.
Peggy has the records of the work they did on his car.
Ope!
Stanley fumbles for words. What a pickle.
Stanley realizes that this Peggy Brandt is the same Peggy from the “Ask Peggy” advice column, who once published Stanley’s letter about how nice guys finish last.
Which probably looks like an incel manifesto.
Peggy says they received hundreds of letters in response to Stanley aka Mr. Nice Guy.
Heavy flirting.
Peggy leaves.
Stanley looks at her business card crazily.
Scene ends.
I lean over to you and ask if you’ve ever seen Robin Hood Men In Tights.
You say, “huh?”
I go, “oh, the woman who plays Peggy plays Maid Marion in Men In Tights.”
You say, “oh.”
I keep staring at you.
You add, “that’s cool,” but you say it like a question.
Cut to the inside of Nico’s office. This is our introduction to Edge City’s head gangster. The Big Bad. We find Nico hitting golf balls into a mat that uses a robotic voice to announce how far the ball would travel based on his swing. He also has a ponytail. Has there ever been a more terrifying mob boss? Also, try saying “mob boss golf balls.” it’s hard.
Two of Nico’s goons bring Dorian in, manhandling him like a misbehaving child.
“Hello Dorian. Thanks for dropping by,” Nico says, his voice a chilling whisper.
“Yeah, well, next time why don’t you call, right?” Dorian says. “And leave the delivery boys at home.”
Obviously, this is the wrong response, because Nico nods to his henchmen and they pull Dorian to the ground. They hold him down, and one of the goons jams a gun against his head while the other gently—almost delicately—places a golf tee between Dorian’s lips. Dorian spits it out. The gun toting henchmen cocks his weapon and presses the barrel harder against Dorian’s temple. Dorian relents, accepting the tee like a debased animal, and then they place a golf ball on it. The unspoken message here is that if Dorian lets the ball drop, his life is over. We must assume this is how Nico maintains his grip on Edge City. Violence and intimidation are his bouillabaisse. Mama mia.
Nico stands over Dorian, letting the golf club swing idly just above his face like a deadly pendulum from that Edgar Allen Poe story whose title I can’t remember.
“The cops tried to shut down the club this morning,” Nico says, referring to Coco Bongo. “They say you’ve been using the place to run your small-time scams.”
During this exchange, we get Dorian’s point of view as the golf club swings over his/our eyes. The filmmakers add a loud whoosh sound effect whenever the club crosses the screen. We feel the danger, the terror. Nico is a very mean man. A bad, bad man.
“I start hearing things like that,” Nico says, caressing Dorian’s cheek with the club, nearly breaking into laughter, “and I start losing my concentration.” His smile disappears. “And my game goes straight to hell.” He raises the club, the camera zooms in. “And you could, too.” BAM! He swings. Dorian howls. The computer voice says “205 yards.” It sends chills down our spine. God, this movie rules.
But then Nico gives Dorian a week to get out of the city. It seems like an overly nice gesture for a murderous crime boss, but what do I know about crime bosses? I mean, dude nearly just broke Dorian’s face, and he thinks he’ll just go all peaceful out into the night? Fuck outta here. But I guess it does allow Nico one more killer line: “One week to get out of town. After that, I’ll use your empty little skull to break in my nine iron.” Another golf threat! Is Nico’s whole thing that he loves golf? It sounds like a D-list Batman villain: The Golfer. Was Nico a golfer before he was a mobster, or the other way around? I’m going to assume a life of crime has afforded him better equipment for the pricey sport.
The henchmen pull Dorian to his feet and drag him away. Nico walks in the other direction, silhouetted against his extravagant windows.
Now we get a shot of an apartment building. There’s a liquor store on the bottom floor that advertises free delivery. The camera pans up while the image crossfades to Stanley asleep in bed. I believe this is the only time we ever see the exterior of Stanley’s building, and the shot is so fast that it’s easy to forget that it’s even in the movie, but it does feel strange that the filmmakers felt obligated to include it.
Stanley, Stanley, oh beddy-bed Stanley. The camera looms over him as he tosses and turns. His sleep looks troubled, unquiet, plagued by nightmares. A garish blue light filters in from outside, casting everything in neo-noir.
The camera zooms in for a close-up as swing music swells on the soundtrack. A sly smile creeps across Stanley’s face just before a watery lens effect ripples the screen and we’re all like, whoa, a dream.
Stanley’s dream is a replay of the disastrous night outside The Coco Bongo. Cameron Diaz’s chauffeur opens the car door and she steps out in her Beetlejuice-y dress. This time, however, he is not some sad loser. He’s not the man who got his ass cracked by the security guards, nor is he covered with the filth of Edge City sprayed onto him by Cameron Diaz’s car. In his dream, Stanley is suave and debonair. He whips a cigarette into his mouth, inhales, and then blows it out with a stylish Z motion. Goddamn, it’s so fucking cool.
“You okay?” Cameron Diaz asks.
A valet pulls up in a stylish little convertible. I’m not a car guy, but this beaut is leagues above The Loaner. “Your car, sir,” the valet says.
Stanley raises his fingers, indicating for the valet to wait. Then, Stanley flicks the cigarette away, and, addressing Cameron Diaz’s question, says, “I am now.” He gestures Cameron Diaz over with a c’mere motion.
Cameron Diaz obeys, slinking over to him with seductive intent. We get a close up of their faces as they get close, and they’re both horny as hell.
Just as it looks like they’re about to kiss, Cameron Diaz takes Stanley’s face and turns his head so his ear faces her. She starts licking. Stanley’s not into it, but he’s not NOT into it. How many children developed an ear-licking kink after watching this?
Countless, probably.
Got a tip or wanna say hi? Email me at ryancraigbradford@gmail.com, or follow me on Twitter @theryanbradford. And if you like what you’ve just read, please hit that little heart icon at the end of the post.