The Unauthorized Serial Novelization of the 1994 Film, The Mask (pt. 2)

Part 2: P-A-R-T-Why??? Because I gotta!

Big thanks to Laura Gwynne for providing original illustrations.

To read part 1, click here.

Illustration by Laura Gwynne

Stanley Ipkiss, waterlogged and covered in shit water, trudges up the stairs in his apartment complex, leaving dark, wet footprints on the wood. Stanley’s pants and the bottom of his jacket are soaked after descending into the Edge City River in order to save a drawing man, which turned out to be a pile of trash and THE MASK. 

His night has been a total bust—the complete opposite of the “humungo” evening that his sleazy friend Charlie had promised. But then again, did he think it’d go any other way? How he decides to get out of bed each day is a testament to the sad, pathetic nature of human perseverance. 

As soon as Stanley reaches the landing of the second floor, Ms. Peenman, the complex’s manager, bursts forth from her door. She’s been waiting by the door all night, biding her time for the moment Stanley comes home. Ms. Peenman is a homely woman—thin, frail, and wearing an oversized muumuu and hairnet to accentuate her undesirability. But there’s a fire in her eyes, an emasculating power that strikes fear into the hearts of misogynistic screenwriters. Basically, she is the opposite of Cameron Diaz in every way, and that’s what makers of the movie The Mask think about women: they’re either beauties or beasts. Women are to be either coveted or loathed.

“Ipkiss, do you know what time it is??” she asks. Ms. Peenman relishes any opportunity to dress down one of her sorry-ass tenants. Typical landlord behavior.

Ipkiss, realizing that yet more embarrassments await him tonight, sighs and says, “Actually, no.”

At that moment, Ms. Peenman notices Stanley’s dirty tracks he’s left on her new carpet. She’s mortified, but, again, she’s a landlord, so righteous indignation comes natural to her. She says this damage is coming straight out of Stanley’s security deposit. 

At this point, we almost see Stanley’s last straw. “You know what,” he says to Ms. Peenman. 

“What!?” Ms. Peenman says, eager to escalate this conflict.

And for just a second, we want Stanley to stand up for himself. Commit elder abuse, Stanley! But then his anger dissipates. “Nothing,” he sighs.

“Well that’s what you are, Ipkiss!” Ms. Peenman yells. “A big nothing!” Before Stanley can respond, Ms. Peenman turns and goes back into her room, slamming the door in his face. Ouch, we’re thinking. Harsh with that “big nothing” insult. For a second, we think that’s the title of a Stone Temple Pilots song, but after a quick Google search, we remember that the song is called “Big Empty”, which first appeared on the soundtrack to the 1994 movie, The Crow. The Mask and The Crow came out in the same year. We feel bad for everyone who wasn’t alive in 1994. 

After Ms. Peenman slams her door, Stanley waits for a moment, and then the rage finally boils over. “Aren’t you due back at the lab to get your bolts tightened!” he says to the closed door, which I believe is a Frankenstein reference.  “I should’ve said that,” Stanley whispers to himself. 

“Whomst among us,” I’d say if we were watching this together, indicating that we’ve all been there.  

Cut to Stanley’s apartment, established through a close-up shot of a suave cartoon wolf collectible from Red Hot Riding Hood—an animated short by Tex Avery that sexualizes the Little Red Riding Hood folklore. It was made in the ‘40s, and cartoonists back then were always thinking of new ways to sexualize things. That’s not to say I’m defending the idea of a wolf who goes cuckoo crazy merely at sight of an attractive woman (so horny is this wolf that he has to bludgeon himself with a chair to calm his libido), but historic context must be taken into account. 

When we rack focus out of that close-up, we get a wide view of Stanley’s apartment. The guy isn’t doing so bad for himself. Sure, it’s modest living, but he’s got a bike, a computer, a lamp. Not to mention a beautiful dog, Milo, who greets Stanley by lovingly jumping into his arms. This little Jack Russel Terrier completely steals this movie. Milo is the moral compass to the film. Even when Stanley gently scolds Milo for jumping, it’s obvious that Stanley loves it. Then Stanley lets Milo lick him on the mouth, which is a little weird. 

And just as we’re feeling something other than pity for Stanley Ipkiss, we get a shot of two VHS cassette tapes: Tex Avery’s Screwball Classics volumes 1 & 2. Both tapes seem waiting for Stanley on a little table. We must assume he watches these every night as a method of unwinding, and it’s perverse to say the least: a grown man, obsessively watching public domain cartoons as a means to process his daily trauma. Two Screwball Classics, aching to be viewed like sinister pornos. Given the visual information we’ve been provided, these are Stanley’s only two home videos. How many consecutive nights has he watched them? Lord knows.

“Hm. Okay,” Stanley says, in a husky, aroused voice as he reaches for Screwball Classics 2. 

He puts the tape in. On the screen, the horny wolf whistles and howls, and Stanley watches, warmly amused. Such a comfort it is for Stanley to watch this animated objectification.

Milo, perhaps in an attempt to steer Stanley’s fascination away from his unsavory delights, brings a yellow disc for Stanley to throw. There’s a brief tug-o-war with the disk before Milo lets go and it slaps Stanley in the face. We feel nothing.

Stanley throws the disc. Cut to a shot of Milo perfectly jumping to catch it. 

Milo is perfect in every way, we’re thinking. 

Ms. Peenman bangs on the wall, yelling for Stanley to turn his cartoons down. “Okay, Ms. PeenMAN!” Stanley yells, weirdly emphasizing the last syllable. He turns off his cartoons right after the horny wolf’s pupils go boing. The screen cuts to a talk-show where the guest is Ben Stein of Win Ben Stein’s Money. In this movie, he’s playing a psychiatrist of some kind. 

“So you’re saying that everyone wears a mask,” the host asks. 

“That’s right, Wendy,” says Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money. “We all wear masks, metaphorically speaking. We suppress the id, our darkest desires, and adopt a more socially acceptable image.”

This part is cool because it explains the underlying theme of the movie. In case we haven’t been paying attention to the many, many injustices that Stanley has had to endure—and then suppress—during the pathetic first fifteen minutes of this film, Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money spells it all out: Stanley works very hard to suppress his darkest desires. 

This scene is also great because imagine finding a piece of trash on the ground, coming home, turning on the TV, and there’s someone talking about the significance of that new piece of trash you just found.

LIke, one time I found a plate of untouched chicken tenders sitting on a table in a VIP section at a concert. I stood by those tenders for a solid 20 minutes, waiting for their owner to come back, and when no one did, I ate them. So, what if I went home, turned on my TV and saw a talk show where the host asked, “So you’re telling me that eating chicken tenders off a plate is a reflection of the human id?” And not only would the guest confirm, they would show off their newly-published book called The Tenders We Eat. It’s pretty fun to think about those sort of situations. 

Stanley turns off the TV and notices Milo acting weird around THE MASK.

“What’s the matter with you? What is it?” he asks, standing up. He picks THE MASK up off the desk and mimics the people he just saw on TV. “The masks we wear,” Stanley says with fake reverence. He steps in front of a mirror, and holds THE MASK at chest-level. “We all wear masks,” he says in Ben-Stein-from-Win-Ben-Stein’s-Money-voice. The light casts an ugly glow on Stanley’s face, like when kids tell scary stories while holding a flashlight under their chin. The composition of this shot is such that we know we’re seeing a new side of Stanley emerge—a darker, more sinister side. Up to this point, this is a version of Stanley that only his mirror has seen. 

“Good use of light and shadow,” I’d say if we were watching together. 

Stanley pauses. It’s a pregnant pause. He’s at a precipice—what he does in this moment will alter the course of his life. 

Stanley brings THE MASK to his face, and, get this: THE MASK, like, tries to suck onto his face, and we’re like aaaaah whooooaaaa. There’s a vacuum sound and everything. Even if we had our suspicions about THE MASK before, this proves it: THE MASK is not a normal mask. 

“Yeah right,” Stanley Ipkiss says in disbelief, and we’re all mmmhmmm. 

He turns away from the mirror and the camera gets low—a set-up for an iconic zoom shot of Stanley putting on THE MASK. We get one last over-the-shoulder shot of THE MASK, and an eerie, green shimmer runs across the inside. Milo cocks his head as if to say, “I wouldn’t do that!” But how can Stanley resist? Subconsciously, I think he knows that the darkness inside him wants to come out, and this MASK is its vessel.

The camera zooms in and Stanley puts on THE MASK. It latches to his face and then it’s this frightening and painful transformation. Stanley screams in agony as THE MASK encases his head, corrupting and distorting his face. Milo hides under the bed. Whatever he’s becoming, it’s truly monstrous. 

Illustration by Laura Gwynne

Then Stanley starts spinning around the room in a blurry tornado, causing absolute mayhem— knocking over lamps, moving tables, sending newspapers flying through the air (there’s a pillow with Taz on it in the background—a visual reference to just in case we’ve forgotten which cartoon character spins around in a tornado). 

The tornado stops, and it’s no longer Stanley Ipkiss, but THE MASK—a garish green-faced ghoul, hairless as a skeleton with frighteningly large teeth. Potentially the stuff of nightmares. 

THE MASK looks at the camera and says “SSSSSMOKING!” 

 “Uh oh, this is trouble!” we’re thinking, but in a good way because up until this point, we’ve been yearning for some trouble. Horny for it, in fact.  

Sidebar: What does “SSSSSMOKING” mean, exactly? When I was 11, I dressed as THE MASK for Halloween, and it was one of the best costumes I’ve ever had. My mom bought me a tiny suit from a thrift store and we dyed it yellow. I even wore a bald cap. But my costume was so good that when I went trick-or-treating, nearly every adult made me say the “SSSSSMOKING” line before giving me some candy. Being an extremely shy child, this was absolute hell. 

Anyway, after THE MASK says his opening line to the camera, he, like, pings over to the mirror and there’s a bullet ricocheting sound because life is suddenly a cartoon. An IRL cartoon! Man, they don’t make movies like this anymore. 

“It’s party time,” THE MASK says to the mirror. “P-A-R-T-Whyyy?? Because I gotta!!” The wordplay here is just delicious. And then he pings away from the mirror. Ptwing! 

THE MASK slides out of his apartment, Risky Business-style. The door closes behind him, which is wild. THE MASK struts down the hall with an elaborate pimp walk that conveys a new confidence. His pace aligns with the swing music that seems to always be playing when THE MASK is around, which raises the question: is swing music always playing in THE MASK’S head? Are we, the audience, privy to this mutation’s thoughts? Just something to wonder whilst watching. 

THE MASK stops in front of Ms. Peenman’s door. “Manager,” reads a plaque, and then we pan down and there’s a sign hanging off the door handle: “Quiet please.”

THE MASK looks at the camera, raises a finger to his lips and goes “shhhh” and we’re thinking, “Oh no no no no no.” 

THE MASK does this exaggerated creep past Ms. Peenman’s door, trying his best to not make any sound. TBH, he’s doing a pretty good job. But then an anthropomorphized alarm clock jumps out THE MASK’S pocket, giggling like an unhinged child. Alas, THE MASK is an agent of chaos, so this turn of events should not be surprising to anyone with a general knowledge of cartoons. 

The wacky clock jumps around the hallway, taunting THE MASK with its infuriating, maddening laughter. THE MASK swipes at it twice, but the clock evades him each time. THE MASK realizes that this method is not working. He has an idea. THE MASK reaches into his pocket and pulls out a mallet. But this mallet is, like, really big. THE MASK holds his new weapon and laughs insanely. 

Using his whole body, THE MASK arcs the mallet over his head and swings down. The clock jumps out of the way, and the mallet smashes through Ms. Peenman’s wood floor. 

The clock jumps on the wall, and THE MASK swings at it. Again, the clock jumps out of the way just in time, and the mallet busts through the wall. An orgy of destruction. Quite the opposite of quiet. 

Finally, the clock jumps in just the right spot (or, for the clock, the wrong spot) and THE MASK—in what appears to be a state of delusional ecstasy—whoops like a wild hyena and brings the mallet down, obliterating the clock, silencing it forever. 

“Shnooooze,” THE MASK says. Perfect punchline. No notes. 

Ms. Peenman, summoned by the commotion in the hallway, opens her door. She’s wearing a green facemask that people wear at night to moisturize their skin, but the visual repetition of her face and THE MASK’S creates an interesting juxtaposition indeed! When she sees the green-faced ghoul in her hallway, she screams. Just a bloodcurdling sound. 

THE MASK mimics her by screaming, too. His eyes pop out, extending a foot out of his skull but still connected by grotesque strips of gray flesh. The tongue also shoots forth with a vulgar jiggle. 

Illustration by Laura Gwynne

“That’s the money shot,” I’d say if we were watching together, because back in the ‘90s, people used to care a lot about special effects. A movie like The Mask, for instance, was an event. People paid top dollar (I think maybe $5) for these brief scenes of physics-defying lunacy. 

THE MASK’S scream turns into hellish laughter, further mocking Ms. Peenman’s fear. Ms. Peenman pulls out a shotgun and starts blasting away. Walls and light fixtures explode with each shotgun blast, but THE MASK dodges every shot by bouncing around in the hallway. 

THE MASK escapes by throwing himself out the window, and we get a nice shot of him falling toward the camera. For a brief second, the lens goes right into his mouth and we see that green devil’s uvula. 

Splat! THE MASK falls onto the street, pancaked flat. He peels himself up off the ground. For a split second, his eyeballs—which seem to have more viscosity—remain stuck to the ground even as the face peels away, but then they snap back into the sockets with two wet slaps. Still flat as a sheet of paper, THE MASK says, “Look ma! I’m roadkill! Ha Ha Ha.” God I love it. Just an absolute fuck you to the concept of death. 

THE MASK wavers up to his feet and inflates back to normal size. As he’s dusting himself off, a car screeches to a halt, blaring its horn at this strange-looking figure standing in the road. The horn’s so loud that THE MASK cringes. He looks at the driver, who angrily tells THE MASK to get out of the road. THE MASK turns to the camera and says, “I think he wants to communicate.” 

Until recently, I’ve never really thought about how many times THE MASK talks to the movie audience, and I can’t help but imagine the POV from the driver of the car, who sees this frightening person do a quarter turn and talk to some invisible entity. If that’s not nightmare fuel, I don’t know what is. 

THE MASK pulls a teeny-tiny bicycle horn out of his pocket, with the words “Squeeze me gently” imprinted on the rubber ball. Perhaps naive viewers are thinking “What good is this going to do?” But if we were watching together, I’d be rubbing my hands together with excitement. 

THE MASK squeezes the horn. The bell of the horn extends, expands, grows into a big metal mouth complete with a human tongue. AWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOGA, it says, signifying the universal word for loud sound. All of the windows in the driver’s car shatter, shards of glass fly everywhere. I bet this driver will think twice next time he feels the urge to road rage... if he survives. 

THE MASK blows on his horn like it was a gun, which, honestly, might be just as dangerous. He pockets the horn, and struts away, carrying on with his signature pimp walk. 

But it’s not long—only a few steps, in fact—before THE MASK finds more trouble: a group of biker-gang street toughs emerge from the shadows, aching to inflict violence on THE MASK. Who knows what traumas these people have endured to make them so desperate, but it’s sad if you really think about it. We also know these people are going to get a little more than they bargained for when they mess with THE MASK. Now we’re entering a moral gray area because some of us, especially those who’ve experienced the terror of being mugged, will see THE MASK as a heroic vigilante doling out violence as justice. This is a theme explored in many other movies like Death Wish starring Charles Bronson or Falling Down starring Michael Douglas. Americans, I would argue, have a unique penchant for revenge fantasy stories. 

“Hey mister,” says the head gang member to THE MASK. “Do you have the time?” 

“As a matter of fact I do, Cubby,” THE MASK says, and I don’t know what “Cubby” is supposed to mean, but I always thought THE MASK was saying “tubby” here, which seemed a little uncalled-for, even by THE MASK’S loose behavioral standards. 

THE MASK jumps forward, so he’s right in the gang leader’s face. “LOOK AT THAT!” says THE MASK pulling yet another clock out from somewhere. “It's about two seconds before I honk your nose and pull your underwear over your head!” The clock dings and, delivering on his word, THE MASK honks the guy’s nose and does the underwear thing. Compared to some of the earlier visual effects, this gag is just done by speeding up the film and playing a few quick whoosh sounds. It’s not great, but it’s not bad either. 

THE MASK dodges a punch by the gang leader—who’s now blinded by his own underwear!!—and then pushes him into the other gang members. THE MASK then provokes them by inviting them to be even more ruthless. “C’mon!” he says, mockingly, and then sips off into a warehouse. The gang gives chase. 

However, upon entering the warehouse, the gang is in for a big surprise: THE MASK has miraculously turned himself into a carnival barker, knocking a cane against a circus podium. “Step right up! Don’t be shy! Nobody likes a bashful leatherhead!” says THE MASK as circus music plays in the background. Again, I always thought he was saying “fat bleatherhead” and that bleatherhead was a really cool insult, whatever that meant. Nevertheless, I’m glad that THE MASK doesn’t resort to fat-shaming. 

The gang, seemingly entranced by this rapid transformation, pauses. 

“MOVE IT!” THE MASK yells, and the gang obeys, hypnotized by the sinister trickster. 

“Now for my first trick...” THE MASK begins twisting a balloon. “I’m going to do something for you son,” he says to one of the low-level thugs, who smiles. Only seconds before, these people wanted to murder THE MASK, but in just a span of a few seconds, they seem to have reverted to an early stage of development; the looks on their faces can only be described as childlike.

In THE MASK’S expert hands, the balloon takes the form of a long-necked animal. “We have a giraffe!” THE MASK says, handing the creation to the thug. “There you go son.” And before we think this is entirely an act of charity, THE MASK says, “Now get out of here, you bother me.” 

The thug cherishes his new balloon animal, and yanks it away when another gang member tries to hold it, exemplifying just how starved of an actual childhood these people are.

“Now,” THE MASK says, preparing the group for his next trick. He pulls out a used condom—hanging, limp, soiled, a truly disgusting object. “Sorry, wrong pocket,” he says before flinging it to the side. Are we to believe that that’s THE MASK’s condom? When is THE MASK fucking? I guess it’s cool that he’s practicing safe sex, but I just don’t know, guys. I just don’t know.

“Yikes,” I’d say if we were watching together. 

But we can’t dwell on the condom, because THE MASK is back to making balloon things. 

“And for you son,” he says, addressing the gang leader. “A French poodle.” Just as he’s about to hand over the balloon animal, THE MASK pulls it apart. The sadness on the gang leader’s face is real. “Sorry son, the dog was rabid, had to put it down,” THE MASK says, clearly enjoying this psyche-out. 

“Last but not least, my favorite,” THE MASK says, and the way he says it means something is going to go very, very wrong for this gang. 

THE MASK inflates a black balloon and does a lot of crazy twists and folds with it—even licks it at one point! The gang watches, rapt. What could THE MASK’S favorite be? 

It’s a Tommy gun. The balloon sculpture becomes a real life, working Tommy gun! Jesus Christ. 

THE MASK  fires away, totally content with straight-up murdering these human beings. The gang members scramble, jump into dumpsters to avoid a gory and painful end. 

Illustration by Laura Gwynne

“This is incredible,” THE MASK says after the melee. He holds his arms up in a Christ-like pose. “With these powers I could be—” he jumps over his podium and we get a heroic shot “—a superhero! I could fight crime, protect the innocent, work for world peace!” Then he looks at the camera “But first...” he says, mischievously, and ptwings out of the scene, and we know from that line delivery that THE MASK is not actually going to use his powers for noble means. 

We cut to the auto mechanic shop where the two super scuzzy and dishonest mechanics work. THE MASK busts in, holding what appear to be two giant car mufflers.

“HOLD ONTO YOUR LUGNUTS IT’S TIME FOR AN OVERHAUL!” THE MASK screams in some deep southern voice. He turns into his signature tornado and advances. The two mechanics cower from the horror, and we cut to the swinging lightbulb as THE MASK commits an atrocity so bad that the filmmakers avoided showing it.