The Unauthorized Serial Novelization of the 1994 Film, The Mask (pt. 5)
The Mask: not big on consent
(Read part 1, part 2, part 3, and part 4)
The next morning, Stanley lay sprawled out on his bed. THE MASK rests on the pillow next to him. Been a big night for Stanley/THE MASK, and he deserves this little beddie-bye.
But his respite is short lived, for Lt. Kellaway bangs relentlessly on his door. “Ipkiss, I know you’re in there!” he shouts from the hallway. Not even poor, sweet Milo can sleep through this disruption.
Stanley groggily rises, but the reality of the situation quickly sinks in: there’s a policeman at the door, and the incriminating MASK is laying right next to him. “Oh my God,” Ipkiss says. He scrambles out of bed, looking for a hiding place for his cursed object. He opens a closet door and a wave of cash flows out. Egads! How THE MASK was able to fit so much money in there is yet another example of his terrible power.
Kellaway’s knocking continues as Stanley tries to sweep the money back into the closet, but with every effort, more just falls out. A Sisyphean task. Stanley tries to use Milo’s frisbee as a shovel, but Milo latches onto it, rightfully forbidding Stanley to use it for his illegal quandary. Stanley uses his entire body as a plow, ramming face-first into the pile of cash.
“Let’s go, Ipkiss!” Kellaway yells.
Stanley opens the door. All traces of this crime have magically disappeared. The cash, gone! That sonofabitch, he did it, we’re thinking.
Kellaway pushes into Stanley’s apartment and proceeds to interrogate him. “Where were you last night?” He gauges Stanley’s knowledge of “this mask character” and draws connections between the robbery at Stanley’s bank and the presence of Stanley’s nautical pajamas at the Coco Bongo.
All the while, Milo is sniffing, scratching, barking at the closet door where Stanley has all the cash hidden. We can’t fault Milo for trying to do the right thing. Stanley pulls the dog away and makes up some idiotic excuse about his pajamas being stolen.
“What’s a city coming to when a man’s pajama drawer is no longer safe?” Stanley asks. And, uh, that’s the end of the scene?
Then we’re at the police station, and Kellaway and his crony, Doyle—who’s been pretty much relegated to background action until this part—watch security footage of the bank robbery. On the tiny, black and white screen, THE MASK zips around the bank, throwing money in the air, mugging for the camera, having a blast. THE MASK moves with impossible speed, yet the cops watch with dumb acceptance. Perhaps this is yet another commentary on the nightmarish unorthodoxy of Edge City: a police force so jaded by the Lovecraftian horrors of their city that they can only compartmentalize to keep their sanity.
“I don’t know, boss. That’s one hell of a rubber mask,” Doyle says.
Kellaway, having returned from Stanley’s apartment (how that interaction ended, we’ll never know), wants Doyle to run some of the fingerprints found at the crime scene to see if they match Stanley’s.
“Ah, you figure it’s an inside job, huh?” asks Doyle, smiling, very much relishing this idea.
“All I need is a couple of prints to lock this whack job up til doomsday.”
We cut to Dorian, who opens a briefcase full of cash and displays it to his crew. “Fifty grand,” he says. “Fifty grand for the man who finds that green-faced son of a bitch before the cops do.” Good narrative structure: Two opposing forces are now after THE MASK. “A classic conceit of good vs. evil fighting toward the same goal,” I’d say if we were watching together, and then trail off because I notice you looking at your watch.
Dorian continues: “I want you to get the word out to every street hustler, to every lowlife in this town. To every criminal, and villain, to every ne’er-do-well, to every knucklehead, to every thug, baddie bad bad, to every shady character, to every stranger with candy, to every Hitler, to every Oscar the Grouch, to every Magneto...”
“We get it boss,” someone says.
This doesn’t happen, but you get the idea.
“I want him here tomorrow,” Dorian says. “Alive.” And then a second later, he says “What are you waiting for? Let’s go!” His goons stand up, obedient. Nobody really seems stoked about the task nor the reward money. One guy takes a shot of booze before standing up. Free booze at the gang meetings, hell yeah.
The goons leave and it’s just Dorian and Cameron Diaz left in the room. “You’re losing it, Dorian,” Cameron Diaz says.
“I’m not losing anything,” he says, moving around his desk so they’re face-to face. “Except maybe some extra baggage around here.” He gestures to her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You know you weren’t putting up much of a fight with that freakshow last night when he tried to kiss you.” Dorian, we can conclude, is butthurt.
“Did it look like I had much of a choice?” Cameron Diaz snaps back, and we all know she didn’t because THE MASK is not big on consent. Cameron Diaz defiantly continues to read her newspaper (props to Edge City for keeping print media alive), but then Dorian, humiliated, tears it out of her hands.
“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. Who knows, right?” Dorian says with kind of a chuckle. “But I’ll tell you one thing. It’s going to be payback for anyone that crosses me.” And the camera holds on Cameron Diaz’s very sad face.
However, the camera doesn’t let us stew in Dorien’s threat, because—hark!—there’s still a movie to get through.
We cut to Edge City Bank, a scene of chaos. The place is crawling with cops, investigating the previous night’s robbery. Stanley has to shove his way through a crowd of reporters to even get through the door. And man oh man, does he not look great: sleep-deprived, unhinged, cartoonishly wolf-like. He scours the scene with paranoid, coked-out eyes.
“Ipkiss!” his boss, Mr. Dickey, yells. “We have a crisis on our hands and you stroll in an hour late? If I have to put up with your slovenly behavior—”
Before the boss can finish his reprimand, Stanley snaps. “BACK OFF, MONKEY BOY!” He screams. “Before I tell your daddy that you’re running this place like it’s your own personal piggy bank. Or maybe I should call the IRS and see if we can arrange a little vacation for you at club FED!” When I was younger, I thought Stanley said “Club FAT!” which seemed unnecessarily mean because Mr. Dickey is not that large of a man.
This truth is a painful swallow for Mr. Dickey. For once in his life, Stanley has the advantage. Mr. Dickey, frankly, is cooked. “That’ll be all, Ipkiss,” he says before retreating out of the scene.
As soon as he’s gone, Stanley withers. Charlie, Stanley’s airhead friend and colleague, appears out of nowhere, ready to kiss Stanley’s ass.
“That was genius,” Charlie says. “What side of whose bed did you wake up on?” Just a joke, perhaps, but we all know that Charlie is the person who would 100% love to hear about Stanley’s sexual exploits. He’s got that dawg in him.
“I haven’t been myself lately,” Stanley responds.
“Well you don’t look real fabulous, Stan,” Charlie says.
“Really? Do I look bad?”
“Not to worry,” Charlie says, reaching into his jacket and pulling out two pieces of paper. “This will put the color back in your cheeks, my friend. Two tickets to the charity ball at the Coco Bongo this Saturday night.” Charlie gives the tickets a little validating flick. “Anybody who’s anybody will be there. Want to be my date?” Another fucking night at the Coco Bongo? Jesus, why doesn’t Charlie just marry that club already?
Stanley briefly considers Charlie’s offer, but Cameron Diaz walks into the bank. Compared to the last time she entered the bank, there’s no objectification. It seems that he is finally able to see her as human. Perhaps the kiss Cameron Diaz shared with THE MASK last night has somehow seeped into Stanley’s psyche, providing him the motivation to counterbalance THE MASK’s unhinged id.
“What are you doing here?” Stanley asks, seriously concerned. A little too concerned if you ask me (you didn’t).
“I just wanted to thank you,” Cameron Diaz says. “But I’m not sure if I’m going to have much to open an account with you anymore.” Imagine doing this now—showing any consideration to a financial institution whose sole purpose is to take money from you. Of all the crazy shit in the movie, this might be the craziest.
Cameron Diaz starts to explain more, but Stanley pulls her aside so they can talk privately about her personal affairs. Let me remind you that Stanley and Cameron Diaz only really had two interactions before this—she does not know he is THE MASK—so the amount of intimacy going on during this conversation is wild.
We cut to somewhere else in the bank, somewhere quieter for this wildly inappropriate conversation between banker and client to continue.
“You didn’t come here just to see me,” Stanley says, in his hangdog, woe-is-me way. Straight out of the incel handbook. “It’s okay. Tell me.”
“The guy they say robbed this place—” Cameron Diaz says.
“THE MASK,” Stanley responds, thereby giving his alter ego the titular moniker. How long had he been planning on dropping this little tidbit into conversation?
“I think he was at the club last night,” Cameron Diaz says, clearly lustful.
“Really? They say he’s pretty... weird looking,” Stanley says, testing the waters, prodding Cameron Diaz, gauging her reaction.
“Yeah, but...” Cameron Diaz says, dreamily. “You oughta see him dance.” The way she says this, you’d think she was remembering a former lover. What would be real funny at this moment is if there was a quick cut to THE MASK skanking.
“So did anyone find out who he is?” Cameron Diaz continues.
“Why, are you interested?” Stanley smirks.
“Just curious, I guess.” She looks down. “Well, I guess I better get going. Thanks for everything, Stanley.” Uhhh what’s she thanking him for? Opening a bank account for her? Ogling her outside the Coco Bongo?
Cameron Diaz stands up and begins walking away. Stanley, his eyes glazed over, unblinking like a man suddenly possessed by evil, says, “You’d like to see him again, wouldn’t you?”
Cameron Diaz hesitates. No, we’re thinking. It’s a precipice, a brief moment that nonetheless damns her soul in a Faustian exchange. All she has to do is keep walking. Run, hide.
But she doesn’t.
She turns back toward Stanley. “I um... wouldn’t mind.”
“I know him, you know,” Stanley says, his eyes paradoxically wild and dead, as if the great eldritch powers of THE MASK have seeped into his very being.
“You do?”
“We’re old college buddies, him and me,” Stanley says through a demonic smirk. Sidenote: what college courses do you think THE MASK would take? “It’s funny you should mention the way he dances because...” Stanley slides over to Cameron Diaz. “I taught him a couple dance moves myself.”
Oh really, which ones, Stanley? The one where you twist your fucking legs up like spaghetti? Or twirl a woman around you so fast that her heels start literal fires? Or maybe it was that non-consensual kiss? Do tell, king.
But Cameron Diaz, bewitched, is putty in Stanley’s hands. “Do you think you could have him meet me tonight?”
“I might be able to work something out.”
“How about landfill park?”
“Okay. Sunset.”
“Perfect,” Cameron Diaz says. The chemistry between these two during this rapid exchange is fire. “Anyone else feel hot all of the sudden?” I’d say to you, wiping the sweat from my middle-aged brow, pulling the shirt at my soaked armpits.
“Thanks Stanley. You’re a really nice guy,” Cameron Diaz says, and then gives him a cute little kiss on the cheek. She walks out of frame, and Stanley remains for a beat, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Given the sexual tension leading to this, we must assume that Stanley has just come.
Cut to a new scene. Black fills the screen except for two almond-shaped windows. There’s a man moving between the holes, looking through them, looking at us, the viewers. It quickly becomes obvious that we’re experiencing the POV of THE MASK, a shot reminiscent of John Carpenter’s Halloween where young Michael Meyers dons a mask to kill his sister.
We quickly recognize the man as Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money. Savvy viewers will remember him from earlier in the movie, a scene in which he appeared on a talk show. Conveniently, that brief scene established him as an expert on masks. Somehow, Stanley has booked a meeting with Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money, who is now assessing the cursed artifact.
“This is an interesting piece, Mr. Ipkiss,” Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money says in his signature droll monotone. He moves the mask away from the camera and we see that his office is full of wooden masks hanging on the wall. Pretty good set design, if you ask me (again, you didn’t). “Looks like fourth or fifth century Scandinavian. Possibly a presentation of one of the Norse night gods. Maybe Loki.”
We get a view of Stanley, full-on sprawled out on Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money’s couch. His body language is that of a man who is both exhausted and impatient. Why he’d come to Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money’s office just to sit like an asshole? Who can say.
Stanley lifts his head at the mention of the night god. “Loki?” he says, befuddled. “Who’s Loki?”
“The Norse god of mischief,” says Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money. “Supposedly, he caused so much trouble that they banished him from Valhalla forever.”
Stanley leans forward. “Then he could’ve banished him into that mask,” he says.
“I’m talking about mythology,” says Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money. “This is a piece of wood.” He taps THE MASK gently, punctuating his nerdy mansplaining.
Stanley stands, grabbing Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money’s book from off the coffee table in front of him. He practically lunges at Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money, book-first. “But your book,” Stanley says at the end of his rope.
“My book is about masks as metaphor, Mr. Ipkiss” says Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money, which like an odd thing to say considering the amount of fucking literal masks on the guy’s wall. “A metaphor. Not to be taken literally. You’re suffering from mild delusion.”
Stanley nods at this insult. He deliberates for a moment before coming to some awful conclusion. “All right. I’m going to prove it to you.” He backs away from Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money. “But I am not responsible for the consequences. Just sit back and enjoy the ride, Mr. Expert.”
Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money, in classic Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money-mode, says dryly: “You don’t scare me, Mr. Ipkiss. Go right ahead.”
Let’s pause here to just peruse Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money’s wiki. Did you know he was a speechwriter for the second-most pathetic president, Richard Nixon? Did you know that he is deeply religious, right wing, and anti-choice? Did you know that he really misses the original Aunt Jemima mascot, which, for some reason, is important enough to mention on the wiki?
At Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money’s behest, Stanley braces himself to release THE MASK. “See ya,” he says and slowly raises the wooden MASK to his face. The camera zooms in and—
Nothing.
Stanley stands there, holding THE MASK to his face. There is no lightning, no transformation. Something is wrong. THE MASK is not working.
Panicked, trying to save his last scraps of dignity, Stanley decides to imitate the ghoulish transformation. He convulses, moving his body like a guidebook of sexual perversions. He dances birdlike, high-footing it in a pathetic circle. Cut to Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money, clearly not impressed with this foolish charade. Just like Tommy Lee Jones on the set of Batman Forever, he cannot sanction Jim Carrey’s buffoonery.
Stanley gives up. “Okay! You said Loki was a night god. Maybe it only works at night.”
“Mr. Ipkiss, I should warn you that I don’t work personally with really sick people.” Again with the insinuation that Stanley is suffering from some undiagnosed mental illness. “There are private institutions for things like that. However, if you'd like me to arrange for a safe environment for you tonight, I can do that.”
Stanley doesn’t even seem to acknowledge the accusations. Instead, he’s overcome by some feral desperation. It seems to take all his control to hold it together.
“No, I’ve got to see Tina. But what do I do? I mean, do I go as myself, or THE MASK?”
Nonplussed, Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money says, “If I tell you, you promise to leave my office right now?” Feel like this was a line they put in the movie trailer, but who could know. I mean, someone with access to the internet and Youtube could easily look it up, but that’s a lot of work. Nonetheless, Stanley agrees.
“All right,” says Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money. They both stand up and Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money crosses around the table to put an arm on Stanley. “Mr. Ipkiss go as yourself AND the mask. Because they are both one and the same beautiful person.” He gives Stanley a fatherly pat on the chest. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to write a letter to Aunt Jemima” he says. Just kidding. But maybe?
Outside, Detective Kellaway watches Stanley hail a cab outside Ben Stein from Win Ben Stein’s Money’s office. He looks as calm as a monk. Over the radio, a woman tells him that the prints retrieved from the bank heist belong to Stanley, and there’s no change in Kellaway’s demeanor. A true pro, this detective. Yet, we must assume that his doggedness in this case belies something personal. Just a general love of law and order? Or trembling, deep seated fear of Edge City’s future if green-faced freaks take over?
He puts the radio transmitter to his mouth. “I’m looking at him,” he says. “Keep a SWAT team standing by.” A SWAT team? For one guy? Typical cop move. ACAB, etc.
And then he says, “If this guy is half as bad as he’s supposed to be, we’re gonna have a full dance card.” A very weird thing to say over the police radio, in my opinion. If I were the woman on the other end, I’d be like uhhhhhh...
Doyle, Kellaway’s partner, sticks his head in the screen and asks Kelleway if he has the pickled relish. We have to assume that the filmmakers added this scene to poke fun of Doyle, who is a large man, and making fun of fat people was really popular in the ‘90s.
“Get in the car,” Kellaway demands, irate.
“But I ordered onion rings,” Doyle says.
“Doyle!” Kellaway says in a singsong fashion, as if he’s delivering a sitcom punchline. But there is no laugh track.
The scene crossfades ominously to the entrance of Landfill Park with its gothic, art deco lettering and dramatic lighting. The movie forces us, the audience, to sit uncomfortably with the juxtaposition of Doyle’s buffoonery paired with eerie austerity of the transition. This is what I’d be saying if we were watching together, and at this point you’d have given in to my commentary and succumbed to the notion that I am a man of knowledge and wisdom.
Landfill Park is the cheapest-looking set of the whole movie. Its sparsity—basically a park bench and some foliage—tells of a budget that was spent on visual effects. Even for a movie that wallows in artificiality, the care that went into this set feels like an afterthought.
Stanley paces nervously by the aforementioned park bench, the foliage surrounding him is cast in Edge City’s signature eerie blue light. For a moment, unaided by makeup, prosthetics, CGI, Stanley/Jim Carrey looks like an amateur actor in a student production. He checks his watch dramatically, he sighs dramatically.
A quick cut reveals Kellaway and Doyle lurking in the bushes, watching.
Stanley nervously sits down on the bench, opens the briefcase, looks around. Again, we’re treated to some high-school black box theater-style acting. “No, no,” he says, shutting the briefcase.
He stands up, only to find Cameron Diaz is right there! She’s wearing a black and white suit blouse or something.
“Stanley, what are you doing here?” she aks.
“I uh,” Stanley stammers. “Just wanted to come by and make sure you two got together all right.”
“Mmm, that’s nice,” Cameron Diaz says.
“You know I hardly ever stop by here,” she says. “It’s kind of hard to believe it was just a garbage heap.”
They sit down on the bench, and the camera shifts so we get a view over their shoulders. Before them lies Edge City’s skyline, an adequate matte painting where the sky is ribboned with northern lights-style greens and pinks.
“It’s really beautiful right around sunset,” Stanley says. “The methane emissions really pick up the colors.” Good lord, this interaction has taken an eternity (not so different from reading this novella). This is what happens when filmmakers who don’t know how to do drama try to do drama.
“All those... pinks and greens,” Cameron Diaz says before giving Stanley a knowing look. Not quite sure what Cameron Diaz is doing here. Insinuating coitus?
“Uhhh, my friend will be along any minute. I-I better go,” Stanley stammers. He runs behind Landfill Park’s biggest bush. Cameron Diaz, for whatever reason, chases after him.
“Stanley, wait!” she cries.
Lightning strikes, thunder claps, and a tornado twirls out from the opposite side of the bus. When it stops, we, uh, behold yet again, THE MASK. Cameron Diaz jumps back, startled. He leans against Landfill Park’s lone tree, adorned with a beret, red scarf, black jacket, black and white undershirt, the boy’s a time bomb (Rancid fans will get that one).
“Hello, cherie. We meet again,” THE MASK says with a French accent. “Is it fate? Is it meant to be? Is it written in the stars that we are desssstined to fraternize? [he puts extra stank on “destined”]” THE MASK then drops the accent. “I’d like to think so!”
THE MASK twirls forward and sweeps Cameron Diaz off her feet. He embraces her in a lovers dip. “Kiss me my dear,” he says, his French accent reemerging. “And I will reveal my croissant. I will spread your paté. I will dip my ladle in your VICHYSSOISE!” With each threat, terror fills Cameron Diaz’s face. And while all this is kind of rapey and gross, whomst amongst us has not tried to seduce someone using French culinary euphemisms?
Cameron Diaz knees THE MASK in the balls. He freezes in agony for a moment before regaining his composure. “She is so coy,” THE MASK says, his voice high from the infliction to his genitals. He shakes it off. “I LOVE EEET” he yells, Frenchly.
He spins to intercept Cameron Diaz, this time it’s like a mini tornado. THE MASK stands proudly in front of her, impervious to the distress he’s causing. He does his unnerving jaw moving thing: ayeyiyiyi. Tango music swells from somewhere.
“Our love is like a red, red rose,” he says, encroaching on Cameron Diaz. “And I am a little thorny.” Not as good as the French food stuff, but okay. Cameron Diaz backs into the park bench and falls. THE MASK climbs on top of her. “Je t’ador. Je t’ador,” he coos. “Je te window! I don’t care!” he yells. THE MASK swipes; Cameron Diaz dodges. “HAHAHA!” THE MASK says, laughily.
We cut to Kellaway and Doyle, still watching the proceedings while lurking in the foliage. A little strange that they do nothing to stop THE MASK’s impending assault, but that’s cops for ya. Also strange that they saw Stanley’s demonic whirlwind transformation and are not absolutely shitting their pants at this twisted perversion of normalcy.
“I need backup and I need it now,” Kellaway says into his radio.
On the bench, THE MASK whips out a cigarette, and offers one to Cameron Diaz, who remains silent. “No?” THE MASK says, and takes a long drag. He exhales a cloud of smoke that turns into a heart, and with a finger against one nostril, snot-rockets a smokey arrow through the heart. Cameron Diaz finds this mildly amusing. She begins to lower her guard.
“Now, like Napoleon, I will divide and conquer.” He flicks his cigarette away and there’s a cute little zip sound effect as it whizzes off into the sky, but there’s nothing cute about THE MASK’s intention. Terror returns to Cameron Diaz’s face.
“Ipkiss! Police!” Kellaway says. He and Doyle emerge from the bushes.
“Merde” THE MASK says, which means shit in French. Imagine if THE MASK just said “shit”? How would that change the movie? It occurs to me that THE MASK never swears, but what if he just let loose?
Somebody fuckin stop me!
FFFFFFUuuuuuckin! (Smmmokin’)
THE MASK jumps off the bench right at the moment Kellaway yells “Freeze!” and he stops midair as he’s encased by ice. “Get it?” I’d say if we were watching together, nudging you hard in the ribs while you cry and cry.
A swarm of cops join Doyle and Kellaway, and Cameron Diaz runs offscreen. This is the last time we see her during this scene, and no one asks where she’s going.
The cops run up to THE MASK, still suspended in air. “Put your hands up,” Kellaway says.
“But you told me to freeze,” THE MASK says, teeth clenched, mouth frozen shut, an icicle hanging from his nose.
“All right all right, unfreeze,” Kellaway says, playing into this madman’s game. THE MASK’s icy layer breaks away and he falls to the ground. “You’re under arrest.”
“No, it wasn’t me,” says THE MASK, affecting the voice of what I think is supposed to be a damsel in distress. “It was the one-armed man.” Kids today might not get that reference, but it was from—ah fuck it. Just google it.
THE MASK stands up, and as he’s wont to do, changes his disposition immediately. “All right, I confess,” he says, olde-time gangsterly. “I did it ya hear! And I’m glad. Glad, I tell ya!” But in yet another 180, he drops to his knees and begs for mercy. “What are they gonna do to me, sarge? WHAT ARE THEY GONNA DO?!”
Kellaway straps cuffs on THE MASK. “Sorry son, that’s not my department. Search him!”
Two cops flank THE MASK and roughly lift him to his feet.
“Ow! Where’s a camcorder when you need one?” THE MASK says, snort-laughing, which I think is making light of the Rodney King beating. Kellaway, like us, shakes his head in disapproval.