The Unauthorized Serial Novelization of the 1994 Film, The Mask (pt. 4)

"I love how literally no one questions how the mask is able to do all this stuff" - Youtube comment

Big thanks to Laura Gwynne for providing original illustrations.

Read part 1, part 2 and part 3

Cut to a closeup of Stanley’s eyes, squeezed shut in reluctant ecstasy. When we last saw him, he was getting his ear licked by Cameron Diaz. An obvious dream, albeit sexy and slightly perverted—just like how Stanley likes it. But as the camera zooms out, we see that it’s actually sweet, sweet Milo doing the all the tongue action. Stanley rouses from his slumber, annoyed at his dog’s interference, but we, the audience, deeply appreciate Milo for keeping Stanley grounded. Who knows where Stanley’s dream would go if it weren’t for Milo. Somewhere dark and untoward, no doubt.

Stanley sits on the edge of his bed and turns on the lamp. Afterimages of the dream fade from his memory, and he slumps as he realizes that he will never be the type of man who could woo Cameron Diaz. He looks across his room. On the mirror, there’s the newspaper article taped to the mirror, the same one he and Charley had been ogling earlier that day. Since his boss Mr. Dickey had confiscated the newspaper, we must assume that Stanley went out and bought his own copy just for that one article, meticulously cut it out, and then taped it to his mirror in the hours between work and sleep. Very serial killer behavior.

He walks over, rips the paper from the mirror and then crumples it up. “Stupid,” he says to himself. 

Stanley starts to say some self-pitying thought, but then looks up and whoa: THE MASK is resting on the couch. The look on Stanley’s face is all B-B-But I threw it out the window this morning! He approaches it like the forbidden object it is. Blue light casts Stanley’s face in an eerie glow. Hints of obsession replace fear as Stanley picks up THE MASK. A supernatural pull beckons him. “No way,” he says, and tosses it pathetically behind the couch, as if this will rid him of the cursed artifact. But the draw of THE MASK is too strong, and Stanley’s eyes bug open and grow horny with want.

He leaps over the couch, ravenous for THE MASK. A clap of thunder rocks his apartment, and Milo—sweet, sweet Milo—barks nervously. 

THE MASK, whirling in his trademark tornado, bounces up from behind the furniture.  Not as destructive as the last transformation, but let’s just say I’d hate to be a lamp in Stanley Ipkiss’s apartment. THE MASK spins around causing havoc via impressive effects brought to us by Industrial Light and Magic. If we were watching together, I’d lean in close and say “ILM is the special effects company that George Lucas founded”, and then you’d ask “Did you just eat something dead?” 

The tornado stops in front of the mirror, revealing THE MASK in what I’d call the quintessential MASK outfit: a garish yellow zoot suit with a disorienting black and white tie. One of my best Halloween costumes was dressing up as this version of THE MASK. I was in 5th grade, and my mom helped me dye a thrift store suit yellow. I wore a bald cap, painted my face green. It ruled. But when I went trick-or-treating, so many parents made me say a line from the movie before handing over any candy. Being an extremely shy child, this was hell. 

The sound of swing music swells in the background. THE MASK picks up the clipped-out newspaper article, holding it out at arms length. 

“HOLD ON, SUGAR,” THE MASK yells, eying the picture with psychotic intensity. “DADDY’S GOT A SWEET TOOTH TONIGHT!” 

Laughing maniacally, THE MASK zips into the bathroom, where we are privy to his hygiene routine. He brushes with a very big toothbrush (because big teeth), blow dries his nonexistent hair, sharpens a straight-edge razor before covering his face with shaving cream and then haphazardly slices away at his hairless face. Do I have to mention that none of this makes any difference to his face?? Just absurd. And then THE MASK uses Milo as a face towel, exposing the poor dog’s genitals in what might be the most famous dog dong scene in cinematic history. 

As the final touch, THE MASK puts on a yellow fedora with a feather sticking out of the band. Truly a magnificent sight.

“Oooooh! Somebody stop me!” he says, iconically. 

If we were to stop the movie right now, we’d have already gotten our money’s worth. Whomst amongst us has not recalled this exact scene when life feels great? There’s bravery in the sentiment, too. In a culture that increasingly tells you that if life feels too easy then something’s wrong, THE MASK’s defiant joy becomes inspiring. Nobody stop him—or us—indeed. 

THE MASK twirls 180-ly, ready to hit the town, but then pulls the inside of his pocket out, unleashing a white moth. Universal sign for not having money. 

“Uh-oh,” THE MASK says. “You can’t make the scene if you don’t have the green.” He looks off to the side. “I’d better make a little stop.” THE MASK removes his hat, and his body ptwings out of the scene while the hand holding the hat remains. His arm, like, stretches to perform this grand exit. After a second, the arm follows the body, and the hand, arm, hat snap out of screen like a rubberband.

Cut to the bank where Stanley Ipkiss works. In front, there’s a white van labeled “Edge City Power.” Inside, Freeze, aka “The Doctor”, is giving an update to Dorian on the status of their bank robbery. “It’s looking good here, my man,” Freeze assures. Dorian, who’s calling from the Coco Bongo, seems pleased with this. He tells Freeze that his team are on their own now because Dorian has to go downstairs to be “seen.”

“Do it,” Freeze says. “The doctor is about to operate.” Just so fucking badass.

The crew exits the van, guns in hand. Their locksmith gets to work right away, drilling through the bank’s doors. Everyone else keeps lookout. The camera cuts between each goon, their eyes wide and alert. Tension mounts as the only sound is the drill. 

Suddenly, THE MASK explodes through the door, a whirling tornado of mayhem. Freeze’s goons fall to the ground. 

THE MASK looks down on his unintentional victims, his face not affected by severe injuries these men are suffering.  “Sorry fells,” THE MASK says, a giant sack of money slung over his shoulder. “Waste not, want not.” Then THE MASK does this thing where he moves his lower jaw from side to side in a lateral motion and emits a sound like a cartoon duck shaking itself out of a hallucination. THE MASK spins into his tornado and makes a quick getaway. 

For a moment, the goons look around in disbelief at each other. What the fuck just happened? Police cars screech around the corner, their sirens blasting cuckooily. 

“COPS!” the long-haired goon screams, and a shootout between the goons and the cops commences. 

Cut to the Coco Bongo. The club is wild tonight. People crowd around the doorman, whose job to keep people out appears to be a Sisyphean struggle.

A car horn cuts through the commotion, blasting the song “Call to Post” song that you hear at racehorse tracks. The mass of club-goers turn to look just as the world’s longest limousine pulls up, as if they’ve never seen a novelty car in their lives. Out steps THE MASK. 

One has to wonder if THE MASK’s limo is some sort of demonic conjuring, or if he went through a car rental agency. Not only a car rental agency, but a rental agency that offered really long limousines. As anyone who’s ever rented a car should know, the process to do that is often cumbersome, leaving the renter spiritually bereft. Imagine THE MASK just filling out that paperwork. 

“How do?” THE MASK says to all the speechless onlookers, then does this arm thing that looks like a martial arts stance.  He ptwings right up to the doorman’s face, who—mere seconds ago—was the face of authority against the clamoring masses, but is now rendered childlike and insecure in THE MASK’s presence.  

“Uh, are you on the list?”the doorman stammers. 

“Noooooo,” THE MASK says, elongating the vowel. “But I believe my friends are. Perhaps you know them.” He brings up his hands, each one holding a tremendous amount of cash. “Franklin, Grant, and—” THE MASK pauses, works his jaw like a broken animatronic toy—”Jackson.”  He bends the money like a stack of cards and launches them into the face of the doorman. Money is of no concern to THE MASK, just a means to get people to do his bidding. 

THE MASK struts through the doors of the Coco Bongo. Behind him, the mob has turned savage to grab at money still fluttering down from the sky.

At this moment, let’s visit the Youtube comments for this scene, and kyleplaygames567 succinctly points out: “I love how literally no one questions how the mask is able to do all this stuff.” 

The crowd inside the Coco Bongo order drinks. The raucous swing music—which had accompanied THE MASK’s arrival—becomes cool, slithery jazz. A cocktail waitress carries extravagant, tropical drinks on a tray. Looks like a cool place, we’re thinking. A very cool place, indeed.

The MC’s voice alerts the attendees of the treat they’ve been waiting for: “And now we present to you the most beautiful flower of the Coco Bongo, Ms. Tina Carlyle.” The way he says Carmeron Diaz’s character’s name, it’s like he withers. 

A tracking shot climbs the stairs set up on the stage. At the top, decorative leaves part, revealing Cameron Diaz in a short, sparkly dress. The audience goes ga-ga. Oooh boy, have they been waiting for this moment. Living in Edge City must be just days of constant misery and anguish, punctuated by brief moments of ecstasy when they can revel in the objectification of women. Cameron Diaz descends the stage stairs, rubbing her hands up and down her body sensuously. Even Dorian, the vicious mob guy who’s watching from his suite, becomes childlike at the sight of Cameron Diaz. “Beautiful,” he says to one of his henchmen, who looks uncomfortable at Dorian’s arousal. 

Cameron Diaz approaches her golden mic (not a figure of speech—the mic’s really gold). “Love makes me treat you the way that I do,” she croons. “Gee baby, ain’t I good to you.” 

She takes the mic and sultrily walks into the audience. 

“Talk about doing crowd work,” I’d say if we were watching together, and you’d say “What?” because you had been finishing up in the bathroom when I muttered that to myself. 

“I bought you a fur coat for Christmas, a diamond ring,” Cameron Diaz sings. She approaches men, pets their faces. 

THE MASK finds a table, and flings his leg above and around the chair before sitting down, similar to a roundhouse. It makes a brisk whooshing sound. Even during a seductive jazz song, THE MASK can’t help himself. He whips a menu from the waitress’s hand with the same comical quickness and a similar sound effect.

He looks up and catches sight of Cameron Diaz as she’s writhing against a fake tree. Her hand traces down her body, moving over every curve. THE MASK’s jaw unhinges and drops to the table, heavy as an anvil, and his tongue rolls out in a grotesque display of covetousness. He emits a perverse, guttural yelp just before his eyeballs spring forth like two boners. 

Cameron Diaz continues to shimmy for audience members. THE MASK opens up his jacket, allowing his heart to burst forth, protruding out, barely contained by skin and clothing. 

Just then, Dorian’s long-haired goon—part of the botched robbery—rushes to Dorian’s side. “We’ve got trouble,” he says. “You’d better come upstairs.” 

Cut back to THE MASK, whose face turns into a literal hound’s at the climax of Cameron Diaz’s performance. Woof woof awoo! One thing I know about women is that they like to be barked at. So out-of-control horny is THE MASK that he has to bludgeon his own head with a hammer until his face is nothing but a yellow fedora and dislodged eyeballs resting on the brim.

He shakes his head and his features return to normal. For a brief second, you can see Jim Carrey’s face unaltered by CGI. The look of determination the actors needed to get those early-’90s effects shots is clearly visible, and slightly off-putting.

THE MASK, oh the ever so covetous MASK, zips to the stage with such speed that he becomes a yellow streak. He lands at the top of the stage, lording over the drummer. It’s only then that the audience seems shocked by his otherworldly powers. Cameron Diaz stops in her tracks. A spotlight booms on THE MASK, and with deliberate articulation, THE MASK yells “LET’S ROCK THIS JOINT!” Doing a lot of jaw work when he delivers that line. 

THE MASK spins the drummer into a mini tornado (no way THE MASK is going to bestow full tornado power). When the drummer stops twirling, his classy white attire has become a black zoot suit and fedora. The drummer looks at his new threads and gives a “When in Rome!” look. He starts beating the tom drum with primal energy, as if he’s finally realizing his dream of being in a swing band. The crowd warms to the beat; Cameron Diaz smiles. THE MASK flicks his wrist to the rhythm of the drums. The crowd is really getting into it. THE MASK descends the stage stairs with theatrical swagger, like a cartoon sexual predator approaching his prey. By the time he gets to the bottom of the stairs, the music has swelled to the point of sexual climax. THE MASK slides across the floor, takes hold of Cameron Diaz, and dips her as the horns blast the first note of “Hey Pachuco!” by Royal Crown Revue. 

Royal Crown Revue, who appear as themselves in the movie, perhaps spearheaded the swing revival of the late ‘90s, but were overshadowed by Cherry Poppin Daddies, Big Bad Voodoo Daddy, and that Gap commercial that had swing dancing in it. 

THE MASK takes the lead as he and Cameron Diaz go full-boar into a dance routine that has everyone in the crowd going bananas. People rise to their feet and cameras flash as the two writhe together like they’re in the basement of a 1920s speakeasy. THE MASK throws Cameron Diaz. He whirls her until her feet are airborne. They lindy hop. They skank. No holds barred for this performance. 

THE MASK picks Cameron Diaz up and wrangles her around his body like a hula hoop before straight-ass deadlifting her above his head. He brings her back down, spiraling her around his body before pulling her through his legs. “Sssssmoking!” he says, which must look strange to the crowd who can’t possibly hear him over the music. 

Cut to upstairs, Dorian finds Freeze in a state of near-death. 

“What happened?” Dorian asks? 

“Someone hit the joint before we could,” Freeze says, his eyes wide and breath labored. 

Between bits of this dialogue, the camera keeps cutting back to the drummer relentlessly hitting those tom drums. It’s a good bit of editing. Builds the tension. 

Dorian, concerned about the dying “doctor”, puts a cigarette in Freeze’s mouth and goes, “Here you go, buddy. Suck on this.” But the cigarette falls out of Freeze’s mouth as Dorian attempts to light it. Freeze is gone. Dead. Another angel for heaven. It’s a grim reminder that amidst all the cartoonish pandemonium of this movie, death is real and it’s coming for all of us. 

Enraged, Dorian throws his lighter at a TV, shattering the screen. He grabs the long-haired goon by the lapels and demands to know who did this. Who killed Freeze aka The Doctor? The terrified goon struggles for words, for things do not bode well for those who cross’th Dorian. But in a moment of serendipity, the goon glances out of the office window into the Coco Bongo and just happens to see THE MASK dancing with Cameron Diaz. 

“Him! That’s the guy!” says the goon. 

“He’s dead meat,” Dorian says. 

Like, not even an ounce of skepticism. The emotions are so high in that room, the goon could’ve pointed to anyone and been all “That’s the guy,” and Dorian would’ve been like “He’s dead meat!”

We cut back to the dance sequence. There’s a shot of a rose in a vase on one of the club tables, and THE MASK leans into frame and extracts it with his teeth. THE MASK and Cameron Diaz—who is now totally in-step with this green-faced abomination—tango confidently toward the camera. Never has this club seen such an orgy of spectacle. 

Just as soon as we think we’ve seen it all, shit gets crazy. THE MASK pushes Cameron Diaz off him so he can perform some perverted lindy hop where his legs stretch like elastic and twist around each other. No one questions the anatomical impossibility of this. After this vulgar display of power, THE MASK and Carmeron Diaz briefly skank side by side like two rudies. THE MASK takes Cameron Diaz by the hand and spins her around himself. She, too, turns into a tornado with her heels literally burning up the dance floor. THE MASK flings her up in the air, where she remains, defying the laws of gravity and flipping like a propeller blade. THE MASK yawns, takes out a pocket watch to check the time, panics, and throws the watch away just in time to catch Cameron Diaz as she falls into his arms.

“What a set piece!” I’d say if we were watching together. 

Now dipped like a bride on her wedding day, Cameron Diaz looks up into THE MASK’s eyes. He pumps his eyebrows and makes a horsey noise. Classic move. Men have been doing this for centuries. 

Without consent, THE MASK leans and they smooch. Cameron Diaz’s shoes fly off. When THE MASK pulls away, Cameron Diaz has bedroom eyes. She looks like she’s just experienced carnal pleasure for the first time, and then intensity washes over her face. Never has a woman ever loved a green freak as much as Cameron Diaz. 

Dorian’s bald goon shoots at them, breaking the bond, disrupting the moment. The bullet whizzes through THE MASK’s tie, which Cameron Diaz had been holding for support. She falls to the floor, and the piece of fabric, now discarded on the ground, morphs into the material from Stanley’s pajamas. THE MASK pinches his destroyed tie and yells “HELLO!” Whether this is just a funny thing to say, or the film’s acknowledgement that the tie is a phallic symbol, and the damage to it is akin to castration (i.e. cockblock), who knows. Personally, I like the Freudian analysis because I just thought of it. 

 Dorian’s goons clear out the club, waving their guns in the air. Only now does anyone in the crowd have any sense of reality. They all leave, and Dorian tells Cameron Diaz to get lost. She looks at him with unbridled hatred. 

“Okay, twinkle toes,” Dorian says to THE MASK. “I want to know where my money is, and I want to know right now.” 

THE MASK, nonplussed, says “Okay.” He places a see-through green visor on his head and a cigarette in his mouth. He whips out an old-timey paper accounting machine from behind his back and starts cranking. “You got 15% in t-bills amortized over the fiscal year,” he says as the paper unspools. He speaks quickly and Brooklyn-y out of one side of his mouth as he gives the details of Dorian’s financial situation. 

“Ice this deadbeat!” Dorian yells, tired of the bit. 

A whistle blows. THE MASK throws away his props, spits out his cigarette. Game on, we’re thinking. 

The bald goon begins shooting. The MASK dodges the bullets by stretching his body into parenthesis, and then lifts his crotch to his chin. “Whoo!” he says. 

Dorian, increasingly agitated, repeats his demand. “Shoot him!” 

THE MASK spins, transforming himself into a matador, a Russian dancer, an Elvis and utilizes respective moves attributed to these characters to dodge bullets. Finally THE MASK turns into a cowboy and a bullet strikes him in the chest. Oof.

“You got me, pardner!” THE MASK says. Dorian and the goon laugh. Just completely fucking evil, these guys.

THE MASK stumbles forward, ooh-ah-ee-ah-ing with every pained step. He falls into the goon’s arms, and imitates famous movie characters to deliver his death speech. Like, he affects a Cockney accent to say “Tell Tiny Tim I won’t be coming home this Christmas,” and then he does Gone With the Wind: “Tell Scarlet I do give a damn.” It’s an absolute mockery of cinema and we can’t get enough.

Between each impression THE MASK turns his head and coughs, except for the last time, when he coughs in the goon’s face and then farts a little fart. “Pardon me,” THE MASK says, his final words. He dies melodramatically in the goon’s arms. The goon sobs. 

A hand comes out from offscreen holding an Oscar statue. THE MASK wakes up. A small audience—silhouetted against the picture—rises to its feet. They cheer. THE MASK, overcome by emotion, says “Thank you! You love me! You really love me!” Sally Field reference. 

The audience sits down, THE MASK is about to walk off, but then seems to communicate with someone offscreen who tells him to go the other way. He turns right into Dorian’s gun. The extended delusion is over, as conveyed by THE MASK looking directly into the camera. 

Dorian and the goon shoot  at THE MASK, who bounces around the stage like a deranged rabbit. Just then, the police raid the Coco Bongo, and Lt. Kellaway arrests Dorian for the bank robbery. But before he leaves, he sees Stanley’s pajama fabric on the floor. 

“Whu-oh” I’d say if we were watching together, sweaty with excitement.