Greatest Movie of All Time of the Week: The Mask (1961)!

Theme: Sweating Bullets - Megadeth

Some spoilers, idk

>tfw no creepy wall of masks
(Bitches love creepy wall of maskss.)

Not to be confused on pain of death with 1994's Jim Carrey slapstick vehicle of the same name, 1961's The Mask nonetheless has exactly the same premise, only played for spoops instead of laughs, with a success rate of about 50/50. Noone whatsoever stars as Dr Alan Somethingorother, who is the worst psychiatrist in any movie I've seen, since he blows off his clearly highly agitated patient's confession of homicide induced by The Mask (1961). Later, Alan regrets this trivial oversight, wishing to Detective Chad that he could have helped aforementioned patient, who went on to kys himself himself. Detective Chad's response to this is "well, goodbye", which made me kek & jej, because his delivery is so blunt he might as well have said "I really don't give a shit".

Buddy, do you know how many cases I'm pursuing?*
*One.

Sadly for Dr Alan, his troubles are just beginning, as his deceased patient used his last moments on Earth to troll the fuck out of said doctor by mailing him The Mask (1961) and double dog daring him to put it on. Note that, like Freddy's Dead, this movie was originally released in 3D and the audience (at least according to the piece-to-camera that opens the flick) were issued 3D glasses in the form of masks, which they are helpfully cued to put on at crucial intervals by the repeated voiceover "do it, pussy...pussy...pussy...".

BITCHASS

The surreal vision sequences when somebody puts on The Mask (1961) are by far the highlight of the movie, because Alan's descent into Mr Hydery is as comically ineffectual as that guy from Night of the Hunter who spent that movie failing to catch two small children, then getting his ass kicked by 300-y/o Lillian Gish in a rocking chair.

WOMP WOMP

But for Alan, as with your subpar Christmas gifts, it's the thought that counts, and what he takes from the mask-induced visions is the notion that he ought to strangle someone, preferably his hot secretary.

Dr Alan's least favourite genre of person: hot babes who are nice to him.

I propose, however, to ignore the sillier aspects of this overlooked kinographite, on the considerable strength of its ridiculously metal visuals alone. From the Mesoamerican mosaic of the titular facewear to the Toxic Avenger looking boatman to the psychiatrist's couch becoming the sacrificial altar, the surreal imagery, editing and smoke-machine-abusing mise-en-scène make all your favourite movies look like the risible SHIT they are. So for the first time since the first week of covid, mask up!

Dank KNHOs only on this b╠o¶.