_The Mask_ reviewed by Cynthia Fuchs I'll go out on a limb here: most movies are about guy- anxieties. Emotional commitment, world domination, dead partners, mad bombers, big sharks. Summertime seems to exacerbate these concerns, or at least make them extremely visible, all in the spirit of good fun and pricey effects. Into the midst of this year's big-dick season comes _The Mask_, surely not the last or even the smartest word on masculine consternations, but a refreshingly literate one. Cartoon literate. From Tex Avery to the Fleischer brothers to Chuck Jones to Clint Eastwood, this movie knows them all. It's packed with large, loud, lunatic characters, plastic-elastic faces, and bing-bang-slapsticking body gyrations, brought to you courtesy of ILM and Jim ("I don't do humans!'') Carrey. All this and it's really such a pipsqueak of a movie, made before Carrey was pulling $7 million per (for _Dumb and Dumber_ ), before he was much more than the white guy headlining _In Living Color_. Before _Ace Ventura_. Whatever you might think of Carrey's not-human excesses, he's clearly become an insta-mini-phenomenon, with spots on Letterman and Leno, a two- page spread in _Newsweek_, and a lucrative contract to play the Riddler opposite Val Kilmer in _Batman Forever_. He's everywhere, and may be there for some time to come. Carrey's creepy-cute histrionics get full play in _The Mask_: it's one of those let-him-loose-and-stand-back roles, the kind that Robin Williams used to do, but with less speed- monologue and more body-disarrangement. (And yes, this is a movie that demands cartoony multi-hyphenated neologisms.) As Stanley Ipkiss, mild-mannered bank clerk by day and literally bouncing- off-the-wall superhero by night, Carrey sort of approximates animated flesh. Stanley lives in Edge City, a Gotham City-wannabe of unmappable proportions, with all the requisite comic-book sites: nightclub, warehouse hideout, police station, and romantic getaway spot (Landfill Park, where couples can comment on a lustrous methane-gassy skyline). It also boasts the expected two- dimensional and convenient community: not only does everyone know everyone, but they all seem to keep converging in the same places. The plot itself offers few surprises, but lots of opportunities for demented cliche-rehashes (you've probably seen the trailer where Carrey as the Mask does the Dirty Harry schtick, replete with major arsenal and clenched-teeth jaw delivery). Stanley's a total milquetoast who dreams of seducing Tina (Cameron Diaz), a gorgeous torch-singer who also happens to be the girlfriend of local mobster Dorian Tyrel (Peter Greene). One night he finds a magical mask, which grants him a range of spectacular and undefined powers. Basically turned into a cartoon, with neon green face, outrageous orange suit, and outsized ego, he gets to do all the stuff that he can't do as his regular-wuss-self: he gets back at his grumpy landlord, the greasy mechanics who cheat him on his car repair, and Sally Field for her "You really like me'' speech. He also makes a rather incredible - even for this movie - pass at Tina by dancing her off her feet at the club. Of course there are problems arising from this happy hooliganism - the Mask's whirling-dervishness tends to leave a mess. He doesn't kill anyone, but his ballistic set-devastation sparks local folks' interest. Part of the charm of Stanley's secret identity is that he has no world-saving agenda. But he's pressed into good-guy service by the various people tracking him down. Tina, wowed by the loopy super-libido, wants more (she's the Girl, that's her job). And Dorian, according to his type, wants revenge and the Power of the Mask (when he finally gets a hold of it, he turns mean and grotesque, sort of incredible- hulky with glaring red eyes). Superhero cutout that he is, Stanley's also targeted by various inquiring minds. This is fortunate, because while this character is surely less tiring than the Pet Detective, Carrey works best when he slows down and plays off some talented deadpans. Amy Yasbeck (last seen as the iron-belted Maid Marion in Mel Brooks' _Men In Tights_) shows up at the bank as a sweet-faced advice columnist who's moonlighting as an investigative reporter because, as she puts it, "'Dear Peggy' pays dick.'' While she's hot to discover the Mask's identity, Stanley has help in his clandestine adventures from Milo, his loyal and spunky sidekick, played by a Jack Russell terrier named Max (after that Dana Carvey movie with the nearsighted terrier, this might be a trend, but we can hope not). Milo provides plenty of doggie-reaction shots and more, especially during the film's all-stops-out finale, when Stanley saves the chick, stops the bomb, and gets the money: guy stuff gone spastic. Against this ongoing onslaught stand two implaccable characters, Dr.Neuman (Ben Stein) and Lieutenant Calloway (Peter Riegert). After seeing media-shrink Neuman on late-night television, hawking his book, _The Masks We Wear_, Stanley seeks his pop-psych-professional help. Planted behind his desk, Neuman is initially unperturbed by Stanley's perpetual movment. When he attempts to point out the obvious - that the book is about metaphorical masks, for instance - the literal-minded Stanley persists, whining and twitching. Finally Neuman begs him to leave the office: "I feel I should let you know that I don't work personally with really sick people.'' Exactly. Stanley as the nice guy unleashed is completely, assuredly, "really sick'' - sort of a give-it-a-rest-already rejoinder to the gooey-ness of Forrest Gump and Schwarzenegger- Cameron's family-man convolutions. And even if Carrey's physical overextensions can be read as a lot more of the same, they occur in a context that makes them nearly bearable. Thank you Peter Riegert (and where has he been?). As the cynical cop who has seen all the cynical cop movies, his Calloway provides a bone-dry affect and consummate distance from the rest of the movie's psychopathic proceedings. Whatever hijinks Stanley comes up with (and at one point he gets the entire police force to rhumba with him on the street), there's Calloway, just doin' his job, the job a man's gotta do, trying to keep order in day-to-day mayhem. He's the funniest cartoon character here, and with no help from ILM. Cynthia Fuchs teaches film and media studies at George Mason University. Copyright 1994 by Cynthia Fuchs. All rights reserved. Please do not reprint this review without the permission of the author. This review originally appeared in the Philadelphia _City Paper_.