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Son of the Mask (2005)

The Mask 2

Whos next? The next generation of mischief.

Rating: 1/10

Running Time: 86 minutes

US Certificate: PG UK Certificate: PG

It’s partly due to Jim Carrey’s part in 1994’s ‘The Mask’ that, to this day, so many of us still want to shoot him. The big question is, how long does it take to think up a sequel so eyeball-scratchingly bad that it makes Carrey’s original look like a particularly high-brow episode of ‘The South Bank Show’? The answer, if ‘Son of the Mask’ is anything to go by, is eleven years.

More a vague reworking of the original story than a straight follow-up (Carrey’s character, Stanley Ipkiss, doesn’t even manage a namecheck in this one), it stars Jamie Kennedy as down-on-his-luck animator Tim Avery. He can’t get his boss (Steven Wright) to consider his work for love nor money – until, that is, he discovers the mask of the title and ends up chucking a wobbler at the staff Halloween party. Possessed by the spirit of Loki (the Norse God of mischief, played here to dismal effect by Alan Cumming), he goes home, gets his wife (Traylor Howard) preggers and – hey presto – the Avery family end up with a problem child akin to ‘The Omen’s Damien after over-dosing on Sunny D.

Packed to its creaky rafters with pee-pee jokes, vomit gags and excessive farting, it’s not too difficult to work out where this film’s centre of gravity is located: the gutter. Not that I’ve got anything against “gross out” humour – a lot of the time I actually quite like it (if you don’t believe me, just read my favourable reviews of EuroTrip, Kingpin or There’s Something About Mary) , but I’ve always found that one of the main pre-requisites of “humour” is that it should actually be FUNNY. ‘Son of the Mask’, on the other hand, is about as funny as having your entire face smouldered off by a blow torch.

It’s disjointed, it’s directionless, and it’s more annoying than three Jamie Olivers. Even worse, with its obnoxious CGI and reliance on an astoundingly ugly animated baby which looks like it’s been sent directly from the sewers of Hell, it pisses right into the eyes of the Looney Tunes legends it attempts to honour. This is slapstick without the charm, animation without the care and Wile E. Coyote without the Acme sponsorship deal. It’s a film that stands on the shoulders of giants, stands about for a bit looking all smug, and then looks down and gobs on them.

The real shame here is that there’s only one actual mask used in the film. There’s no way that’s going to be big enough to hide the shame of everyone involved in this relentless, uncompromising crap-fest.

It's Got: Bob Hoskins doing the sensible thing and hiding himself behind the beard and make-up of Norse God Odin. It is definitely him though. I’m not letting him away with it that easily.

It Needs: To be watched wearing a mask of your own – preferably one with no eye-holes.


You’ll certainly be left thinking “son of a” something, but it won’t be “Mask”. No doubt about it, this is a solid early contender for biggest guff-heap of 2005.