The Mask (Eyes of Hell) | Review

Circus of the Face: A Delectable Restoration of Obscure Canadian Horror Film

The 1961 horror film The Mask owns several notable distinctions. Not only was it the first Canadian film widely distributed in the United States, but it was also the only 3D feature from the country to play here, as well as the Canada’s first foray into the genre. It’s the last of only two titles directed by Julian Roffman, who would eventually produce a small handful of films (including the obscure early 70s delight The Pyx).

The Toronto International Film Festival’s sole surviving 35mm print was deemed too brittle after an initial screening, but thanks to a recent collaboration between TIFF and the 3D Film Archive, it’s been restored to former glory and screened as part of the 2015 TIFF Cinematheque program. Though noticeably spare on plot, Roffman’s film does feature a delightful trio of surreal sequences meant to utilize the once cutting edge technology. But its simplicity lends the film a bit of undefined eeriness, avoiding the rampant silliness usually evident in similar B-grade genre offerings from the period.

A doomed archaeologist attempts to convince his psychiatrist Dr. Allan Barnes (Paul Stevens) that an ancient tribal mask he’s restoring for a museum is causing him murderous nightmares. Except, they aren’t nightmares because the man thinks he’s been out killing women whenever he wears the mask. To Barnes’ detriment, he doesn’t believe his patient, who commits suicide and mails the mask to the analyst. Immediately, Barnes finds himself drawn to the grotesque item, and sees disturbing images when he puts it on. Soon, he’s addicted to wearing it and experiences the same type of ‘nightmares.’

It’s too bad the film wasn’t released under its more provocative alternate title Eyes of Hell, since its subject matter and trajectory would eventually be recycled for the Jerry Lewis styled riff of the famed 1994 Jim Carrey comedy The Mask. Filled with pointed, salty dialogue between its stock characters (“You were my most brilliant student!”), Roffman’s film is really only notable for the sequences where Paul Stevens’ ambitious psychiatrist pretends his continual fascination with the mask is due to his volition in discovering the most secret facets of mankind’s psyche when, in actuality, he’s being controlled by the strange totem. Though it appears to be nothing more than a bejeweled skull, the imagery transforms into solvent, surreal nightmare sequences with imagery that seems undoubtedly influenced by the alabaster mask in Georges Franju’s iconic Eyes Without a Face.

What the psychiatrist is really discovering about his psyche is up to the audience to interpret since these complicated choreographed metaphors don’t directly translate to the misogynistic murders taking place back in the narrative’s reality whenever a man dons the mask. One wonders what visions would have run through secretary Pam’s (Claudette Nevins) head had she given into temptation. Its speculation of mankind’s use of ‘masks,’ including the shifting personas we present to others, calibrated by a myriad of social cues, is interesting, but not explored quite as deftly as it could have been. The dream sequences are quite superb, with a free floating gigantic version of the mask circling mysterious robed figures. Striking and unsettling, these are in direct contrast to the crisp frames of DoP Herbert S. Alpert (his final screen credit) in the film’s ‘normal’ universe.

Although we’ve had countless films constructed around cursed artifacts belonging to mystical indigenous races, The Mask is an odd curio worthy of attention from vintage genre hounds.

★★★/☆☆☆☆☆