The Collector is the first directorial effort of Marcus Dunstan, who has been writing for the Saw franchise since number 4 and has just finished work on 7…the mind boggles. Clearly trying to expand his horizons from the Saw franchise, Dunstan has attempted a mix between old school home invasion horror and that most tedious of horror sub-genres, the torture porn (a term which makes them sound a hell of a lot more interesting than they actually are). Yes, this is a man with something to prove.
Consequently, Dunstan’s direction screams louder than any of his tortured characters. He desperately throws all the technique he can at the screen; emphasising camera movements with swooping noises, throwing in slow motion for no good reason and the generous use of orange and green gels over the camera lens; all combining to make The Collector one of the most visually irritating films I’ve ever seen. Oh and there’s a scene in a strip club. Ya know…just because.
Then there is the problem of The Collector himself. Other than being a good aim with a knife he is a diminutive middle aged man with a breathing problem and bad depth perception. How he managed to overpower the man of the house and his wife simultaneously is beyond me. His methods are equally baffling. Surely this killer’s unique selling point is as a collector? Bafflingly, Dunstan mostly ignores this save for a Basil Exposition style appearance of a previous victim to explain his methods. According to that guy, “He always takes one!” but as far as the movie is concerned, this seems third on his list of priorities after constructing elaborate booby traps and a little light torture.
The traps in Saw at least had interesting mechanism but here they’re homemade and let’s be honest, quite easy to avoid. It’s about as threatening as being menaced by a disgruntled B&Q employee. Still though you have to admire the amount of work the man is able to do in a couple of hours – not only does he rig up his patented booby traps but he also makes a cosy nutty room for himself in the basement complete with sinister Christmas decorations (he’s The Collector remember…) and the one accessory no self-respecting torture merchant can do without these days, the big wooden chair.
The Collector should sound the death knell for all this torture business but unfortunately I smell a sequel. Now that’s terrifying.