The Collector – Review

Sometimes out of desperation we make a mistake. That mistake can have a domino effect that makes the bad decision you’ve made even worse, almost compounding every little detail in the process. Coincidences can lead to a full blown mistake. I bet that’s what went through Arkin’s (Josh Stewart) mind, when he innocently thought he could easily rob his boss of a recent job. He was a professional. Good at it too. That was until someone else had plans that night for the exact same family Arkin was going to rob. Such is The Collector, probably one of America’s best examples of truly unnerving terror. The French have been making some incredibly messed up horror film in recent years, and America has been playing it same most of the time.

Enter The Collector. It’s as unsafe as a 13 year old walking alone down 42^nd Street near the adult film theaters at 3 am.

Marcus Dunstan has turned his eye from the computer screen to the camera, having been a screenwriter for the hit Saw films (namely IV-VI), and even having Matt Damon support his Feast script. Along with those films, maybe being on set, or learning from people like Darren Lynn Bousman, Dunstan is learning the craft, and he seriously just one-upped the series he help continue. What a feat it is to out-Saw Saw. The film makes no apologies for what it is. It’s a lean and mean brutal horror film. I bet the MPAA was shaking in their boots. The film is 30 minutes of plot, 60 minutes of terror. That isn’t a weak point, either. Long have we wanted our cinemas to be filled with gut-wrenching horror, and we got it.

The Collector is a odd slasher on surface level. It features close-ups as an invasion to each character. At first, its jarring, almost annoying, but soon, Dunstan’s plan works. The constant close-up feels like he is purposely invading the personal space to create such an unnerving experience for us. We are invading this family as much as the killer is. Also, the use of music is interesting. The film features an original score by the NIN drummer Jerome Dillion. The score is reminiscent to how the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre used weird sounds in the score to create an off-balance in us, keeping us on the edge of our seats. Plus, any film that uses some Depeche Mode is a-okay in my book.

Deeper though, Dunstan’s love and knowledge of horror helped establish the visual setting of the film. There are obvious references to the Giallo genre from Italy, made so famous by Dario Argento. Of course, the look of the Saw films is readily apparent as an influence in The Collector. But he didn’t copy and paste. Instead, he took what he liked and learned, morphing it into what would become this film.

But The Collector will hinge its success on how it differentiates itself from the master of torturing, Jigsaw of the Saw series. There is plenty of like-mindedness between these two, as they act liking a kissing cousin to one another, but like I mentioned before, it outdoes what that series has done rather successfully. This film’s killer is a sick bastard through and through. His mask is soulless; an all black foam emotionless piece of terror, mixing creepiness with S&M. On top of that, his eyes are equally as unnerving. You know how sometimes a light hits a dog’s eye just right, and you see that whiteness like a deer-caught-the-headlights or from a family picture pre-Photoshop? Yep, that’s it. This guy is a sicko; he is relentless in his precision of killing, his traps are simple but deadly, he is the anti-thesis to everything in life. A new icon is born. Where Jigsaw/John has become sympathetic, the “Collector” will never be. One part-B.T.K. killer, another part Michael Myers, you will look thrice in the shadows before going to bed.

Now, I’ve used the word unnerving a lot. It’s not like I don’t know how to use my Thesaurus, it’s just that is the perfect word to describe The Collector. For every remake and limp-dick America horror film we go through, it’s so refreshing to witness a horror film that knows what it is, and excels at it in all the right categories. It’s grisly. It’s scary. It’s unrelenting. It’s the sick son-of-a-bitch that I hope we get more often from America horror films.

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