The fact that 2009′s The Collector comes from the same dudes responsible for writing the Saw franchise well past respectability and straight into this-is-just-getting-stupid-now territory (those being numbers IV, V, and VI) is a heavy burden to lay on a movie, and although the movie squirms and fights as best it can, it’s unfortunately unable to free itself from that constraint. A fitting description given that The Collector is, as you can imagine, all about captivity and torture. And booby traps. Yes, lots of booby traps. It doesn’t really make a lick of sense, mind you, and you have to suspend your disbelief from the fucking rafters like a bound and gagged body in order to shut it up from asking any sensible questions (and you’ll be wanting to ask a lot of them, believe me), but sometimes that doesn’t matter when some dude in a leather mask is terrorizing a helpless family for shits and giggles and hurting them in creatively sadistic and terribly painful ways.

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