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The Boston Globe


Movie Review

Borrowed parts don’t add up in ‘The Collection’

I don’t understand the serial killing in “The Collection.” I mean, what’s the nutjob killer into? He wraps his head in a high-end leather luchador mask that you could totally find for sale on certain luxe shopping sites. He stuffs his victims into trunks. He rigs deadly contraptions. He snips out human tongues and puts them in jars. He arranges remains in big glass tanks that he arranges just so. He doesn’t mind the piles of bodies at the bottom of the dumbwaiter shaft. He appears to have scores and scores of victims — living, dead, and somewhere in between. Maybe he’s attracted to the young woman he’s nailed to a wall, or to the one he’s tried to turn into the Courtney Love who appears in the video for “Doll Parts.”

Who is this man with the satanic soul, art dealer’s eye, and Mexican wrestler’s headgear? And what do all these fetishes have to do with each other? And how do we explain his competence? He can devise and build a contraption that mows down an entire nightclub full of people (mass murder on the dance floor!), but he can’t grab a victim 3 feet in front of him? Why does he bother with knife fights and hand-to-hand combat? And what’s he doing while a heavily armed rescue squad inches deeper inside his booby-trapped horror house (“This hotel has been abandoned for years!”)? If he’s willing to blow the place to smithereens in the last act, why not in the first?

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