Film Details
Synopsis
Some people would suggest that forming collections is a socially acceptable mode of obsessive behaviour; one that encourages people from, say, channeling a stockpile of nervous energy normally directed at bus drivers, telcos, and other semi-functioning members of the community, to quote-unquote productive use. Others may counter that collections in and of themselves, are slightly creepy; that too much of anything in one place tends to cross the bounds from normality to sub-normality. And others may simply make the point that collecting pokemon cards, digimon cards, or other paraphernalia related to whatever digital or non-digital monsterisms the kids happen to be currently down with is: pretty shit.
So, being a crazy guy who kidnaps and ultimately 'collects' his prey is weird, sure, but your nana's tea-cosie collection ain't exactly normal in and of itself...
And so it is with this horror film, straight out of the darker corners of the Russian imagination; a jet-black character fable about the desire to possess someone or something. Pinned butterflies, askew jazz, the quiet intensity of the namesake's morbid curiosity, and the fractured jump cuts and shadowplay of Seven et al tell a story largely without words, but with a creeping sense of dread. Winner of a handful of European student and short film awards, The Collector is a cold breed of storytelling, all the more memorable for it...
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