The Collector

Horror fans: How much torture can you endure? We don’t mean the nauseatingly nasty maiming that graces this tale of a burglar (Stewart) who breaks into a house booby-trapped by a maniacal mastermind. No, we’re talking about the pain of putting up with diminishing returns and recycled serial-killer chic—rancid lighting and set design, stock industrial-rock soundtrack—just to see a few Rube Goldbergian contraptions with razor blades. This is the sort of cheap bilking that separates completists from masochists; the brief suffering onscreen is nothing compared with the agony scary-movie buffs will feel after being so thoroughly cheated.

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