Dull, witless, boring torture porn. Lazy, unimaginative, cynical, trite. Ripoff, cash grab, formulaic junk. Unbelievably stupid and derivative, starting with the now standard Fincheresque title sequence a la Se7en (a movie you'd be better served watching again a hundred times before seeing this movie even once). The plot makes no sense. Don't argue; it doesn't. It doesn't make sense and it doesn't even care that it doesn't make sense. The lone purpose of the "plot" is to set up a threadbare scenario upon which can be draped a few gruesome murders. None of it makes sense or can be understood. How does the Collector build all the traps in such a short time? WHY does he build the traps at all? For what purpose? He's in an empty house in the middle of nowhere. Who's he expecting to catch with the traps? Why, for the love of god, would he go to ALL THAT TROUBLE? Answer: Because he exists beyond all constraints of logic or reality. He's a cobbled together standard-order generic cliché psychopathic serial killer, that's why, and he does all this because he knows that the scriptwriters are going to contrive reasons for people to fall into his improvised house of horrors.
I still can't get past the awesome trouble he went to hauling 700 pounds of bear traps into the house. WHY WOULD ANYONE DO THAT? Answer: because no one would. But hauling those traps in and setting them and placing the trip wires that would send someone into them, the work of several hours or more alone, is but a tiny fraction of the trouble and endless expense he went to, all that nailing and planning, and running wires everywhere through walls and up and down staircases, and mounting guillotines in windows and multiple deadbolts in doors, and cleaning up after himself, all the sawdust picked up and tools put away, along with the ladders and scaffolding he would have needed to attach things to ceilings, all of that work down in the span of a couple hours, and all of it done between bouts of victim torturing.
The other traps he set, not only are they impossible, the stupidity of them defy belief. "Hey, I know! I'll put this golf club here in this out of the way upstairs bedroom so that when someone grabs it, (although, again, logically, the chances of someone making it up to that bedroom and grabbing the club are almost infinitely small) it will set off a million little trip wires attached to tiny springs and fragile looking gears that will, by some miracle of engineering, be capable of dragging a 180 pound man through the house and suspending him, briefly, from the ceiling before dropping him to the floor. Oh! and also, I'll rig a similar device to a pair of scissors that will catapult a woman onto a wall of spikes and activate a projector to play home movies of her as an innocent child on her impaled teen slut body in a display of irony that no one will be around to see. It's a feat of engineering that would require days of planning, but no, I'm just going to rig it up in about five minutes.
But why go on? The film is bleak and ugly, stale and pointless. A cynical exercise in franchise building, obviously made with an eye to a Collector 2, 3, 4 and 5, but never, just as in this one, having anything to say, a point to make. Horrible. Horrible. Just a terrible film. The slightest application of critical thinking utterly destroys it, so here we have a film that demands, literally, that the viewer JUST NOT THINK. You can watch this film, or you can have a brain that is capable of forming coherent thoughts, but you can not have both. You owe it to yourself to find something better to do with your time than to watch this movie.