Umm...nevermore?

Way back, I remember driving home from somewhere with my dad. It was a hot, Texas day, and we had the windows rolled down (probably each of us with one arm more tanned than the other). My dad slowed his rickety VW van, and said something semi-excitedly to the effect of, Hey, do you smell that? And despite never really having a reliable sense of smell, I did. Sweet Jesus, I did. Yeah, I smell it. What is it? My dad smiled and quickly pulled over. C'mon. This was yet another time that my dad would do something crazy in the name of one thing: His collection.

Of skulls.

This past Thursday, I caught the last possible showing of The Collection before the influx of Friday's new releases. I know, lucky f--k, right? Well, not so much. This movie was laughably bad and I had no business seeing it. But, as has been the case countless times, I had an expiring free pass and felt obligated not to waste it. My wife had come home too late for me to catch Killing Them Softly, so this was the only thing starting that I hadn't seen. Well, Red Dawn was a possibility too, but that movie actually received worse reviews, and I was convinced that it was just the Expendables minus all the famous guys and violence. Sounds promising enough...

Anyway, I sat down alone in theater 10 (like, completely) , and began to stare at the screen with mild indifference for the first of the 82 total minutes. I had heard somewhere that this was a sequel, but shockingly, I missed the first one. Well, f--k, guess I'll get my stuff and lea---hold on. Was that Shooter McGavin? Oh shit! Dude just got f--ked. Up.

And with that, we're off to Shit Town, with the occasional stop in the vicinity of Mediocrity. I mean, Horror Shit Town, and Horror Mediocrity, of course. Yes, in a genre where at least three-quarters of it is downright awful, The Collection does little to separate itself.  We've got a creepy-looking, speechless Bad Guy, who is also is like a Jedi version of Kevin McCallister. Just replace the pony-tail with a gimp mask.

I actually really enjoyed this dude's performance. So earnest.

Opposing ol' Gimpy, (or, The Machine's kid brother) is the lone survivor of the worst rave ever, Girl. Girl is innocent, pretty and surprise, when pressed into it, an ass kicker. She's also got a Rich Dad, who will stop at nothing to save his little girl. Oh, wait. He was f--ked up in the opening minute, so we're going to need Bodyguard Guy, or an extremely bootleg version of Liam Neeson's character in Taken. But instead of having an impressive skillset, Bodyguard Guy simply kidnaps the only person to ever make it out of Gimpy's...wait for it...collection. Of people. Yeah, I guess my dad's not as f--ked up as originally imagined. Well, as far as I'm concerned. My mom on the other hand...

Fresh off their vacation, here are the Yays and Boos. Forgive them, they might be a little rusty. I wouldn't let them watch Antichrist, and ever since they've been combing the circulars looking for a good deal on a new TV. Poor bastards.

 Yaaaaaaaay!

• It opens with some groovy Drive-esque euro beats. I almost got up and danced. With myself.
• Boobs. So completely unnecessary, you could almost hear the director whispering, You're welcome.
• Not only is jumping out a second floor window while holding someone in front of you impossibly cool, but then you land on a car? And it explodes like you fell out of a plane? Well, have I got a high-five for you my friend. And a low one, too.
• So, you break into some weird lair that is completely rigged with the most violent traps ever, right? Not cool. But, if one of those traps is an endless stream of meth-heads that will gladly walk in front of your bullets? Okay, that's kind of fun. At least until a giant hook goes through your fake head.
• To get out of this one particular trap, they must re-break this guy's forearm so he can use the middle of it at a ninety-degree angle. You know, that old move.
• In one of the most awesomely terrible silhouettes ever, our main bad guy is revealed in shadow. Holding a machine gun. With a German Sheperd at his side. Each side. And everybody just holds their badass pose for a moment. Even the dogs.
• The end sequence was pretty cool. So, the first two and last two minutes ruled.
• But my favorite moment in this entire flick, and quite possibly my favorite moment ever, has to be when they find a hole in the wall that reveals the outside world. Of course, this narrow vantage point allows them to see actual people outside. And of course, it's two hobos having a chat over a flaming garbage can. HEYYYYYYY! Nothing. Thirty movie minutes later, those two guys are still talking. But since they can't hear us call for help, there's only one thing that can be done. Yep. We have to shoot them. Sorry, dude. I think I cried actual tears of awesome.

Of all things, this reminds me of my sister.

Booooooooo!

• I hate when a random eye-hole allows someone to see everything. But not nearly as much as...
• No cell phone coverage. This has to stop. Pinky swear.
• How are we going to get to The Collector's hideout? Oh, we'll use the f--king map you carved into your forearm. Guess I'll minimize MapQuest then.
• That maps leads us to a hotel. Well that's weird. Then someone actually says, This hotel has been abandoned for years. Cause, you know, people share thoughts that way.
• The scene pictured above is fantastically terrible. Hmm. Girl has escaped in my fifteen foot square torture lab. She couldn't have gone far. You know what I should do? Let out all of my spiders. That's way easier then say, bending the f--k down.
• The Collector, like all good horror movie jerks, doesn't speak. Cool. But he's a huge fan of exhaling. He can do this for close to thirty-five seconds straight. 
• Abby. This bitch is the worst.
• This movie is basically Se7en, if made by a thirteen year old boy with ten million dollars to burn. You know what we should have, Dad? A spike come down and go right through a guy's head. That would be soooo gross!
• Shockingly, this wasn't in 3D. But, I think Smell-O-vision was certainly in effect. The whole theater smelled like farts. Well, it did when I left.

Speaking of smells, that smell that made us pull over wasn't pure methane, but the stench of rotting flesh. My dad knew that most dead animals had dead heads, and those heads could be cleaned and added to his collection. While I didn't see the big deal then, I look back and think what the f--k was that all about? That's a strange hobby for a gun-hating, vegetarian to have. Even stranger, is the fact that I too, collect heads.

Bobbleheads, people. Bobbleheads.