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It is perhaps ironic that in an age where movies
are constantly reaching for more and bigger scares, shocks, explosions
or outrage, some of the most disturbing films are actually very
small in scale—little documentaries about seemingly ordinary
people that slowly peel back the veneer of civilization to reveal
an ugly secret underneath. This simple technique is far more effective
at unsettling an audience than a hundred blood-spattered corpses.
The human mind stands unchallenged as the scariest, creepiest
place in all creation.
Collectors, a film by Julian P. Hobbs, takes us into two such
minds and creates a lasting impression. Simply put, you will never
forget funeral director/mortician Rick Stanton and sidekick/game
creator Tobias Allen and their hobby: collecting and propagating
the artwork of serial killers. The film, put together over two
years and brought in for around $100K, documents both their obsession
and society’s reaction to their obsession as they go well
beyond an interest in serial killers into a professional working
and artistic relationship with them.
Stanton, who at one time was the exclusive agent for John Wayne
Gacy’s paintings, now spends a good portion of his time befriending
and corresponding with convicted serial killers. He encourages
them to become artists, organizes shows of their work at galleries
and arranges sales of the artwork to other collectors, some of
them quite prominent themselves.
“For
most people, serial killers are just icons of evil.”
Julian P. Hobbs |
Stanton defends his actions, appearing to be
seriously interested in the welfare of these pariahs, offering them
some level of redemption, or at least a sense of self-worth, through
painting (as well as some pocket change for himself through commissions
on their art). Allen, in contrast, seems more turned on by the thrill
of enjoying a hobby so offensive to others—he even created
and marketed a “Serial Killer” board game that was banned
in Canada. The scene where the two men play a round is enough to
send some people right out the theatre doors, and yet it is nothing
more than two ordinary-looking, ordinary-acting men playing a rather
odd board game.
The filmmakers defend the necessity of bringing the two men’s
bizarre obsession to the screen. “America as a whole is utterly
fascinated with serial killers,” says Hobbs. “Violence
is the lifeblood of American culture. Rick and Tobias are just taking
that consumerist desire to its logical end.”
“Of course we were disturbed by what they are doing,”
adds producer Chris Trent. “But we were fascinated with their
fascination, and we knew an audience would be, as well.
“For most people, serial killers are just icons of evil,”
Hobbs said. “For Rick and Tobias, they’re real people.”
Collectors could have taken the easy route and just interviewed the two men,
followed them around for a while, and interviewed a
psychologist or two. But Hobbs and Trent, both of
whom work in the cable TV industry for a living, knew that a bizarre
obsession like this one would require an above-average effort at
explanation.
Tobias Allen and Rick Stanton
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The film features an interview with Elmer Wayne
Henley, a serial killer who, along with his partner, tortured and
murdered 27 young boys in Houston. Having never drawn a picture
in his life prior to befriending Stanton, Henley has now discovered
a real talent for both tranquil seascapes (his preferred style)
and (at Stanton’s urging) more bizarre surrealism. To his credit,
Henley would prefer that the money raised by the art shows and sales
go to help fund a planned Victims Memorial statue in Houston, but
city officials are pretty conflicted about whether to take the money
or not.
Considerably less conflicted (and also seen in the film) is Walter
Scott, the father of one of Henley’s victims. His heartbreaking
and eloquent opposition to what he sees as glorification of the
killers is not ignored by Stanton and Allen, but politely disagreed
with.
The film follows the two men as they travel cross-country to visit
a few of the sites of Henley’s and other murderers’ crimes.
Remarkably, they encounter very little in the way of opposition;
our society, though fascinated by serial murders, quickly (and perhaps
purposefully) forgets about the victims, the locations, the details
of these horrible crimes. Stanton and Allen tape themselves investigating
the sites, make very black-humor jokes, and contemplate the nature
of these dark deeds while grabbing a souvenir of some kind—any
kind—from these places. It is their reflection of the very
obsessiveness that drove most serial killers in the first place
that is one of the most disturbing aspects of the film. In the film’s
finale, Allen even risks physical harm to scoop up the remains of
a painting purchased and burned in the street by an outraged citizen
who attended one of the art shows. The determination—luckily
caught on film—of Allen’s quest to bring himself closer
to the minds of the murderers is never more starkly evident. It
is a moment that is guaranteed to give one pause.
Like the recent documentary Mr. Death, (1999) filmmaker Hobbs takes
us inside the mind of a fascinating character (in this case, a gruesome
twist on the “buddy movie” genre) and shows us how society
reacts. Unlike that tale of a man whose life centers around death,
Collectors is not about them; it’s about us, and the bizarre
range of rituals we come up with to keep ourselves sane when confronted
with insanity. This is an exemplary and unforgettable documentary. MM