Better In Your Head?--THE COLLECTOR

 

Spoiler Alert: they both deserved better.

THE BOOK-Written by John Fowles, released 1963

THE MOVIE-Directed by William Wyler, written by Stanley Mann & John Kohn, released 1965

THE STORY-Freddie Clegg is a nice chap. An ordinary fellow with an extraordinary butterfly collection. The single tactile triumph in a life conspicuous for its stymied dreams. A financial windfall only stokes the flames of isolation and obsession as Freddie realizes he cannot burn alone.

MIND THE GAP-Second book in the BIYH series where a kidnapper exploits the pretense of a dog in distress. 

Like most art students, Miranda Grey is seeking truth, hunting beauty and fighting lust. Freddie loves Miranda, so he traps her in his farmhouse cellar and awaits the next logical step: the reciprocation of his feelings. Freddie provides for her, photographs her, but never touches her. He waits also, waits for Miranda to perceive his reality and make it hers. Alas, the lovely lass proves far from a grateful angel possessed of infinite patience. She is distant and unknowable (like a butterfly) and for what? Freddie's such a gentleman, all things considered. Yes, he's imprisoned her and taken questionable pictures of her in provocative poses, but not one finger! Come on, most other men would've given Miranda a pearl bralette less than a week in!

The Collector is not a battle of the sexes. It is class warfare distilled. Clerk vs. student, handicap vs. privilege, working class vs. bourgeoisie. However light Freddie's fantasies, reality is a pregnant elephant: he is simply too awkward, too stiff, to win the affection of a lively, liberated young lady, so...she must relinquish her freedom for his happiness.

Poor Miranda. Her stated desire as an artist is to sidestep "clumsy masculine analysis," and this is her fate.

My intense interest in true crime is rooted less in the belief "bad is more interesting" and rooted more in the belief "forewarned is forearmed." Miranda Grey and I are different in many ways (birthplace, socioeconomic status, appearance, demeanor) and yet I could meet her end. It is a risk run by any woman leaving the house, living her life. She's fictional, sure...but there are countless Mirandas in the world right now. I read her story* as intently as I read the story of Joni Lenz, the story of Cynthia Hinds, the story of Marion Parker. (I judge none of them. Second-guessing is one of cheaper and meaner tendencies.) 

Death is the Dominant Drone. From the moment of initial awareness, our lives are spent trying to drown it out. 

The Collector earned William Wyler the last of his record twelve Oscar nominations for Best Director. Odd how so celebrated a filmmaker is so relatively overlooked. His prominent gift--a keen understanding of what made a story work, a sharp eye that enhanced without intruding, interjecting, or insinuating--is the reason he is so often not mentioned among the greats.

Second book in the BIYH series where someone throws ink.

BETTER IN YOUR HEAD-Wyler's mastery aside, the script is too limp to make a dent. No fault of the writers, who faced an insurmountable hindrance from the get-go. The book's brilliance is in the structure--Clegg's justifications book-end Grey's prison chronicles, captor and captive revealing their commonalities. Neither third-person omniscient POV or alternating first-person POVs could leave such an indelible imprint, and a screenplay's got no chance. Miranda's words, especially, are just gut-grinding. Her worst sin (youthful impetuousness) occasionally grates, but I never thought she deserved one second of her abhorrent condition. The constant frustration, the renewed ambition, the futile attempts to mollify a madman, the gradual estrangement from reality...death might've felt good.

The cellar/cell in the movie is too roomy, damn near cavernous. Gave off a rehearsal vibe. Actors Terence Stamp and Samantha Eggar do nothing (no facial expressions, no physical gestures) that even hints at the anguish behind their facades.

What we have here is the difference between a canary and a flamingo.

*And The Collector is her story, fuck Freddie.