Monday, August 22, 2022

The Collector

 Last night (2 years ago as I didn't upload this) I watched The Collector (2002) a Pelin Esmer documentary as I am susceptible to watching what mubi tells me to watch. I suppose that's why you pay for these services, now I have to think less about whether I will be good or not. I know it has gone through an establishment that says these are good films. I oblige and watch as, after all, that's what I pay for. 

The film follows a man around Istanbul as he shops for various curiosities for his collection; a sprawling mass of objects he's collected throughout his life that he now lives inside of as it has spilled into all corners of his apartment. There is a particular section in the center when he describes a different way he may have liked to spend his life, inventing things and coming up with theories. He describes this other version of his life in such a way that sounds like he might like to have been an artist. His evenings are spent rifling through newspapers and deftly slicing sections out that he finds of interest. Shuffling the edges, adjusting the complex logic of his perturbations. 

I suppose my interest in the film, comes with a sense of frustration. All the stuff in his collection seemed to have stretched his loved ones to the point of divorce, there seemed to be no room for other people in his life, literally. And whilst watching you think for what? For a horde of stuff that he can't even get around. About halfway through the film I changed my position and started routing for him. I think this collector is a testament to a ridiculous life well spent. Indeed it is pointless and ridiculous, as he holds up a package of soap explaining that he leaves it out to dry it before he puts it in a bag and then into the collection, it seems obtuse. An array of these rituals are found; buying two or three of the same item, one to use, one to cut, and one to put in the collection. Of course, they all end up in the collection that is his apartment and his life.

His voice is the only one that is heard other than the occasional voice of a shopkeeper, or a man who discusses a coin outside of a restaurant. The person holding the camera is silent as if silenced by the breadth of the collection. The collector approaches the camera when they see fit 'let's go here I I need a torch' or a comment about the nature of the collection 'there is no pattern to what I collect'. The filmmaker seems to give him space to truly perform his banal consumer eccentricities. The camera is let inside a life which is bifurcated between the street-level visibility of buying these objects and the crammed psychology behind the door of the apartment.

Time is of the essence in this film. As a double-faced watch catches the collector's eye, a novelty that is too expansive. He on his own mortality and that of the collection. Negotiating the next step for the mountains of newspapers that tickle the ceiling up to the moment they topple. The instability of the Turkish economy at this time is somewhat a prop as a merchant explains the raising of his prices, during the tumultuous time that follows a financial crash. Today, Turkey is experiencing a free-falling Lira and is the worst emerging market currency of today. Our collector recounts intricate coins of the past whilst the future of Turkey is still to be decided.