In a world where everyone's seen Scream and Se7en, the question is who exactly will be enthralled by a serial killer movie that possesses neither the sharp humour of the former, nor the terrifying grittiness of the latter. And why should anyone want to watch a film whose construction is so old-school that the killer spends the final reel standing in front of the hero like an Agatha Christie character, reading through expositions you'd never have worked out in a million years? The Bone Collector is a bad episode of Quincy, spruced up with cinematic sequences of helicopters with searchlights, and made into uncomfortable viewing by some needlessly voyeuristic murder scenes.
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