Saw III returns to the bathroom where it happened for a torture-based medical soap opera they should have called Back to the Suture.

For a film that literally nobody is watching for the plot, there sure is a lot of plot in this 2006 sequel, making zero allowances for the casual torture fan. Following the convoluted narrative requires not merely having seen the previous two instalments but remembering every excruciating detail. The main story sees John Kramer (Tobin Bell) and his interned intern Amanda (Shawnee Smith) abduct a doctor (Bahar Soomekh) to perform brain surgery on him using a power drill, and if he dies her collar explodes, just like they taught her in med school.

So far so Saw. But for some reason they expect her to achieve this without any medical supplies. And we are expected to believe that Amanda is capable of single-handedly building hydraulic torture contraptions but not being able to procure steroids or antiseptic (which she later turns out to possess anyway). At the same time, the demented duo are putting a man (Angus Macfadyen) through one of their mutilation games, which apparently has to be done while Jigsaw’s head is being pumped full of more holes than the plot.

The Saw movies always reverse engineer their nonsensical storylines to suggest Kramer had a reason for everything, but Saw III appears to forget about the B plot and presents events in a random order to give the illusion of revelation and interconnectedness. It also positions the hypocritical headcase as a misunderstood martyr by giving him the moral high ground over the murderous Amanda (“I despise murderers.”). But what exactly is he meant to be teaching Jeff, whom he gives the option to torture the man who accidentally ran over his son? Not to be vengeful? To move on with his life? That torturing people isn’t cool? None of these seem like lessons particularly embodied by the Jigsaw Killer.

To writer Leigh Whannell’s credit, the series is still coming up with some creative torture methods at this relatively early stage, including a giant pig mulcher and elaborate rack trap – even if Kramer’s brag, “I call it the rack,” suggests he is either taking credit for history’s most famous torture device or somehow has never heard of it. And his smugness is ultimately shared by the film, whose pseudo-intellectual justifications for gratuitous violence aren’t worth the toilet paper they’re written on.