Reviews are one of those magical things that go by the ironic rule: The Worse, The Better. I much prefer AA Gill when he’s lambasting a restaurant for its waiters’ ineptitudes than when he is serenading it with praise.
Back in Aberdeen, a friend of mine’s house was decorated with a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Taylor Lautner as Jake in the Twilight movies. It was disconcerting to say the least. The first time I encountered it, I was drunk and it was very dark. I didn’t get over the shock for about a week.
It would seem, however, that poor Taylor, although much-admired by the female population of Northern Scotland, is faring rather a lot worse in the following review of his new film.
It’s so bad, it’s fantastic. And I thought my friend Vicki would appreciate it, and it’s her birthday so here it goes…
Think of Abduction this way: There’s the Bourne Identity, then way below that is Mark Wahlberg’s Shooter. Then there’s 50,000 feet of crap. Underneath that is Liam Neeson’s Unknown. Dig another 100,000 feet until you hit a liquid-y orange-and-brown ooze and there you will find Abduction, a movie so bad it shouldn’t be allowed to call itself a movie. It should be called bad performance art for troglodytic, subhuman Caucasian bed-wetting females with a predisposition for shirtless, roundhouse-kicking dildos. Comparing Bourne Identity to Abduction is like comparing Beyonce’s ass to Danny Devito’s: Sure, they’re both big, but one you want to tap and the other you want to shave and disinfect before you feed to stray dogs.
Read the rest here.