You need to read Dustin Rowles hysterical review of Abduction on Pajiba, which he lovingly calls Bourne Identity "for hormonally-damaged teenage girls who have never heard of Bourne Identity."
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.
Put another way: Acne is more pleasant than Abduction.
Read the full article here. Just watch out for the plethora of in-your-face advertising.
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