I finally decided last night: Husband and I have a penchant for revenge movies. If the main character's family member(s) are kidnapped/raped/murdered, leading to a bullet/car chase/explosion laced revenge spree, we are right there with our popcorn.
Last night we watched Taken, in which Liam Neeson's annoying seventeen-year-old daughter is kidnapped in Paris while following U2's European tour (I know, lame, right?). Thank goodness her step-father just happens to be a millionaire who can immediately call up his private jet and fly her ex-government spy biological father to Paris to commence annihilating a group of nasty Albanians who peddle young female travelers for the sex trade. Oh, and her mom is Phoenix from X-Men. So, you know, that's cool.
It was one of the better revenge movies we have watched, of late, though nothing compares with the ultimate revenge franchise, Death Wish, with the immutable hellion Charles Bronson. He kicks inordinate amounts of ass from Death Wish 1 through 5, stopping only, perhaps, to groom his perfect porn star mustache.
Could watching all this revenge-fueled killing be bad for Husband and my collective psyches? I don't know.
What I do know is, I wouldn't try breaking into our house if I were you. You will probably climb through a window only to land on a long piece of wood studded with sharp nails, and I really would prefer you didn't get blood on my new hardwood floors.