If the title didn’t convince you that this movie takes its death seriously, surely the gallons of spurting blood would? Goateed gangbangers, sired by evil John Goodman, murder the son of insurance agent Kevin Bacon. Enraged, Bacon unleashes his inner Bronson (Charles, not Pinchot) and kills one of the thugs. Then they kill his wife and nearly kill his other son. The tit-for-tat pattern thus set, Bacon morphs into some sort of cyborg, buys guns from evil John Goodman and infiltrates the abandoned church where the gang makes crystal meth (and, from the looks of the shelves, fine bust sculptures). Cyborg Bacon shoots a guy in the leg and the leg comes clean off, just like the Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail. He hears another thug on the other side of the wall and shoots him through the wall. Gang leader “Billy” arrives after having murdered his own dad and they shoot each other in the head about seven times each without flinching. Having avenged his family as well as several dozen cultures wiped out by genocide, Cyborg Bacon and the half a teaspoon of blood left in his body drive home to watch America’s Funniest Home Videos. Still, more inspirational and family-affirming than the entire Home Alone series.
