Mom and Dad ★★★★

This. THIS is why I still Cage. His finest work in years. Chef's kisses all around.

“Mom and Dad” features him ranting about the sundry subgenres of freely available internet porn, singing "The Hokey Pokey," lamenting his "cottage cheese ass" and "Blue Bonnet butter waistline" and delivering a silver-medal shout outside a door.

The gold medal is, of course, "Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance," and I think it should be a law that Brian Taylor (he of Neveldine / Taylor) and Cage collaborate on something with no more than two years passing at any one time. Anything goes in America now. Why not this?

Aside from Cage, though, "Mom and Dad" is a sly slice of satire that spins the inexplicable dime-turn killing frenzy of a zombie story into a sociological what-if on parents suddenly, and homicidally, turning on their young. The lack of an explanation (aside from a brief Dr. Oz reference to "savaging" in nature and the tinfoil-hat inference of a terrorist attack) doesn't diminish the effect. If anything, it enhances it.

Here's a movie about the underside of parental vanity — the notion that we procreate as some sort of vicarious extension of ourselves, a matryoshka of memories and melded DNA. "The minute you see that face and hear that voice, everything just disappears," Selma Blair's character tells her sister, about to have her own child. (You can guess how this scene turns, but perhaps not the pop song to which it's set.)

Ain't that the truth, right? No more donuts in the Trans Am, just dying animals. No more barefoot roaming without embedding a toy in your sole. No more adult zones away from kid zones. The complete subsuming of yourself into a title by which you're known and a role into which you're minimized. Oh, Blair goes on to say "It's like magic. It's ... love." Sure, the kind that is, for some parents, built solely on compromise and disappointment. If it wasn't clear from the talent involved, a moment when Blair and Cage's teenage daughter continues to perpetuate a lie to them — even when trying to placate their homicidal rage would be the smarter play — confirms: This ain't gonna be a teary reconciliation kind of thang.

(Another tipoff, unfortunately, is a name and image popping up in the opening credits. This person doesn't appear until the film's final act, and their reveal would send you — as a fan of B-movies because why would you otherwise watch — out of your damn chair as a surprise.)

"Mom and Dad's" caffeinated comic riff on the ennui of parents' remorse is as electric as its camerawork — par for the N/T course even if the N is missing. Taylor's visuals move like a scrum of freshly castrated bulls — angry, probing, indiscriminately seeking targets to gouge and flip into the air. One such character, the daughter's boyfriend, seems there solely to be the main punching bag beyond all medical realism. But even that becomes a joke unto itself, the boyfriend you don't like of whom you'll never be rid. The more you resist, the more he persists. (There are also some nice subtleties, like the way Blair is framed in her car as she laments an inability to recapture the past. Lots of different ways to do that shot, but this one has purpose.)

Still skeptical? This has one of the most glorious, ridiculous and absolutely unforgettable computer-generated shots of Nicolas Cage I have ever seen. If you are not sold, go somewhere else.