Kevin McCallister oversleeps on the morning of his family vacation, and his terrible parents make it all the way to France before realizing that their child is missing. Now, Kevin has to spend the week home alone, which is where the title of the film comes from. Seizing on what they had to assume was an easy payday, two hapless burglars attempt to infiltrate the McCallister family's mansion to make off with their expensive goods. Kevin defends his parents' purchases with a series of inventive Rube Goldberg traps and the help of a 65-year-old man with a shovel, and saves Christmas.
Kevin's machinations are fucking brutal. According to Weill Cornell Medical College's Doctor Ryan St. Clair, the hilarious booby traps would have killed the Wet Bandits two or three times over. First of all, St. Clair assures us that taking a paint can to the front of the noggin from at least fifteen feet in the air is going to leave you with several missing teeth, along with quite a few broken face bones. Harry and/or Marv could very likely end up with a fractured orbital socket, which means that their fucking eyes would come out of their fucking heads, and the duo would be rolling around in that pile of Micro Machines, howling in impossible, relentless agony. But that pales in comparison to what would've happened if Kevin's blowtorch trap had been triggered by a real-life human being instead of cinema's Joe Pesci.