By this point, it's hard to be too outraged by the Saw franchise. The fans have been whittled down to the absolutely devout, who face an uphill battle trying to defend this stuff. Saw 3D (part seven=three + the fourth letter in the alphabet) opens with a pre-title scene of a man cauterizing his freshly shorn leg stump on a steam pipe. He screams. Rock music kicks in. Awesome, dude. The idea that psychotic puppet Jigsaw helps people appreciate life by enforcing traumatic experiences upon them has always been idiotic. You can't beat a bad habit out of someone, and I'm pretty sure that ripping off your own back because its super-glued to a car seat won't colour the world with roses and unicorns. The irony is that by upping the disgusting quota on everything, Part 3D is the least offensive Saw sequel yet. Its string of over-the-top entrail money shots is only a blood and guts variation of the body-gag structure of Jackass 3D. In keeping the blood flowing, this entry overcomes complete ideological reprehensibility. Saw is finally aware of its own ridiculousness, which makes it almost tolerable.