Cheddar Davis (tomacco99)

"The only secret world I wanna be a part of is one with an open door, a handshake, and the need for no secrecy whatsoever. In other words, I wanna be ballz-deep in a black guy." Arrietty's closing line to her mother (played with trademark peppercorn snark by maudlin actress Amy Poehler) resonates, as she bleeds internally during the closing frames of this animated auteur's latest soup-du-jour. No, Arrietty never realizes her sexual fantasy, but at least she was able to finally reveal the true secret world she was trapped in - even if it was on her death bed. That's the most poignant moment of this laborious, yet oddly cute fantasy - whose script reads like a hodgepodge of influences, from Kurosawa to Kazaam. Our story starts and ends with all the subtlety of a Slap Chop to the genitals. A brick in the face. Or a handshake from a bulldozer, depending on your ever-changing, fickle attitude, Popcorn America. You know you love to hate it. Right back at you. Just like Arrietty, you've entered this secret world of whimsy, only to realize you're only interested in surface features. Damn that girl has a fine ass - but do you even care what's hiding between the cheeks?

Arrietty asks all these questions and more, so elegantly twisting the nipple of our consciousness in her final speech before being eradicated in a bloody sobering mess of pixie dust and reversed internal organs. But the question is raised too little too late. For the first 1.5 hours, we're stranded in a meandering sequence of happenstance that will leave every audience member alternating between glee and groan. This family dramedy (a new genre, which Roger Ebert so peckishly has dubbed "familamedy") means well, but takes forever to arrive at its destination. In a sense, this is effective when being shrunk down to Arrietty's size. I mean, it takes her ten times longer to get to the supermarket than it would for a normal-size human. This parallel isn't lost on me, okay? It's just not interesting. Save it for somebody who cares about the little people. My ex-wife was a circus midget.

Look, we all live in secret worlds. We get it. Such blunt morality is at the heart and soul of Hiromasa Yonebayashi's latest green thumbed splinter. It reverberates loud and clear, testing the acoustics of our consciousness like a bullhorn inside a glass vase. It shatters my patience. Bridgit Mendler will have to mend serious fences after this big screen small-scale septic debut.

Queen Cameron can't hide behind the Mask any longer. What to Expect When You Might be Expecting actually might be exactly what you might be expecting. I'm sorry. Did I lose you? Then you're the perfect audience for this flippant film. Forget the birds and the bees. We're getting right up into the nest. The hive. The pussy lips. Yes, this film is bluntly and relentlessly unforgiving and unflattering when it comes to glory shots of Cameron Diaz's downstairs dirt camp. The spotlight indeed shines blindingly upon Queen Cameron; a crimson sheen that reveals truth and imperfection; while exercising zero restraint in taste. Diaz plays Jules, a "modern woman" who chooses career and copulation over cribs. I've met women like this, at the supermarket at 2pm, dressed to the nines in aisle seven. A grocery cart crammed with pablum, and a basket of organic fruit - healthy, natural, and rotting as hastily as Cameron Carmichael Diaz's ovaries.

Diminished returns is the theme of the hour. Fixated on surface pleasures, director Kirk Jones negates Queen Diaz's beauty by accentuating every pock mark, plugged pore and melanomanic muff mole. The 1993 knockout has now been KO'd by the HD generation, enumerating every artist's hiccup and slip-up on her Tweety bird tramp stamp - perhaps the most poignant visual in the film, exemplifying the mistakes we make as modern humans. Jules shouldn't have had unprotected sex with Ernest Borgnine (playing himself in the movie's most shameless cameo this side of Sunset Strip), or gotten that aforementioned tattoo at age 8. Surely, she knew she'd lose interest in cutesy cartoon Tweety bird in her teen years. And Cameron "Casey Jones" Diaz, shouldn't have taken this role. This birth film isn't even up to snuff. And by that, I mean Snuff Films (a division of Lionsgate Films).

Is it too late for an abortion? It wasn't for my twin sister. Rest in peace, Utero Eunice Davis. You had lovely fingers.