acculturation : perspicacity : talkies : hollywood, please back away, slowly, from favorite works of my pre-pubescent youth

According to the IMDb, a second film adaptation of Bridge to Terabithia is currently in pre-production and slated for a 2007 release. I was unaware that there was even a first, released in 1985 and, judging from the user reviews, a rather corny and ultimately forgettable one.

The prospect of this new one, however, has me primly pursing my critical little lips. Maybe it's the bias of reverent posterity, my positing of the text in the same emotional lexicon as that of To Kill A Mockingbird. Maybe it's the fact that the director's resume, while nothing to sneeze at, primarily consists of the executive production, writing, and animation of such fare as The Rugrats, The Wild Thornberrys, and Duckman. Or that his likeness was the model for Dr. Nick Riviera on The Simpsons (no, really).

To be honest, in another context, Mr. Csupo's participation would be Wholly Neat. But, let's stay focused. Remember: prim, reverent.

So, prayhaps, really, I want to say right now that I shalt not approve of this film due to the casting of Ms. AnnaSophia Robb as Leslie. You might have seen her as Violet Beauregarde in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and thought, "Hey... what is Dakota Fanning doing in this piece of claptrap?" Or maybe you caught her (playing a character previously brought to life by a doll) in the TV movie event, Samantha: An American Girl Holiday. In any event, she is far too precious and, well, girly to be Leslie. Maybe she'll hit The Awkward Phase just in time for filming but, from the looks of her, she's one of those girls that somehow will bypass altogether that particular circle of Hell.

Furthermore, you just know, you don't have to think about it, you don't even have to read her bio to know (although you really should, especially if you have a taste for the darkly comedic naivete of ironic foreshadowing), so I am merely a mouthpiece when I say this: this child is f@#%ed. And it's all her mother's fault. I mean... just consider, just look, will you, at her given name. AnnaSophia. One word. And she insists, apparently, that one address her as such, all five syllables in their entirety.

Everybody wants to rule the world, but I don't think I'd take to that whip crackin' the moment of my exit from the birth canal. And then preordained with a stage name like AnnaSophia. That, sir, would be a mind-fuck. It might be years before it all unravels in a miasma of coke addiction, botched breast implants, and recidivistic shoplifting, but mark my words: f@#%ed.