Well, naturally, the big guys botch the honey harvest royally, dropping the targeted hive to the forest floor, which so enrages the yellow-jacketed residents that the marauders are forced to high-tail it into the Hundred Acre Woods lest they receive a series of well-deserved stings on their stuffed behinds! Meanwhile, Piglet, unaware of the fiasco, is holding musical parlay with an empathic ladybug and squirrel, with whom he has just sung his trademark song, "If I Wasn't So Small." Cheered up by his compassionating companions, Piglet returns to the scene of the honey heist, no longer stewing over his exclusion from the harvesting operations. But what was 'the little pink guys' ' surprise when he peers through the neighboring fronds to find his friends gone and the ground littered with a shattered and honey-oozing hive?! Something had gone wrong, or so Piglet figured: terribly wrong.
But I don't want to give away too much. Let's just say that Piglet's friends spend the rest of the movie tracking him down with the aid of a Book of Memories, a Piglet-centric scrapbook whose crudely crayoned pictures remind the foursome of the heroic actions of their absent pal (like the time the pink porker took it upon himself to rebuild Eeyore's home, albeit in the wrong place, after Pooh and Eeyore had unwittingly destroyed it -- which, isn't that just like them? Humph!). In any case, I'm slightly hazy about the details of the ensuing plot insofar as I had to visit the snack bar shortly after the bee chase to get our free refill of popcorn, for if the truth be known, our trio had been feverishly working on our refreshments ever since our slightly late arrival in the small (not to say teensy) theater. (Not that the movie didn't hold our attention, but it was a matinee, and I, for one, hadn't eaten any breakfast to speak of that morning -- unless you call coffee and a glass of cran-grape juice "breakfast," which I don't.)
And so I soon found myself leaving the YRC Gloucester 8 Cinemas in Hayes, Virginia, with a smile on my face, secure in the knowledge that my 5-year-old niece had a honey of a time at "Piglet's Big Movie" -- or so I figured, as she serenaded her mother and I on the 7-mile trip home with increasingly ridiculous renditions of "Sing Ho, for the Life of a Bear," Christopher Robin's perky peon to you-know-whom, part of the all-too-catchy movie soundtrack by Carly Simon: "Sing Ho, for the life of a Bear.... Sing Ho, for the life of a Duck.... Sing Ho, for the life of a banana split...." until my sister and I are like, "Um, that's enough for now, sweetie!"