Ten Inch Hero is an emotional string of taffy that places an ensemble cast in precarious situations. Piper, the first person we meet, glides into view on a bicycle that reveals a great deal about her character. She, like the others, has a hidden secret, belied by her innocent face. Soon, her life becomes entwined with the rest of the cast as they dole out ten inch sandwiches and pieces of their past.<br /><br />Symbolically, the layers in the sandwich represent the layers these characters try to bury, until at last, they realize the past is the past, and it is the future, which will hold them together, like mayonnaise on a turkey and rye.<br /><br />What I found most amazing about this film was the way the writer, Betsy Morris, entwined laughter with sadness. This mixture of genres can often leave the audience feeling confused. Instead of feeling abandoned, the audience felt as if they were part of the story. These characters felt so real, I wanted to tuck them inside my jacket and take them home. The first act draws the viewer into a comedic whirlwind of wishful longing, then as the story spins into act two, the ax is dropped and the drama begins.<br /><br />I laughed at the one-line zingers. I cringed when reality seeped in, and I cried when I found their truth. Ten Inch Hero is more than just a story; it is the soul we all long to live.<br /><br />The writing, as well as the acting, is sheer masteryworthy of more than a festival blink; it deserves full screen distribution.