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DeadlyDirk

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Just watching I spit on your grave at the moment

What did you think?

Actually thought it was ok, very predictable but still held my attention.

Apart from the bath scene it is pretty terrible.

I actually really like the film and the lack of any soundtrack actually adds to the films if that makes sense

10 times the film that last house on the left is

ive seen it hundreds of times before but just thought I would stick it on again last night as some light watching lol

(I am on about the original by the way)

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Anybody seen TinTin yet?

I was quite looking forward to it from the trailer, but there was a (very well written) full page review in last week's Guardian that absolutely trashed it - basically to the tune of: "It totally misses the subtlety of the Herge books and reduces them to an Indiana Jones-style typical Spielberg movie - all form and no substance".

Has somewhat put me off going (that and the fact that I don't like 3D). May wait for the DVD and rent it for TV.

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Anybody seen TinTin yet?

I was quite looking forward to it from the trailer, but there was a (very well written) full page review in last week's Guardian that absolutely trashed it - basically to the tune of: "It totally misses the subtlety of the Herge books and reduces them to an Indiana Jones-style typical Spielberg movie - all form and no substance".

Has somewhat put me off going (that and the fact that I don't like 3D). May wait for the DVD and rent it for TV.

I would ignore The Guardian when it comes to TinTin.

They seem to have a very odd vendetta against it and have published 6 articles trashing it, 6 articles!

One of them's basis was a google search as well, says it all.

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Anybody seen TinTin yet?

I was quite looking forward to it from the trailer, but there was a (very well written) full page review in last week's Guardian that absolutely trashed it - basically to the tune of: "It totally misses the subtlety of the Herge books and reduces them to an Indiana Jones-style typical Spielberg movie - all form and no substance".

Has somewhat put me off going (that and the fact that I don't like 3D). May wait for the DVD and rent it for TV.

I would ignore The Guardian when it comes to TinTin.

They seem to have a very odd vendetta against it and have published 6 articles trashing it, 6 articles!

One of them's basis was a google search as well, says it all.

Hmmm. Didn't realise they trashed it so much. TBH, that makes more more inclined to believe it really IS shit.

I haven't seen the Tintin film – not after those reviews! – but a lot of people have. Steven Spielberg's digital animated version of the famous Hergé cycle of comic books has dominated the British box office in spite of articles that branded it a betrayal of the artist-author's vision, a soporific blanded-out parody of Hergé's eccentric world.

Is the gulf between expert disgust and public enthusiasm further proof that critics are doomed? Or that modern culture is truly anti-intellectual and philistine? I think it is evidence of neither. I am sure the Tintin film really is infuriating if you are a Tintin fan, as many who write about it plainly are. But is everyone a Tintin fan? Is everyone that familiar with the quixotic idealism, richly absurd characters, and unique humour of these great comic books?

I think I can mediate between enemies and fans of the film because I only discovered Tintin recently. I can easily imagine the perspective of someone who has no particular knowledge of the original books, indeed who finds them a bit baffling, because I was that person most of my life. Somehow the books didn't become part of my reading as a child. I preferred Willard Price and Dr Who novelisations. When I did come across Tintin, his world seemed mystifyingly alien. Who was this grumpy boozer Captain Haddock?

Tintin fans, in short, may be overestimating how dearly these classics are held in the common heart. If this film had come out a decade ago I'd have seen it without any prejudices because I had never read a Tintin book. And when I did start reading them quite recently, I had to fight past the pretensions of fans: I came across a recommendation by Philip Pullman, in Waterstone's, to read The Castafiore Emerald, which he selected as his favourite. It is actually the most fey in the series, one for confirmed aficionados.

Once I got past that to truly brilliant volumes like The Secret of the Unicorn and Red Rackham's Treasure – the stories on which the movie is based – I was hooked. Hergé was a maverick genius of the 20th century. His conviction and passion shine through his beautifully coloured pages and his belief in language – even in translation – makes these great children's books. They do create a universe all their own, with personages like Thomson and Thompson whose surreal appearance (did he know the art of Magritte? Did Magritte know the art of Hergé?) and crazy behaviour are never explained or rationalised away.

So I have become a fan, and I would hate to see a film that sacrificed this special creative achievement to banal narrative values. But I can see why none of that would matter if you haven't read the books. It's interesting to see such anger from people who truly love these (comic) books. Does the lack of similar fury about adaptations of weightier literary classics, such as Tim Burton's gratuitous reinvention of Alice in Wonderland, tell us something about the reading habits of a generation?

Has Steven Spielberg lost his mojo?

His name was once a byword for cinematic enchantment, but the frequently laboured nature of The Adventures of Tintin only hardens the impression of Spielberg as a genius in decline

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Tintin

Under fire… Steven Spielberg's foray into the world of Tintin has reaped dividends at the box office but done little to enhance his reputation

Like Captain Haddock hitting the last drops of whisky, there's been a note of disquiet about the reaction to The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn. Nicholas Lezard, fighting a rearguard battle for Hergé's reputation, stated it most clearly: "It usefully places in plain view all the cretinous arrogance of modern mass-market, script-conference-driven film-making, confirming in passing that, as a director, Spielberg is a burnt-out sun."

The Adventures Of Tintin: The Secret Of The Unicorn 3D

Production year: 2011

Country: Rest of the world

Cert (UK): PG

Runtime: 106 mins

Directors: Steven Spielberg

Cast: Andy Serkis, Cary Elwes, Daniel Craig, Jamie Bell, Nick Frost, Simon Pegg, Toby Jones

More on this film

"Decline" was a word that crept in here and there on Twitter. A quick Google reveals that isolated voices in the blogosphere were advancing the same idea when The Terminal was released, then War of the Worlds, then – more strongly – Indiana Jones and the Kingdom of the Crystal Skull.

Is it true? Is the main man's career headed for the great script conference in the sky? It's arguable. He's still raking in the big bucks; among recent works, only Munich went close to a loss. But he had a patchy noughties: by my count, two successes, both in sci-fi (Minority Report, War of the Worlds); one middling film (Catch Me if You Can); three washouts (Indy, AI, Munich). I haven't seen The Terminal, but that doesn't alter what looks like a pretty indifferent hand. Even supporters of the new Tintin made constant mention of atoning for Crystal Skull, and how the adaptation was the real successor to the vintage Indiana Jones adventures. The real reference points for Spielberg, worryingly, seem to be in the past.

Whatever the reality, and regardless of whether the damage is permanent, what's significant is that the idea is abroad now. Hollywood product might still be all-conquering globally, as Tintin's opening weekend ($55.8m from 19 countries, with the US release just before Christmas) reaffirms. But it doesn't bode well for its creative mojo that the man who kickstarted the modern era is perceived to be on the wane, with no immediate sign of a successor. On top of that, rumours have circulated about the financial viability of his studio, DreamWorks, though they have been denied by the company.

As well as his intuitive grasp of the mechanics of blockbuster film-making (well, he helped create them), Spielberg always had what I like to call the "Christmas" factor: that facility for bringing everything to a still and letting a wondrous instant glimmer. They're always bursting through in his best work, like in Raiders of the Lost Ark's famous bringing-a-gun-to-a-swordfight scene. They seem to spontaneously self-generate in Close Encounters of the Third Kind, until they comprise practically the fabric of the whole film.

That wide-eyed innocence seems to have gone, or rather Spielberg has lost the knack for how to stage those moments. His most resonant strike on the zeitgeist has been supplanting "jumping the shark" with "nuking the fridge", and The Adventures of Tintin is full of similar try-hard flourishes. It's too relentless to allow the viewer to let go of the reins in astonishment. Only one moment really resonated for me: when Bianca Castafiore is tilting for the top C, on the verge of cracking the glass case in which the final model ship is held. It's silly in the best way, true to Hergé's larky tone, and impeccably staged.

If Spielberg is straining for the upper register, then who else is there? JJ Abrams is widely seen as his spiritual successor, and it's true that both enjoy a sphere of influence that extends beyond director, to all-round cinematic mover-and-shaker. But Spielberg's is vastly greater, and their filmographies don't even bear comparison: Super 8's self-consciously retro Spielbergian wrapping confirmed that Abrams's first talent is marketing, which we already knew from his work as producer on Cloverfield. There's nothing innocent about that, and that's the ineffable quality the true heir to the Spielberg throne needs before everything. M Night Shyamalan thought he had it, but his storytelling instincts deserted him after Signs.

Steven Spielberg is a brand name, and he has something nobody else does. He's not only synonymous with box-office hegemony and technological worship (like James Cameron), but also represents – crucially, for Hollywood's wider integrity – the guileless creative impulse that gives him deep, universal appeal. If the magic has dried up for him, then it seems symbolic of the entropy collecting everywhere in the blockbuster business, and the general desperation for the next big thing. Perhaps it's in the nature of cultural cycles that such a pivotal figure can never be replaced. Genius, showman, powerbroker, creative paladin: only candidates with all the above qualifications need apply.

The Adventures of Tintin – review

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Philip French

Philip French

The Observer, Sunday 30 October 2011

Article history

adventures of tintin

All at sea: Tintin, Captain Haddock and Snowy in Steven Spielberg's version of Hergé's comic strip.

The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn

Production year: 2011

Country: Rest of the world

Cert (UK): PG

Runtime: 106 mins

Directors: Steven Spielberg

Cast: Andy Serkis, Cary Elwes, Daniel Craig, Jamie Bell, Nick Frost, Simon Pegg, Toby Jones

More on this film

Hergé's resourceful young Belgian reporter comes to the big screen in a film directed by Spielberg, produced by Peter Jackson (who'll direct the sequel) and using motion capture, the expensive, rather tiresome digital process that exists in a no-man's-land between live action and animation. It starts well in a charming 1930s Brussels before Tintin (Jamie Bell) goes in pursuit of three hidden manuscripts that will lead him to ancient treasures. On to the search is grafted an extended flashback to the 17th century involving the nautical ancestors of the boozy Glaswegian Captain Haddock, with whom Tintin and his dog Snowy escape from a tramp steamer, hijack a seaplane and cross the desert to Morocco. It resembles a conflation of Raiders of the Lost Ark and Pirates of the Caribbean with John Williams's music always on the point of bursting into the Indiana Jones triumphal march. It's fairly enjoyable, rather bland, less fun dramatically and graphically than the Hergé comics. But it should do well through massive advertising, a procedure known, I believe, as "Pushing Tintin".

The Adventures of Tintin is great art crudely redrawn

If you love the Tintin books, don't see Steven Spielberg's 'execrable' film adaptation

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Tom McCarthy

guardian.co.uk, Friday 28 October 2011 22.55 BST

Article history

Can Steven Spielberg's The Adventures of Tintin compete with Hergé's books?

Read it and weep … can Steven Spielberg's The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn compete with Hergé's books? Photograph: Allstar

I entered the plush Leicester Square auditorium for a screening of The Adventures of Tintin with low expectations and 3D glasses. Donning the latter and suppressing the former, I thought for a few pleasant minutes that my forbearance might be rewarded: the opening credit sequence, a zappy graphic medley in which cityscapes, crime scenes and villains morph into and out of one another, was excellent; and so was the first scene, which wittily showed Hergé himself (Tintin's creator, in case you didn't know) eking out a living by drawing caricatures in a flea-market, the array of his past clients featuring characters from all the Tintin books. From then on, though, it was downhill, and then some. Steven Spielberg's adaptation is not just a failure; it is an assault on a great body of art so thuggishly moronic as to make one genuinely depressed.

The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn

Production year: 2011

Country: Rest of the world

Cert (UK): PG

Runtime: 106 mins

Directors: Steven Spielberg

Cast: Andy Serkis, Cary Elwes, Daniel Craig, Jamie Bell, Nick Frost, Simon Pegg, Toby Jones

More on this film

Make no mistake: the Tintin albums are great art. We could argue until the cows come home about what type of art they represent (narrative? Visual? Sub-cinematic?), but their greatness brooks no querying. Their characters, from melancholic and explosive Captain Haddock to proud and fiery General Alcazar to the vain and affected opera diva Bianca Castafiore, rival any dreamt up by Flaubert or Dickens for sheer strength and depth of personality. Their recurrent themes and symbols – the downfall of noble houses, host-guest encounters gone drastically wrong, tombs and their secrets, water, forgery, the Sun (to name but a few) – are entirely classical, the same found in Aeschylus or Shakespeare or Faulkner. They are eminently political, depicting, first from a rightwing perspective, then, increasingly, a leftist one, a 20th century characterised, just like the present era, by conflict over Middle Eastern oil, the perpetually unsettled Balkans, galloping technological progress, profiteering multinationals and arms traders who have one foot in the president's office. Best of all, they yield to a casual reader of seven the same amount of joy and wonder as they do to the most diligent adult scholar.

Here's a telling anecdote: after the premiere of a previous, equally doomed attempt in 1960 to adapt the albums for cinema, Hergé asked a boy leaving the auditorium if he'd liked it. No, the boy replied. Why not, inquired the crestfallen author? "Because Captain Haddock didn't have the same voice as he does in the books," the boy explained. His apparently naive take was in fact incisive, since Tintin was always premised on a set of implicit borrowings and relocations from one medium to another. Hergé's earliest strip-cartoons were billed as "movies" on paper; creatively, he was as indebted to the films of Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd as to the novels of Jules Verne or the illustrated poems of Benjamin Rabier (which, long forgotten now, featured a tuft-headed boy called Tintin-Lutin and his dog). Hergé's remarkable achievement with the Tintin series was to pluck all these elements from their original contexts and join them together, holding them in perfect equilibrium, in a new, hybrid format whose conventions (speech-bubbles joined with left-to-right action, for example) he established in the very act of assembly.

Here, though, everything that found its form so well in Hergé's remix loses it catastrophically in Spielberg's. The slapstick – oars swinging round and bumping on heads, feet tripping on cats, and so on – is gauche and anachronistic. The plot (Hergé, like his almost-exact contemporary Hitchcock, was an absolute master of this) is hole-ridden and ridiculous (for what it's worth, it involves a kind of cut-'n'-shut weld of the plots of The Secret of the Unicorn and The Crab with the Golden Claws). The action sequences are not grounded in any credible reality. This is important: like so many children, I spent hours staring, captivated, at the single frame from The Broken Ear that shows Tintin trying to fire his speeding car over a level crossing just before a hurtling locomotive cuts off his path. (Will he make it? Look at the angles of approach, the lines showing the relative speeds of his car and the train. Might he just? Great snakes: he's pulled it off!)

Spielberg, a fine film-maker in his prime, captured the same exhilaration in Raiders of the Lost Ark, as Harrison Ford, or his stuntman, clung to planes and straddled gaping voids. But here, CGI allows for anything: galleons fly through the air, pirates skip gaily from one burning vessel to another; a sidecar splits from its motorbike and crashes through a building which itself is being borne down a ravine by a cascading wall of water, while Snowy flies through windows clinging to a falcon's tail before landing back on the sidecar, that in turn rejoins the bike … or something; on and on and on. It's boring beyond belief. When all you're looking at is pixels being shunted around a screen by some nerd in post-production, none of it counts.

But worst of all is the violence perpetrated against the core impulses of Hergé's work. The deep and disturbing power of the Tintin books lies in the way that they immerse the reader in an inauthentic universe, a world whose veneers are constantly being peeled back to reveal inner emptiness. This begins right back in 1929 with the very first adventure, Tintin in the Land of the Soviets, in which the commie-bashing hero, noticing visiting English Marxists gushing over Soviet factories, sneaks behind the buildings (and, by extension, the belief system they underpin) to discover that they're wooden façades: the smoke is made by burning hay; the clangs by a single man banging a piece of metal. It continues, with increasing complexity, through the figure of Haddock, who is posited between the lines as the illegitimate descendant of Louis XIV (the Sun King): the latter's gift to Haddock's ancestor Sir Francis of a château, Marlinspike, adheres to a well-established 17th-century convention whereby monarchs bequeathed property in lieu of recognition to their bastard offspring (the house even has a dauphin crest, symbol of royal filiation, carved above its doorway). The name "Haddock" means (in its French form, aiglefin) "phoney", "counterfeiter" – and, anyway, it's not his real one.

Neither, it transpires, is the author's. Not only is "Hergé" a nom-de-plume, but the same story of false identity and illegitimate royal descent turns out to haunt his family, too: his grandmother, a maid in a château, was impregnated by a visitor she never named but gave to understand may well have been the Belgian king (who was indeed a frequent guest at the château). Hurriedly "white-married" to the house's gardener, she gave birth to twin boys (Hergé's father and uncle), who grew up to sport moustaches and wear bowler hats. The Tintin books replay this covert family history again and again, whether through moustached and bowler-hatted twin detectives, or though the aria from Gounod's Faust repeatedly performed by Bianca Castafiore, which tells – once more – of a lowly maid made pregnant by a noble cad. And as they do so, their casts are dragged more and more into the vertiginous and hollow backstage zone where names, personae and the world itself are robbed of their semantic value. By the final album, Tintin and the Alph-Art, Haddock is left contemplating a giant "H", repeating to himself the nihilist mantra "None of it means anything!"

But Spielberg casts aside all that inconvenient content. Not only does he follow the English translation's mistake of substituting Charles II for Louis XIV as Sir Francis Haddock's benefactor (forgivable in the translation, since when it first appeared no one had drawn out the adventures' glaring subtext, nor had Hergé's own family secret been made public; unforgivable now that both have been discussed for two decades); he also slaps on, by the trowel-load, all this earnest rhetoric of authenticity. "Only a true Haddock can understand", "Be true to yourself", "Listen to your inner truth": lines such as these are repeated manically, as though we have wandered into a self-empowerment seminar – a seminar on monetisation through self-empowerment, to be precise.

In the books, money both stands for genealogical fakeness and is fake itself (a brilliant scene in The Crab with the Golden Claws shows Thompson and Thomson tricked into passing off the very counterfeit coins they've been charged with tracking down: a doubling of illegitimate faces and false "metal"); in the film it literally pours down, in one scene, from the skies, Haddock's reward for being "true to himself". Thus Hollywood's idiotic "message" is forced on an oeuvre that is great precisely because it drives in exactly the opposite direction. It's like making a biopic of Nietzsche that depicts him as a born-again Christian, or of Gandhi as a trigger-happy Rambo blasting his way through the Raj.

Perhaps this movie will be studied, in years to come, as a Žižekian example of a dominant ideology's capacity to recuperate its own negation, or something along those lines. For now, we just have to wonder how Spielberg went so wrong, or if he was in fact involved at all: so badly put together is this film that it's easier, and perhaps more comforting, to imagine a semi-simian marketing committee writing and producing it under the banner of his name. If your children love the Tintin books – or, more to the point, if they have an ounce of intelligence or imagination in their bodies – don't take them to see this truly execrable offering.

Tintin and the Uncanny Valley: when CGI gets too real

One of the paradoxes of animation says that if you make a character too lifelike, it crosses a line from cute to creepy. Does Spielberg's Tintin movie cross that line?

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Steve Rose

Steve Rose

guardian.co.uk, Thursday 27 October 2011 22.00 BST

Article history

Tintin

Tintin … make a character too lifelike, and the brain no longer reads it as good animation, but as reality with something wrong about it.

Steven Spielberg and Peter Jackson hope to make Tintin a global household name with their new animated extravaganza, but in the process, they have brought another obscure term into the mainstream: the uncanny valley. The phrase has cropped up a lot in early reviews of The Adventures of Tintin: Secret of the Unicorn, referring to the strange effect created when animated characters look eerily lifelike. As New York magazine put it: "Tintin looks simultaneously too human and not human at all, his face weirdly fetal, his eyes glassy and vacant instead of bursting with animated life." Many others have agreed.

The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn

Production year: 2011

Country: Rest of the world

Cert (UK): PG

Runtime: 106 mins

Directors: Steven Spielberg

Cast: Andy Serkis, Cary Elwes, Daniel Craig, Jamie Bell, Nick Frost, Simon Pegg, Toby Jones

More on this film

It's a paradox of animation that you can put arms and a face on a spoon, say, or make a deer talk, and it looks cute. But make a character too lifelike, and the brain no longer reads it as good animation, but as reality with something wrong about it. That's the uncanny valley. First identified by robotics professor Masahiro Mori in 1970, it's a phenomenon that has increasingly dogged film-makers, robot designers and video game designers. Some believe we may never cross it.

Most animated films stop at the uncanny valley's edge. Human characters in movies such as Up or The Incredibles are carefully made just cartoonish enough. But like intrepid 19th-century mountaineers, the makers of Tintin instead attempted to conquer animation's final frontier. Building on previous expeditions such as The Polar Express, Beowulf and Mars Needs Moms, the team at Peter Jackson's Weta Digital developed new motion-capture technology to turn live actors' movements into animation. The results are better than ever, but not quite good enough, evidently.

And they never will be, according to Angela Tinwell, senior lecturer in games and creative technologies at Bolton University. "We've come up with the notion of the 'uncanny wall'," she says. "It suggests a viewer's discernment for detecting imperfections will keep pace with technology. As the human likeness increases, so the viewer becomes ever more discerning of little flaws. So when a new, more "realistic" character like Tintin comes along, they won't be rated as more humanlike – previous humanlike characters will actually sink lower into the valley. It's cognitive dissonance; we refuse to be tricked by technology."

Others are not so pessimistic. "You probably already have looked at a film and not realised a character in it is digital," says Chris Lawrence at London's special effects house Framestore. CG characters such as the young Jeff Bridges in Tron Legacy, for example, fooled many viewers. "In that sense I think we've partially conquered it already. In terms of a full photoreal character in a film, though, I don't know. It's a lot of information to have to get right."

All this makes the uncanny valley sound like a new phenomenon, but film-makers have known about it long before it had a name. It's what makes many horror movies tick. Zombies are archetypal monsters from the bottom of the uncanny valley, with their dead eyes and expressionless faces. Likewise the glazed-over doppelgangers in Invasion of The Bodysnatchers or the robotic Stepford Wives, not to mention the legions of dolls, dummies, puppets, waxwork figures and clowns that have struck terror in the hearts of horror fans, from the ventriloquist's dummy in Dead of Night to to Chucky in Child's Play.

There's no accepted explanation as to what exactly makes these near-humans "uncanny". Perhaps the origins are evolutionary. Tinwell suggests correlations between "uncanny" animated faces and traits of human psychopathology. Others see in it something deeper: a threat to our own identity, as humans, living entities, our unique selves. Freud suggested the "uncanny" stemmed from the revelation of repressed primitive desires. On the other side of the valley, presumably, lies a perfect realm of visual sophistication where we can't tell the difference between what's animated and what's real – an idea that's potentially more terrifying than all the zombies, Chuckies and glazed-over Tintin characters put together.

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i really liked it, the gf thought it was one of the best films she'd seen in years (i thought there were 1/2 moments that went just too far) and it has 85% at rotten tomatoes

seems strangely like alot of people want it to be rubbish rather than just enjoying it for what it is, as the graphics, they didnt bother me at all, got my head round it in all of 2 minutes

and i didnt watch it in 3D mooney, so much colour on the screen why would anyone want to watch it in a yellow tint instead?

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What I drew from those Guardian reviews is:

"If you didn't the books you'll probably enjoy it; if you did you probably won't".

I did.

The problem with the Guardian is that the main reviewer will give almost all films 3 stars or below, he rarely likes anything.

One of the articles is based on typing something into Google and writing an article about it, they are getting worse.

Tintin is not shit, its a good family film and better than Crystal Skull by some distance.

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What I drew from those Guardian reviews is:

"If you didn't the books you'll probably enjoy it; if you did you probably won't".

I did.

The problem with the Guardian is that the main reviewer will give almost all films 3 stars or below, he rarely likes anything.

One of the articles is based on typing something into Google and writing an article about it, they are getting worse.

Tintin is not shit, its a good family film and better than Crystal Skull by some distance.

You're probably right.

But I am the sort of person who shares that Guardian reviewer's anorak-y predjudices.

It's like recent James Bond movies - they may be quite good in their own right, but to me they are not James Bond. For me, James Bond stories, even if not based on a Fleming novel, should at least be set in the "correct" James Bond milieu - which is 1950s cold war Britain.

If you want to make films about a modern action hero, fine - but DON'T call him James Bond.

Similarly, if you're going to make a TinTin movie, be true to the spirit of the books - or simply be original, and think up some new, original characters.

And if you're going to make a film of the Dambusters raid - the dog was called Nigger! Otherwise, just make Star Wars.

I realise I'm probably in a minority here, but that's the way I roll.

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Anonymous - As Roland Emmerich directed it, I had a feeling it was going to be a big pile of pap. However I was pleasantly surprised. Rhys Ifans was great and the rest of the cast were solid. The CG landscapes were amazing and the story had enough weight and intrigue to hold my interest.

A solid 8/10

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Anonymous - As Roland Emmerich directed it, I had a feeling it was going to be a big pile of pap. However I was pleasantly surprised. Rhys Ifans was great and the rest of the cast were solid. The CG landscapes were amazing and the story had enough weight and intrigue to hold my interest.

A solid 8/10

I've only seen the trailers, but I thought they looked really, REALLY crap.
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8mm 2 is one of the worst films i ever saw and only redeeming feature is the amount of nudity involved. Also has one of worst twists in history.

also watched We Own the Night its a good film, nothing new or groundbreaking but seen a lot worst movies

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