Steven Spielberg’s The Adventures of Tintin, the long-awaited onscreen version of the beloved graphic novels, merges three of the most popular books into one brisk, charming, enjoyable romp. As someone who hasn’t read the graphic novels since I was 5 or 6, I can’t speak for how diehard admirers might react to the film, but for me, The Adventures of Tintin has the exact same feel as Spielberg’s Catch Me If You Can from 2002—an expertly paced, light flick that’s essentially well-executed across the board, but never aims too high. While there’s absolutely nothing to actively dislike about The Adventures of Tintin, there very little to deeply admire either, aside from easily the best motion-capture animation that’s I’ve seen to date. It’s polished and smooth, and helps make Tintin’s world much more realistic than we’re accustomed to from the genre. Otherwise, though, everything falls under the umbrella of “good.” The (voice) acting, the script, the story itself…it’s all fine, but nothing to write home about. Of course, this is a large part of modern-day Spielberg—he rarely swings for the fences anymore, like he did with Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1975) or Schindler’s List (1993), and it seems unlikely that War Horse, his other 2011 release, will buck that trend. Still, we can be thankful that we still have a director who can give us consistent, blockbuster goodness without morphing into Michael Bay, and Spielberg certainly fits that bill: there’s more than enough magic left in his directorial chair to keep The Adventures of Tintin entertaining. I just wish he’d pushed the envelope a bit further…but maybe he did more than enough to satisfy the legions of Tintin fans out there. I’m eager to find out.

64/100

And here, in fine contrast to Tucker and Dale vs. Evil, is a cult picture that’s completely comfortable in its own skin. Originally designed as a short film for Quentin Tarantino’s Grindhouse, Hobo With a Shotgun is balls-to-the-wall, self-aware bloody pulp entertainment. It begins with a homeless man (Rutger Hauer) witnessing a particularly brutal decapitation: the film’s central villain, a certifiable madman by the name of Drake (played by a gleefully over-the-top Brian Downey), wraps a manhole cover around his brother’s head, drops him into said manhole, attaches the cover to a car, and orders the car to speed away. The gory mess that ensues includes Drake’s playgirls dancing in the spraying blood, which firmly establishes the tone: we’re in for an hour and a half of Kill Bill-esque stylized kills. Oh, there’s the typical underdog hero storyline, including the requisite girl—Hobo With a Shotgun reminds me most of Robocop, with the flying body parts, lunatic bad guy and his gang, and ultimate redemption—but really, this one’s all about bloody laughs and entertainment. Even the goofy dialogue feels right at home. Some may dismiss Hobo With a Shotgun as not worth the bother, but for those who want to check their minds at the door and enjoy a poor man’s QT picture, this is a terrific choice.

67/100

Ah, fatherhood. As I can personally attest, it most certainly does change your life, and 90% of that change is for better. Among other things, it forces you to man up and take responsibility in a whole new way; opens up your heart; inspires you to be better; and torpedoes your sleep schedule. It also reminds you that you’re now a role model in a priceless, one-of-a-kind way, and that’s the subject of Andrea Blaugrund Nevins’ documentary, The Other F Word—the striking way that paternity tamed a score of rebellious punk rockers whose previous claim to the letter was firing F-Bombs left and right everywhere they went, particularly on stage. Nevins does a nice job of depicting the balance that these fiercely independent folks find between keeping their identity as a man and developing a new one as a daddy. Tony Adolescent of The Adolescents is particularly entertaining to watch, but really, it’s a trip watching all of these hard-core, tattooed musicians scramble to explain away a cuss word in front of their daughter. It’s a pretty one-note documentary, though. Some really sweet moments and an interesting topic don’t warrant a feature length picture in the format we’re given. It’s just too much of the same without much breadth of scope. However, we do get to see Flea of Red Hot Chili Peppers cry. That earns The Other F Word some bonus points in my book.

53/100

Though the bloodily cartoonish Tucker and Dale vs. Evil definitely has its moments—and nobody can deny the tender heart beating under its campy, gory exterior—I can’t help but feel this was a missed opportunity: a cult classic was totally possible here. Judging by the buzz, it’s possible that it might still reach that apex…but I’d be surprised, because this goofy, over-the-top tale of college students on a camping trip warring with two local West Virginia hillbillies (Tucker, Dale) lacks a core identity. It’s not laughably, brilliantly bad like, say, The Room or Samurai Cop—in fact, Tucker and Dale vs. Evil offers a sympathetic look at the brutal stereotypes that plague rural folk from Middle America. It’s not pure, guns-blazing mindless fun like Peter Jackson’s early work. It’s not even Bubba Ho-Tep. Instead, we’re treated to a little of all these things, but the portion sizes are too small to generate any consistency. The acting isn’t giddily fun (Tommy Wiseau, anybody?), nor it it outright atrocious, but it is pretty clunky…though to its credit, it improves as it goes along across the board. The kills have some clever homages, particularly one to a famous Coen Brothers sequence, but lack imagination otherwise. The finale is hokey central. And yet…despite its numerous shortcomings, Tucker and Dale vs. Evil is so damn endearing anyway. Or at least it winds up that way once the woodsy dust has settled and you ruminate on the entire affair. So, while I can’t fully endorse it, even within the boundaries of what it’s supposed to be,  I can say you could do far worse for some mindless fun, and who knows—your mileage may wildly vary. For me, though, this picture defines a mixed bag.

49/100