It has wow factors galore: an antiquated airplane vrooming through sooty monster clouds, high wire acrobatic stunts, sword-fencing clatter, a pasta-plump diva’s aria shattering bulletproof glass and brain-boggling combats. All these are punctuated, of course, with those memorable exclamations like “Blistering Barnacles” and “Thundering typhoons”.

Steven Spielberg’s The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn, is visual venison, served in what is called “performance-capture 3-D” (for comparisons check out The Polar Express). So far, so yahoo. Sorry but here comes the downer. If you’ve been a fan of Tintin comic books, an aquired taste during the hegemony of Superman Archie, and err... , even Little Lotta in the 1960s, then there’s something seriously amiss.
For one, the 3-D format precludes the luminous, pastel appeal of the Tintin comics. Much of this extravaganza is too nocturnal and low-lit. In fact, you’re relieved when halfway through, the screenplay moves to the sun-illuminated desertscapes and Moorish palaces. Aah, now you can actually see the cherry red cheeks and the carroty wave of hair of the eponymous journalist hero. Colour returns to his baby face, the way it return to yours.
Undeniably, for those who grew up on the comics of the Belgian artist Herge (1907-1983), a wave of nostalgia washes out all the sins which this blockbuster may have committed. Sins? Yes, you heard right. The tempo crawls intermittently, the plot becomes a cat’s cradle of confusion, and the dramaturgy is as predictable as Tintin’s unflagging stamina and hopeful disposition (there’s even a mini-dialogue on the importance of optimism). Neither can you overlook the ineffective use of such characters as the bumbling twin detectives, Thomson and Thompson, who were ever so endearing on paper.
And well, the finale is something of a cop-out. Far too obviously, cavernous space is left for a sequel — or reportedly two sequels, one of them to be directed by Peter Jackson (the helmer of the superb Lord of the Rings trilogy) and the other co-directed by Spielberg.
So much for the tsk-tsks. On the upside, the technical wizardry is astonishing, especially in the framing of profiles of faces in conversation, a fishing net waltzing right before your eyes from an extreme part of the screen. And what do you know? Doggy Snowy, often smarter than his journo master, turns out to be a scene-stealer. Come to think of it, the canine’s hop, skips, jumps and valour keeps the potpourri boiling constantly. Way to woof!
Adapted from as many as three comic books (The Crab with the Golden Claws, The Secret of the Unicorn, Red Rackham’s Treasure) , the adventures essentially concern the journo’s attempts to ensure that a sunken treasure goes to its legitimate owner Captain Haddock. Bids by a nastier-than-nasty villain to snitch the three scrolls leading to the treasure have to be thwarted. Indeed, Spielberg’s Indiana Jones series is believed to have been “inspired” by the Herge comics. Like Tintin, Indiana Jones did not covet personal glory or selfish gain. Those near-extinct elements of innocence and purity of intent are on full display once again. And so is the assertion that no matter what, do-gooders will triumph against the forces of greed.
The director prods the child in all of us with an inventive team of technicians, a pulse-pounding symphonic background music score and a limitless budget. Nastier-than-nasty is voiced impressively by Daniel Craig and the plucky Tintin is vivified with restraint by Jamie Bell.
In sum, despite its flaccid aspects, here’s Hollywood’s ticket to a joy ride. Don’t expect your exact comic book moments of childhood to return to you, and you won’t be disappointed. Enjoy with a tub of popcorn, caramel flavoured.