Curiously, a lot of the fuss and interest this movie generated for me is not because of the subject matter (Tin Tin is a comic character that has utterly passed me by) but because of the presence of Steven Spielberg collaborating with Peter Jackson. The deal, apparently, is that Spielberg took up directing duties for this movie and Jackson was producing, and for a sequel (should The Secret Of The Unicorn be financially successful) they would reverse these roles.
So Spielberg picks up directorial reins first, and also for the first time makes a movie entirely in motion capture CGI (using, I believe, the same ‘Volume’ soundstage James Cameron utilised for Avatar). It certainly still feels odd, to consider this a ‘proper’ Steven Spielberg film when it isn’t live action, and I am someone who considers themselves far more aware about how similar the film-making process is for both director and actors using this new technology. Less savvy audiences, however, are probably not going to be able to see much difference between this and, say, the process in making a Toy Story movie. Fact is, why should they? Better in this day and age that audiences turn up, sit down, and watch a CG-movie, a live action movie or a combination of both and judge it on one basis: is it any good?
So: The Adventures of Tin Tin: The Secret Of The Unicorn, is it any good?
I would consider it a practically pitch-perfect example of how a summer blockbuster should be, which is odd considering its autumn release date. Tin Tin is shamelessly all about the thrills and spills, about delivering the hackneyed “rollercoaster ride” movie, with absolute disregard for anything like depth, meaning or subtext. When done badly such a movie can become a pointless exercise in vacuous tedium. When done right, as is here, it’s about as much fun as a movie can be and the only piece lacking (perhaps not ironically in a CG film) are characters to identify and invest in.
Tin Tin is the chief issue here. Basically he becomes a plot cipher – keeping the narrative progressing by constantly questioning (honestly, I think the large proportion of his dialogue on the page must end with a question mark) and displaying unswerving, do-good determination. Except for what counts here as a moment of crisis for the character, when he believes all hope is lost, he’s an empty vessel of perpetual forward motion; there’s never any sense of what he thinks or feels about any of what is happening.
Compare and contrast to Spielberg’s other great blockbuster adventure hero, Indiana Jones (tonally and spiritually these movies occupy the same space). Dr. Jones could be found trotting the globe, bounding from one set piece action beat to the next, but always with a dry wisecrack, a grizzled demeanour and a wry sensibility. Tin Tin doesn’t possess a pixel’s worth of personality to compare with Indiana Jones and that lack of connection can really make The Secret Of The Unicorn zip past leaving you disengaged. If there’s a pertinent criticism, all style and little substance is it.
Thankfully the film does find a character to invest in with Captain Haddock. Mr. Motion Capture himself, Andy Serkis, inhabits the drunken seadog with a prestigious ancestry to wonderful effect. No disrespect to Jamie Bell as Tin Tin, but when the two are on-screen together one of them looks like they’re acting and the other looks like they’re standing around reacting. Serkis bellows out slurs and incredible half-tales with a Scottish accent, a hint of menace and an instant likeability. The moment Captain Haddock is in the frame the film wisely lets him take centre stage to carry the emotional thrust (the story of The Unicorn – a ship with generations old tales of, yes, secrets! – and Captain Haddock are inextricably entwined) and give some human worth to the mythological mystery.
Unlike, say, The Polar Express or Beowulf, where the mo-capped actors were pretty much recognisable as their real-life counterparts, the digital avatars here remain true to the comic book source (although not perfectly true, as a genius reveal of Tin Tin wittily portrays). As such the actors are unrecognisable, with only Daniel Craig’s villainous Sakharine sort of perceivable beneath the beard and glasses.
It’s bizarre, how you can sort of see the actor, but really you can see the actor’s performance. Even more disguised are double act Simon Pegg and Nick Frost as twin detectives, Thomson and Thomson, bumbling to comedic effect that is mostly harmless and sometimes funny. It’s Tin Tin’s dog Snowy that really steals the show though, with you being helpless to warm to the yapping, excitable and really uncannily clever pooch.
If the accusation is that Tin Tin is all style over substance, however, then let me just say what a style to overwhelm a movie! If it wasn’t all so deliriously gobsmacking you’d want to accuse Spielberg of showboating. Freed from the constraints of the material world his camera is let loose to roam, whip, zoom and pan anywhere and everywhere. Coupled with ingenious editing dissolves, merges and cuts the whole thing plays out like a director who knows every trick in the book being given carte blanche to cut loose and let fly with every single one of them.
Set piece follows set piece, with each becoming more dazzling than the last. Snowy leaping across moving cars, a cat and mouse chase and punch up aboard a rocking ship, a galleon-on-galleon battle that you think has to be the sequence to top everything until Spielberg unleashes the triumphant motorbike chase down a mountain replete with flood water, falls and floating pieces of paper that all takes place in one long continuous shot. It is nothing short of astonishing, and made me want to giddily clap and, right there in the cinema, rewind it so I could watch it all riotously unfurl again. Best action sequence of the summer, bar none.
You can well imagine Spielberg completing it and then looking over at his fellow producer and saying, “Peter Jackson, top that!”
The film’s climax feels a little rushed after such a high point, because *Tin Tin* is a movie that can scarcely hang around for anything. John Williams’ score flutters and fidgets with every fast-paced nuance but can’t find breathing room to unleash an iconic theme tune (unlike you-know-who with the bullwhip and hat). A little breathing room to explain a little more before the showdown would have helped build more impact – you don’t even realise you’re watching the film’s climax until, well, it’s climaxed. And then there’s an obtuse bookend of a scene that ties up some loose ends with one hand whilst dangling plot threads for further adventures with the other.
The Secret Of The Unicorn is an amazing-looking film. Check out the water of the sea and tell me if you think it’s real or computer-generated. And where it doesn’t look real it just looks great. Fast-paced, action-packed; more than enough sounds and flashing lights to beguile you from the empty centre where its leading hero’s heart should be. Blistering barnacles, it’s a blockbusting blockbuster and great snakes it's as fine an example of it as you'll find. Over to you, Jackson.
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