Typical Americans - we just don’t get it. Like football (or as we refer to it, soccer), the Eurovision Song Contest, and any other purely continental item, the US shuns what the rest of the world embraces. This is especially true when it comes to entertainment. While Disney and the Looney Tunes seem to translate across borders, such specific comic book icons like Asterix and Obelix barely warrant recognition. The same can be said for Tintin, the ace boy reporter created by Georges Prosper Remi (under the pseudonym Herge). For over 50 years, this Belgian blockbuster appeared in more than 23 adventures, each meticulously plotted out and drawn by the author himself. For decades, fans have been eager to translate the titles into a more universal medium. While successful overseas, few of the TV/movie mash-ups have made a dent along the shores of the colony.

All of that should (hopefully) change with the stunning Steven Spielberg effort, The Adventures of Tintin. Based on 1943’s The Secret of the Unicorn and the follow-up, Red Rackman’s Treasure and utilizing the latest in cutting edge motion capture technology, the man responsible for such seminal popcorn blockbusters as Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, E.T. The Extraterrestrial and Jurassic Park has teamed up with producer Peter Jackson to try and make this basic boys adventure tale accessible to those who otherwise may not care about the character and his legions of devotees. The results are a rollercoaster ride of thrills and spills, a true leap for the otherwise awkward animation type and proof that when visionaries sit behind the lens, anything can be turned into a wondrous work of art.

There are those who understand the importance and impact of the silent era in film - and there are those that don’t. Just like the individuals who dismiss the comedy of Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton as ‘crude’ or simplistic, or fail to see the genius behind the otherwise reactionary racism in D. W. Griffith, it’s generation and era-specific. For those who believe everything is better with technology, the old days of cinema contain minimal delights and even fewer insights. Forget the fascinating work of Lon Chaney or the sprawling spectacles of Cecil B. DeMille. It’s 3D and CGI for the digital dismissive. Into this clash between classicism and the contemporary comes The Artist. A old fashioned silent melodrama with a slight modern sensibility, it is being pitched as one of 2011’s best. While perhaps not that notable, it’s still an interesting experience.

We are introduced to fading star George Valentin (Jean Dujardin) as his latest swashbuckling epic, The Russian Affair, is opening to audience hysteria. During a premiere press op, a young girl named Peppy Miller (Bérénice Bejo) finds herself photographed with the actor. The next day, she’s the talk of the town - and the Valentin household, including George’s sullen, hateful wife (Penelope Ann Miller). When studio chief Al Zimmer (John Goodman) decides to stop making silents and hop on the “talkies” bandwagon, our hero is livid. He won’t have it. He quits and goes off to make his own movie. In the meantime, Peppy is primed as the company’s latest “It” girl and quickly becomes a national phenomenon. Sadly, George sees his solo effort flop and he becomes downtrodden and destitute. Naturally, fate will find a way to bring these two destined love birds together, that is, before tragedy strikes.

As one of the sage saints of post-modern cinema, Steven Spielberg has always been branded more commercial than creative. Even though his mainstream hits - Jaws, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Jurassic Park - all have amazing aesthetic elements buried within them, it wasn’t until the Oscar-winning Schindler’s List that he was taken seriously as an artist. Since then, he’s continued to mix pop with prestige, hitting on a creative combination that sees him working within (Minority Report) and outside (A.I.: Artificial Intelligence) his considered comfort zone. After a three year absence from the silver screen, Spielberg has unleashed two new films on a wary (and waiting) public. One is the stop-motion thrill ride The Adventures of Tintin. The other is the somber WWI drama War Horse. Both are brilliant in their own ways.

The latter is based on a beloved children’s book and a famed stage production and centers around a poor farming family in Ireland. It is the eve of World War I and the Narracott brood - father Ted (Peter Mullan), mother Rose (Emily Watson) and son Albert (Jeremy Irvine) - are in deep debt to their leaseholder, Mr. Lyons (David Thewlis). Going to the local livestock auction, they hope to pick up a decent plow horse. But when parent and child see Joey, a magnificent steed made for racing, not work, they can’t resist. The decision puts them in even more trouble with their landlord.

She’s an alien in her world, a gloomy Goth visage that roams the streets of Stockholm viewing everything that passes by with a calculating, jaundiced eye. She’s been taken advantage of, used for her skills as a computer hacker and her vulnerability as a ward of the State. She’s also a user, the kind of person who plays one against another, using their fears and foibles against them in a cruel kind of human chess. She’s Lizbeth Salander, the star of the late Stieg Larsson’s international bestsellers collectively known as The Millennium Trilogy - and she’s something to behold.

First ficionalized in the brilliant The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the books meant to showcase the lingering, familial evil still rampant in the supposedly sedate country of Sweden. The tomes took off, creating an international market that included foreign features, a mini-series, and the promise of more postumous works. Now, this lithe lynx’s story has been translated into a feature film by David Fincher (following in the footsteps of the masterful version from Niels Arden Oplev), and while the plotting remains the same, as with all successful adaptations, the focus becomes something all together different… and dangerous… and delightful.

Sure, every mother worries that their child will grow up confused and maladjusted. They fear that life will take the tender and naive and make them strident and hard. Few, however, imagine their offspring as the spawn of the Devil himself, or even worse, inherently and irretrievably evil, and yet that’s exactly where Eva Khatchadourian (Tilda Swinton) finds herself at the beginning of the eclectic pseudo-horror film We Need to Talk About Kevin. The boy in question is her sadistic son, an adolescent whose just committed an appalling act of public violence. As she tries to figure out just where she went wrong, Eva comes to a startling conclusion - perhaps, she wasn’t a bad parent. Perhaps, Kevin was meant to be a killer all along.

The story starts at the end. Kevin (Ezra Miller) has locked up his fellow students in his local high school and exacted a kind of meaningless revenge on them. Eva, now alone, tries to rebuild her life. Once, she was a successful travel agent with a talented husband (John C. Reilly) on her arm. Then she got pregnant, and her life seemed to change almost instantaneously. Within a few years, she was a house-bound wife with a spoiled rotten child who seems to purposely be pushing her buttons. Even as an infant, Kevin never stops crying, never wants to be potty trained, and constantly challenges his mother’s authority. While doting on his dad, he is a demon to everyone else. When she questions his motives, everyone questions hers. Now, she is left with a series of wounds and a legacy of horror that she can’t quite handle.