I think it gets a lot right: the inheritance of depression (how much am I loving Anton Yelchin lately?); the way one hurting family member can alter and upset the lives of the entire household; how imagining a better version of yourself can actually produce that self into being. And I also think The Beaver really missed the mark in a lot of places, too: the lack of chemistry between Gibson and Foster; the resolution of the puppet plot; and the melodrama, my God, the melodrama.
I'm still feeling pretty conflicted about this one. I'm not ready to heartily recommend it, but I'm also not willing to write it off. It's one of those maddening movies that gets thisclose to relevance, and drops the ball.