3.5 stars. Rated R, for strong violence, frequent profanity, drug content and sexual candor
By Derrick Bang
This is the guiltiest of guilty
pleasures.
Director Matthew Vaughn’s Kingsman: The Golden Circle is just as
hyperkinetically loopy as its 2014 predecessor, and I mean that in the best
possible way. Both films are deranged riffs on the 1960s spy craze: from the
colorfully mod sets to the manic gadgets and weapons. Think Our Man Flint or The Man from U.N.C.L.E. ... on steroids.
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| Waitaminute ... isn't he dead? Having tracked the nefarious Golden Circle's drug-dealing enterprise to a huge lab concealed beneath a mountain ski chalet, Eggsy (Taron Egerton, left), Galahad (Colin Firth, center) and Whiskey (Pedro Pascal) plan their assault. |
The Kingsman films are over the top in all respects, which includes
frequent profanity and outrageous dollops of violence, the latter guaranteed to
whiten the faces of sensitive viewers. (Consider this ample warning.)
But none of this should be taken
seriously. These are comic book-style comedies, even if Vaughn and co-scripter
Jane Goldman repeatedly crash the boundaries of good taste. Actually, this
sequel is more palatable in one key respect: It lacks the first film’s vulgar
sexuality, which is a blessed relief.
On the other hand, this second
outing does suffer from bloat. At 141 minutes, Vaughn and Goldman overstay
their welcome by at least one frenzied action sequence. Too much of anything becomes tedious.
Following a brilliantly
choreographed, pedal-to-the-metal prologue that nearly claims the life of
Savile Row-garbed Kingsman agent Eggsy (Taron Egerton), Vaughn and Goldman kick
this second global adventure into even higher gear, with an unexpectedly
vicious housecleaning: a purge reminiscent of how 1996’s first big-screen Mission: Impossible began. When the dust
settles, only Eggsy and Merlin (Mark Strong), the organization’s fastidious
Scottish tech guru, are left standing.
Forced to activate their
organization’s emergency “Doomsday Protocol,” Eggsy and Merlin are guided to
the plains of Kentucky, and the massive Statesman bourbon distillery: actually
a front for an even more massive compatriot
spy organization that clandestinely protects the civilized world. In its own,
inimitably American fashion.
2014’s Kingsman milked considerable humor from the class divide that
initially separated Eggsy — introduced as a wayward, uncouth, working-class
bloke — from Harry Hart/Galahad (Colin Firth), the seasoned operative who
brought the young man into the fold. This film does the same, with even funnier
results, as the now-suave Eggsy and (always suave) Merlin confront their
rougher, gruffer American counterparts.
Kentucky is cowboy country, and
everything about Statesman adheres to that model, starting with boots,
pronounced drawls and plenty of denim. The primary Statesman field agents are
Tequila (Channing Tatum) and Whiskey (Pedro Pascal); their tech guru — Merlin’s
counterpart — is Ginger Ale (Halle Berry).
As for the group’s leader, who
else but Jeff Bridges would be cast
as Champagne? He has a great time sending up his various cowboy roles, down to
little gestures such as Champ’s habit of wiping his mustache with a finger
moistened in bourbon.
Vaughn finds a great excuse to
re-stage the first film’s pub fight, when Firth’s preternaturally agile Galahad
showed an awe-struck Eggsy that “manners maketh man.” This time, the Kentucky
barroom come-uppance comes from Pascal’s lasso- and whip-wielding Whiskey, with
equally satisfying results.
The key imperative, of course, is
to determine precisely who destroyed the Kingsman network ... and why. Enter
the so-called Golden Circle, a mysterious criminal enterprise led by Poppy
Adams (Julianne Moore). She’s the world’s richest and most successful
entrepreneur, which nobody knows ... because her merchandise is restricted to
the production and distribution of illegal drugs.
The obligatory anonymity vexes
her quite seriously.
Moore is a stitch: even funnier,
and more outrageous, than the first film’s lisping Samuel L. Jackson. She plays
Poppy as an America’s Sweetheart gone terribly, terribly wrong: an unwilling
expat so homesick, that she has plowed much of her ill-gotten gains into the
creation of Poppyland, a twisted blend of Las Vegas and Disneyland, built in
the jungle of her Cambodian villain’s lair.
Production designer Darren
Gilford deserves an Oscar for this set: Poppy’s dog-nuts effort to re-create
the pop-culture Americana of her childhood, complete with retro beauty salon,
bowling alley, concert hall and lavish diner, the latter doubling as her
office. Gilford and his crew paid meticulous attention to every corner, and the
result is a sinister, pastel-hued masterpiece that would be right at home in a
Tim Burton movie.
Moore’s Poppy suits this garishly
unsettling environment, as she keeps her minions in line with a sing-song,
schoolmarmish tone that belies her very, very
nasty tendencies. Why rap a miscreant’s knuckles with a ruler, when you can
summon a pair of razor-toothed robot dogs?
(One does wonder who builds all of
Poppy’s lethal gadgets. We never meet the Golden Circle equivalent of Merlin
and Ginger Ale.)
Poppy has a most unusual scheme
for world domination, which is right in keeping with Jackson’s equally demented
— and gory — machinations in the first film. As an added bit of dark humor, Poppy
little realizes that her plan suits the U.S. President just fine, given that
it’ll allow him to take care of a “little problem” that has annoyed him for years. This triggers a
clandestine “round ’em up” protocol with an uncomfortably pointed reference to
current events ... and more than a faint echo of TV’s Torchwood: Miracle Day.
As for casting, of course the U.S. President is played by
Bruce Greenwood, in an unhinged riff on his John F. Kennedy, back in 2000’s Rules of Engagement.
Moore aside — who also deserves
an Oscar nod, as one of cinema’s all-time greatest burlesque villains — this
film can’t really be praised for acting talent; the roles are too florid and
deliberately one-dimensional. Tatum’s Tequila is smooth-talking swagger;
Pascal’s Whiskey exudes a touch of roguish lothario. Berry’s Ginger Ale is
bright and perky: a droll contrast to Strong’s calmer, more thoughtful Merlin.
Egerton fares better than the
rest, giving Eggsy some depth that builds further on his unease, as a simple
bloke who still can’t quite get comfortable in his posh suits and
world-traveling escapades. He’s no more “real” than anybody else in this farce,
but he’s definitely more relatable.
Edward Holcroft pops up again as
Kingsman dropout Charlie Hesketh, now serving as Poppy’s trusted — and vicious
— lieutenant. Hanna Alström also returns as Eggsy’s beloved Princess Tilde,
whose marital intentions threaten the anonymity that a Kingsman agent must
maintain.
Emily Watson makes a spirited Chief
of Staff at the side of the U.S. President, and Poppy Delevingne is
appropriately sultry as Hesketh’s promiscuous gal pal.
But nobody has more fun, in a
supporting role, than Elton John. About which, no more will be said here.
Except to note that several of
his songs also play a key role. As was the case with the first film, Vaughn
counterpoints the considerable mayhem against highly unlikely — and often
hilariously jarring — pop, rock and even classical tunes. It’s all part of the
giddy fun.
Kingsman: The Golden Circle may represent another few paces
on the march toward the end of civilization as we know it, but my, what a way
to go...
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