Kingsman: Golden Circle a Misogynist Swirl

Movie Review: Kingsman — The Golden Circle

Director Matthew Vaughn loses the satirical dimensions of the graphic novel in this second live-action adaptation of Mark Millar and Dave Gibbons’s sendup of the gentleman spy archetype, and not even the A-list cast of Colin Firth, Julianne Moore and Jeff Bridges can save this vulgar parade of obscenity

Kingsman: The Golden Circle

2/5

Starring: Colin Firth, Taron Egerton, Channing Tatum, Jeff Bridges, Mark Strong

Directed by: Matthew Vaughn

Running time: 141 minutes

Rating: Restricted

By Katherine Monk

The first one offended in a bid to entertain, leaving Colin Firth with a hole in his head and a bad taste in our mouth. This one tries to make amends by setting aside the references to sodomy, repairing relations with the American South with a swig of bourbon, and resurrecting Colin Firth for another round of gratuitous violence yielding an umbrella.

Deep down, everything about Kingsman is cartoonishly crass and vulgar. Then again, it’s supposed to be, because the very premise of this franchise is to skewer the notion of the gentleman spy.

Ian Fleming sold us on the idea that the world of international espionage was sexy, full of cool tech gadgets and, most importantly, classy. James Bond could be killing someone with his bare hands one minute, only to walk into a black tie game of baccarat the next. Fleming and the film franchise sterilized the violence by stretching an aristocratic sense of entitlement into the concept of national security.

Assumptions of morality are so built in to the formula, we don’t even notice how bourgeois the idea of social justice really is. James Bond transcends all. He has a license to kill because he’s well-dressed and knows which bottle to wine to pair with pate.

Then along come Mark Millar (Kick-Ass, Logan) and Dave Gibbons (Watchmen, with Alan Moore), two graphic novelists with a darkly subversive edge, to upset the apple cart with the comic book series called Kingsman.

Ian Fleming sold us on the idea that the world of international espionage was sexy, full of cool tech gadgets and, most importantly, classy. James Bond could be killing someone with his bare hands one minute, only to walk into a black tie game of baccarat the next. Fleming and the film franchise sterilized the violence by stretching an aristocratic sense of entitlement into the concept of national security.

Making its print debut in 2012, we were introduced to the seminal players: A fancy-pants gentleman spy and his street urchin protege. The gentleman spy was the new brand of Professor Higgins, transforming the hormone-fuelled character of ‘Eggsy’ into a Savile Row-attired super spy.

It was ruthless social satire distilled into two dimensions, and the authors set the tone in the opening panels as they start the saga with the kidnapping of Hollywood actor Mark Hamill. A gentleman spy frees him from an alpine prison, prompting a daring ski chase culminating in an escape off a cliff. It’s a familiar scene, only this time, the parachute doesn’t open. The spy and Hamill both fall to their deaths.

The shock was comic, and they just ramped it up from there, turning Eggsy into a symbol of the underclass with access — and how different violence looks when it’s stripped down to its vulgar blood, bones and bruises.

Yet, unlikely as it seems given how two-dimensional movies have become, there’s a difference between graphic novels and film. We can look at images of violence, pornography and sadism with a genuine sense of distance when they’re on a printed page. We know a comic book is not documentary. It’s not a LIFE magazine image of dismemberment via landmine.

Yet, start to mingle the two forms, and the necessary safe distance required for entertainment gets a little uncomfortable — which is a roundabout way of explaining why I can’t stand these Kingsman movies.

In the translation from two to three dimensions, and in the hands of director Matthew Vaughn, the redeeming social satire gets entirely lost in the chaos of bad taste and underlying misogyny.

The first film ended with the reward of sodomizing a Swedish princess. This one features a gangster’s mol who doesn’t mind a golden shower.

Fortunately, it also features Julianne Moore as Poppy, a psychotic drug lord living in the jungle. Cutting the testes off the image of Al Pacino in Scarface, Poppy has recreated an American strip mall under palm fronds so she can feel at home. She hates being in exile. Moreover, she feels she deserves to be famous — given she’s the wealthiest person on the planet. Yet, like all powerful women, her story is made invisible by society.

To get even, she hatches a plan to taint all the drugs she sells, forcing the President of the United States into legalizing all illicit substances.

There’s no doubt something interesting is going on here as far as political statements, and the idea that a powerful cartel might consider killing its addicted users to further its legitimate business interests, but it gets lost in the fumbled scenes and sloppy direction.

The script is a misogynist jumble and the characters are, for the most part, unattractive. The graphic novel relied on the gong of gonzo humour, and pushing the James Bond archetype to its brittle edges. Vaughn tries to finger the same pulse, but it feels like a violation when it’s in three dimensions — a fourteen year-old’s wet dream in live action — right down to the addition of a lasso-swinging cowboy, and an absurd cameo from Elton John.

The script does get some mileage when it goes Stateside and reveals the existence of another secret society called Statesman, hidden inside a giant bottle of bourbon and populated by the likes of Channing Tatum as Tequila, Halle Berry as Ginger Ale and Jeff Bridges as the head honcho named Champagne.

These A-list talents no doubt read the script as sharp satire, but you have to feel sorry for them as they wade through the cheesy execution of Vaughn’s all-too-blunt mise-en-scene, especially Elton John — reduced to a running joke in sequins. The performances look clownish and awkward because Vaughn seems to be missing the higher purpose in order to chase the grotesque and vulgar notes.

It feels too much like petty mocking. You can’t justify bad taste when it’s not capable of making a good point, or even a notable social observation. He seems to be reading it all at face-value. The graphic novel relied on the gong of gonzo humour, and pushing the James Bond archetype to its brittle edges until they crumbled off the cliff as elitist privilege.

Kingsman: The Golden Circle stumbles in a drunken stupor into a puddle of filth, flailing its arms in futile attempt at satire, and grabbing at the cheap straw of sexism in a bid to be more than a crass, juvenile parade of mean-spirited obscenity.

@katherinemonk

THE EX-PRESS, September 22, 2017

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Review: Kingsman: The Golden Circle

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Despite the reappearance of Colin Firth and the addition of A-listers such as Julianne Moore, Jeff Bridges and Channing Tatum, Kingsman: The Golden Circle stumbles in a drunken stupor into a puddle of filth, flailing its arms in futile attempt at satire, and grabbing at the cheap straw of sexism in a bid to be more than a crass, juvenile parade of mean-spirited obscenity. The two-dimensional comic book had more depth and feeling, as well as a sense of social purpose, all of which is lost on director Matthew Vaughn. -- Katherine Monk

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