Director Matthew Vaughn and screenwriter Jane Goldman’s working relationship has to date produced four movies, three based on comic books, all of which have offered a similar set of strengths and flaws. Kingsman: The Secret Service is the latest off the production line and the most succinct review I can offer is that if you enjoyed Kick-Ass and X-Men: First Class, you’ll almost certainly enjoy this as well. Kingsman shares Kick-Ass‘ genre-spoofing premise, this time taking on superspies rather than superheroes, and throws in First Class‘ training-montage-at-a-country-manor middle act for good measure. In fact, it might even be the same manor.

Like Kick-Ass, Kingsman is based on a Mark Millar comic and while his characteristically flippant rape scenes are mercifully absent, the same formula of ultraviolence, adolescent humour and non-stop referencing of beloved pop cultural artefacts applies. Here, a streetwise London kid named Eggsy (Taron Egerton) is recruited by superspy Harry Hart (Colin Firth) to join an undercover black ops organisation known as Kingsman, who pride themselves as much on their bespoke suits and impeccable manners as their efficiency in the field. After proving his worth in training, Eggsy finds himself embroiled in an international plot by lisping industrialist Richmond Valentine (Samuel L. Jackson) to exterminate the human race with smartphones. Really.

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Kingsman: The Secret Service
Director: Matthew Vaughn
Rating: R

Release Date: February 13th, 2015

The idea of a working class superspy is a fascinating one on paper, because the genre has for so long worshipfully adhered to the James Bond formula of a hero saving the world through judicious application of imperialist white privilege – even if non-Bond movies have rarely been as self-aware about their hero’s faintly appalling nature. Whilst generally aiming for Bond throughout, the movie’s first act ends up more closely mimicking The Avengers, the ’60s British TV show rather than the Marvel comics. This isn’t just down to Harry Hart’s Steed-esque umbrella and immaculate tailoring, but the combination of an experienced and slightly rebellious old-school pro with an unconventional if talented partner. Firth is a delight as Hart, offering just enough of a twinkle in his eye above the stiff upper lip to bring out the character’s humour without compromising his integrity or turning him into a caricature. Newcomer Taron Egerton makes a worthy foil, having enormous fun with Eggsy’s council estate [Americans, read: projects] accent and incredulousness at the snooty entitlement of his fellow Kingsmen.

The early scenes in which Hart and Eggsy team up are the most enjoyable courtesy of the two stars bouncing off each other so well. Once they go their separate ways in the latter stages and Eggsy takes the lead, the movie loses track of itself and falls back too heavily on replicating the Bond formula without offering much personality of its own. Part of the reason the movie ultimately fails when it goes for the full Bond spoof is that Bond himself is so completely rooted in the imperial hero tradition that the only way Eggsy can only embody such a character is by abandoning much of the attitude which makes him unique. In the end, he’s reduced to just another action hero in a suit shooting his way through identikit corridors – no majestic Ken Adam-esque sets here – with his success down to embracing the methods and mindset of his aristocratic peers rather than his own urban upbringing.

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Like Kick-Ass, the movie mistakes referencing other material for subverting it. Hart is a cocktail of visual references, from Bond’s suits to Steed’s tricked out umbrella and Harry Palmer’s glasses, with a throwaway quip about Maxwell Smart’s shoe phone for fun. Taking a sophisticated spy down to a rough local pub is a fun spin on the exotic locales trope, but genuine wit tends to be the exception rather than the rule. A scene in which supervillain Valentine dines Hart with McDonalds is another, functioning both as a good joke on another overfamiliar genre scene and, perhaps unintentionally, the role of high-end product placement in such movies, but the lack of focus in its satire means even the best gags only really work in isolation.

Take Valentine, for instance: Sam Jackson has an absolute ball playing him, but for a movie supposedly parodying the genre’s typical stuffiness and class assumptions, it’s a little rich for the central villain to not only be a stereotypically boorish American, but a black man with a disability and a firm belief in the power of technology and the dangers of climate change. Despite Jackson’s best efforts, the character never evolves beyond his tics and is played so firmly as a figure of fun that he never feels especially threatening or memorable. The opposite is true of his sidekick, Gazelle, a beautiful henchwoman with razor-sharp blades for legs and a penchant for deadly breakdancing. She may be an unreformed Bondian villainess, a killing machine with a fabulously outré weapon, but Sofia Boutella gives her a hint of personality in her sneering attitude and relationship to Valentine that allows her to become that much more fun and engaging. She certainly fares better than the only other noteworthy female character in the movie, fellow Kingsman recruit Roxanne, whose sole purpose for existing seems to be filling the role of sympathetic female and doesn’t even get to kiss the hero.

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The movie works better as an actioner than a comedy, moving at a decent clip throughout and with an extraordinarily staged fight in a church as its centrepiece, albeit one almost ruined by Vaughn’s decision to give his action sequences the air of a judderingly overedited music video by messing with the camera shutter speeds. It’s nevertheless a consistently fun watch, even if that inability to form a coherent tone prevents it from making the most of its strengths. It’s not funny enough as a comedy, but too frivolous and bloodless to fully sell its stakes as an action movie. It’s consistently fun, but so lightweight you’ll have a hard time remembering anything about it afterwards bar the overfamiliar references. In other words, it’s exactly what you’d expect from a Jane Goldman screenplay.

It certainly has its charms, from Mark Strong being a perfect choice as the Q figure, Michael Caine doing his Michael Caine thing – though he’s an odd choice for the head of the upper-crust Kingsman, given that famous South London accent – to an enjoyable Mark Hammill cameo. Its final gag won’t sit at all well with feminists, but is appropriately and amusingly vulgar for Eggsy’s character and a good joke at the expense of the endings of Roger Moore Bond movies. The Savile Row suits are exquisite, the highlight of the movie if you like that sort of thing, and one area where the movie gets a leg up on Bond (steady) and his recent, ill-advised fling with Tom Ford’s unseemly excuse for tailoring. It’s probably the lesser entry in the Vaughn-Goldman quartet, though they’re so broadly uniform in quality that the differences are largely negligible. In other words, it all comes back to that succinct review from the introductory paragraph: if you liked Kick-Ass, you’ll probably like this too.