Based on the trailer, you might think that Kingsman: The Secret Service is essentially a “James Bond for teens”, about a troubled young man getting to live the fantasy of being taken under the wing of a suave superspy who initiates him into a world of international intrigue, cool gadgets, and that ineluctable thing called The Gentleman’s Code. And that, of course, is what the movie’s about. But there are clues, almost right away, that this is not your father’s Bond knockoff. For starters, take note of the film’s director Matthew Vaughn. He’s the same guy who did the winkingly hypyerviolent Kick-Ass (a film I hated, incidentally.) Then there’s the scene, early on, where a Kingsman named Lancelot (Jack Davenport) saves a hostage. Everything goes according to the script—he kills the bad guys without so much as rumpling his suit and then delivers a perfect bon mot as he sips on a glass of whiskey. That is, until a female baddie, with prosthetic legs that double as swords, slices him in two.
“Cool!” you might very well say. And I hear ya. If you like Vaughn’s brand of absurdist, giddy, stylized violence you will be in heaven—especially as the film goes on and gets increasingly bananas. But, judge me if you will—I liked Kingsman best when it played it straight.
Newcomer Taron Egerton plays the unlikely-named “Eggsy”, whose father was a Kingsman—a top secret independent spy ring serving Her Majesty the Queen—who died saving the lives of his fellow agents, including Harry Hart, Code Name: Galahad (an amusing—and amused—Colin Firth). Hart has promised to help Eggsy and his mother in any way he can, but there will be no public ceremonies or rewards—such is the life of a spy. Fast forward 17 years later and Eggsy is a misguided youth, getting into bar scrapes and the like. His mother has dated a series of unsavory men and they are living in near squalor. One day, when arrested for car theft, Eggsy remembers Harry’s promise and calls the secret number on the back of a medallion that Harry gave him. Just like that, the charges are dropped and Harry officially champions Eggsy as a candidate to replace Lancelot and become the next Kingsman.
Much of what follows goes as you would expect: Eggsy encounters a bunch of snobbish young men—and one pretty, supportive girl (Sophie Cookson)—who are competing for the job. Each has been recruited by a different Kingsman. (The actors playing other members of the Kingsman are so predictable, I actually laughed when they appeared on screen. Play the home game by not checking imdb.com and see if you can guess for yourself!) Through a series of tests, the recruits’ wits, loyalty, and grace under pressure are challenged. (In one ingenious running gag, they are each given a dog to look after—Eggsy chooses a pug pup, erroneously thinking it will grow into bulldog). Eggsy learns to shoot a gun, wear a bespoke suit—a centuries-old tailor shop is a front for the organization—and master the cool gadgets that come with the job.
The big bad in this film is Samuel L. Jackson, a lisping telecommunications mogul who can’t stand the sight of blood and dresses a bit like he’s in a funky-fresh dance crew. He’s got some master plan that involves satellite poisoning and free phones, which leads to the scenes of the aforementioned hyperviolence. One particularly brutal scene—a sort of fantasy revenge sequence against the Westboro Baptist Church—seems nearly interminable. As always, Vaughn likes to nudge us in the ribs, repeatedly, with his anarchic humor.
The things I liked about Kingsman—yes, the more conventional parts promised in the trailer—I liked enough to (tentatively) recommend it. And the sturdy Egerton makes for an agreeable lead. But I do wish Kingsman had been a little more enlightened in its attitude toward women. Yes, Cookson’s Roxy is a badass (although she is hilariously launched into orbit during the film’s pivotal rescue scene), but Eggsy’s mum is a pathetic wretch who falls apart without her man. And don’t get me started on the appallingly sexist gag—it involves Eggsy’s “reward” for saving the day—that closes the film. Although, come to think of it, that may be Kingsman‘s most Bondian moment of all.