Kingsman: Secret Service made its mark by combining the irrepressible charm of Taron Egerton with a classism-busting parody of James Bond. Forget the posh spy with his polish, prestige, and education. Eggsy was a hero who was snarky, impoverished, and streetsmart, but nonetheless had the potential to save the world. Now, forget all that. Because the latest installment, The King’s Man, certainly has forgotten what made this franchise such wild fun.
Writer/director Matthew Vaughn returns with a prequel that begins in 1902. Long before Eggsy or Harry Hart fought the contemporary evils of tech billionaires and wellness kingpins, there was the Duke of Oxford (Ralph Fiennes) and his stiff-upper-lipped son Conrad (Harris Dickinson). They believe their privilege — of affluence, status, access to the monarchy, and (unspoken) whiteness — must be employed to become the best white saviors they can be. To show they’re not as bad as the colonizing ancestors who passed down their wealth and titles, these gentlemen will build their team with a pair of adoring servants (who enjoy less privilege and little apparent autonomy). Djimon Hounsou co-stars as a Black butler named Shola, who is the team’s sword-swinging muscle. Gemma Arterton portrays Polly, a nanny who wields pistols and tough-love advice. That is when she’s not swooning (unconvincingly) over the duke twice her age.
What? Were you expecting a woman in a Mark Millar movie to not fall into a cringe-worthy trope? (The only other women in the movie are a saintly mum, who is promptly fridge, and a sultry spy, whose sole purpose is seducing one of the many powerful white men in the mix.)
In a sentimental screenplay, Vaughn and co-writer Karl Gajdusek indulge in British romanticism of aristocrats, upstairs/downstairs comradery, and the glory of war. So, their villain doesn't plot some explosively exciting climax. His goal is to literally start World War I. Instead of rambunctious battle scenes in pubs and churches, there’s trench warfare, which won’t be made whimsical by comic-style ultra-violence. It’s grim, deeply grim, making this sequel's genre switch-up a flat-out fail.
The first Kingsman movie parodied the espionage genre. Its sequel, Kingsman: Golden Circle, folded in the American spy network of The Statesman to allow a cheeky spin on the Western, or at least its cocky cowboys. In this prequel, Vaughn moves his action sequences to the frontlines for a war movie. So, its heroes are stiff stock characters made up of bravery and British poise. The cheek is gone. The unhinged levity of the first two films is lost amid the mud, muck, and many, many young men slaughtered in the name of king and country.
Meanwhile, World War I is presented as a dick-measuring contest between long-squabbling cousins, Germany’s Kaiser Wilhelm II, Russia’s Tsar Nicholas II of Russia, and England’s King George V. All three are played by winsome character actor Tom Hollander, who sports different facial hair for each. However, the movie’s nationalistic bend makes sure George V is never portrayed as comically inept or even remotely foolish as his cousins are. So, the film suggests war is stupid but assures its audience England was right to enter it.
Snarled in historic tragedy, The King’s Man just isn’t anywhere as fun as its predecessors. By focusing on the prim Oxfords, the edginess is largely lost. Harris Dickinson has a good face for period drama, but nowhere near the spark of Egerton. Thankfully, Fiennes is all-in on playing an over-the-hill action hero, mugging and caterwauling with comedic precision in chaotic action sequences. However, these zippy bits come late in the movie, and after much preaching on principal and mournful monologues that certainly sour the mood.
The most fun this meandering movie has to offer comes at the hands of Rhys Ifans, who plays the infamous Rasputin. Unaware of the casting. I assumed I was watching Peter Stormare, a character actor who has made his name playing bombastic and exhilaratingly charismatic villains. So, props to Ifans. With the movie’s Big Bad hidden in the shadows for too much screentime, Rasputin swaggers in to fill the role of the outrageous foe for this franchise outing. And he does so with the moxie and grace of a dancer. Literally. A sprawling fight sequence switches from hand-to-hand combat, to swords, and guns. All the while Rasputin fights with moves that evoke Russian dance. His long, mangy beard and flowing dark robes thrust into the air with each strong lunge, creating the kind of unpredictable spectacle that we’ve come to demand from the Kingsman movies. (Then there’s that thing he does with his tongue!) In spite of scads of callbacks to Kingsman characters and catchphrases, this wily Rasputin becomes the greatest tie to the feel of this franchise. He’s violent, lusty, impulsive, intelligent, and thrilling to watch unleashed. If only anything else in this movie hit as hard as Rasputin’s right cross.
Much more full of cringe than fun, The King’s Man is a disappointing addition to this once enthralling franchise. Absent are the characters you know and love. Largely lost is the madcap entertainment found in egomaniacal villains and their preposterous plans. By plunging the story into real-world atrocities, Vaughn seems cautious about going as big or irreverent as he has with the first two films. What he delivers is a grim and dull affair so mired in its maudlin drama that it forgets it’s meant to be a wicked romp.
The King's Man opens in theaters Dec. 22.
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