KINGSMAN: THE SECRET SERVICE

Counterprogramming. The release of writer-director Matthew Vaughn’s ultraviolent, psychedelic and mad as a hatter pean to the British spy film (featuring an actual hatter, by the way), the same weekend Fifty Shades of Grey hits screens, is the definition of the word. Except for its literally cheeky final scene, I doubt it overlaps with the adaptation of E.L. James’ bestseller in any way. That’s its mission-at least from its studio’s point of view-and it accomplishes it with a lunatic boldness and style.

Vaughn may need some introduction. He cut his teeth as a producer on Guy Ritchie’s first films, two of which-Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels (1998) and Snatch (2000)-are bonafide classics of a gritty English gangster genre the pair virtually invented. In 2004 he made his directorial debut with the crime drama Layer Cake, which starred a pre-Bond Daniel Craig and which you must drop everything and see if you haven’t already. Films like Stardust (2007) and Kick-Ass (2010) followed.

It’s tempting to regard Kingsman simply as a Bond reboot aimed at millennials. The martini-shaking spy’s legacy certainly is the heart of the enterprise. It offers affectionate riffs on lethal gizmos, smart roadsters, sexy women and colorful bad guys. Its soul, however, may be the more intriguing part of the picture.

It is, after all, the story of street tough (Taron Egerton) who finds his place in the world when a debonair stranger (Colin Firth) welcomes him into a society of secret agents. The theme must have special resonance for the filmmaker who (I swear) grew up believing his father was Robert Vaughn, star of the spy series The Man from U.N.C.L.E.

With that bit of background, it’s possible to view Vaughn’s gonzo, candy-colored bloodbath as a sort of touching gonzo, candy-colored bloodbath. Firth’s a revelation in the role of Harry Hart, a deadly dandy who takes a teen named Eggsy under his wing because his father died saving his life years earlier. The kid undergoes training with a group of privileged types. Put through their paces by the great Mark Strong, they suggest Hogwarts students with dreams of automatic weapons instead of magic wands dancing in their heads.

One of the candidates, Roxy, is played by Sophie Cookson and it’s worth noting the film’s creators set a rare standard for gender parity with her role. She beats the boys at their own games. She doesn’t fall in love. She simply rocks and undue fuss is not made of the fact.

Samuel L. Jackson plays lisping tech billionaire Valentine. His diabolical scheme is to reverse global warming by ridding the planet of humanity-at least the 99% who can’t afford admission into his luxury apocalypse bunker. Little do people suspect that the free wireless service he donates to the world can be used to broadcast a signal which instantly transforms everyone connected into homicidal monsters. The plan requires the cooperation of government leaders and, pay no attention to what Vaughn’s telling interviewers today, that’s definitely Obama shown signing on the evil dotted line.

The most controversial sequence features a hyperstylized massacre in a hatemongering church. In a million years, nobody watching The King’s Speech could’ve imagined the day would come when the Oscar winner would clean house in a house of worship armed with a bulletproof umbrella. But it just did. Somewhere Tarantino is kicking himself.

Kingsman won’t be everyone’s cup of Earl Gray, natch, but it does what it sets out to do-namely give the half century-old 007 tradition a fun, frequently meta facelift. Vaughn’s always been drawn to the eye-popping visual and pulls out all the stops. His latest is a razzling, dazzling blast and a half that, by infusing the genre with fresh ideas and energy, does it a service unlikely to stay a secret.

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