Kingsman: The Golden Circle ½

As we draw closer to the end of the year, I was worried that I hadn't yet found an offensively terrible film from 2017. Sure, there'd been some shockers, but they were all either just unremarkable or, in the case of The Book Of Henry, compellingly awful. So imagine my relief when I saw Kingsman: The Golden Circle.

Kingsman is much like the original, only moreso. It is full of the same fetishised hyper-laddishness, still has the tendency to confuse swearing for wit or intelligence, with the same contrivances and plot holes. And my god do I mean contrivances; one tediously drawn out plot point requires a character to plant a tracker on someone's girlfriend, something which in this film can only be done by fingering her at a music festival. The action sequences are, again, terrible; all bluster, they lack any sense of choreography and are stylised to the point of elastication, the cast becoming more cartoon than person, with the result being that there's no real sense of danger.

This problem is writ large throughout the film, literally and structurally. The strings stir and the cast put on their best "acting" faces when one character sacrifices themselves for the others, but Colin Firth did that in the last film and is still alive through a plot turn from which even a 5 year old would demand greater logic, so why should I assume this character can't do the same? Elsewhere, the plot twists are telegraphed with such ham-fisted attempts at nuance in an otherwise on-the-nose film that a viewer whose only prior experience with motion pictures was Barney's Great Adventure would see them a mile off.

Cinematic dog shite of the highest order.