Thus here is a bigger and sillier movie, albeit one not nearly as clean and well-structured as 2015’s My Fair Lady by way of axe-wielding superspies.
It was a spy version of My Fair Lady, and it worked, because in it’s world building of an original action series, it was also a tongue in cheek parody of the James Bond franchise, to the degree of creating brand excitement for young people in it’s audience to consider the purchase of sharp, tailored suite carried by the Mr. Porter brand in the same way Bond timelessly sports a Timex watch and drives an Aston Martin.
2014’s Kingsman: The Secret Service has a fairly succinct premise: an ultra-violent, laddish James Bond crossed with My Fair Lady, from Kick-Ass director Matthew Vaughn.
While not shy on carnage, the earlier “Kingsman” focused on Eggsy’s transformation from a streetwise hood into a dapper young super-spy — basically, the movie was “My Fair Lady” meets James Bond, as Eggsy learned to dress smart, talk properly and save the world, taking his shirt off just often enough to remind what the movie was really selling.
If the first film drew its magic from a “My Fair Lady”-like attempt by Firth to prove breeding doesn’t determine gallantness, the sequel lacks a central idea.
At the end of the first film, he’d gone through his My Fair Lady-riffing transformation to become a fully-fledged member of the titular secret service operation; this one drops us, Bond-style, into the midst of a big set piece involving a former rival and a ludicrously violent and over-the-top punch-up in the back of a speeding cab.