Directed by Matthew Vaughn. Starring Aaron Johnson, Mark Strong, Christopher Mintz-Plasse, Chloë Moretz, Nicolas Cage 16 cert, gen release, 117 min
Superbad meets Watchmen in this enjoyable – if sometimes jarringly violent – teen action comedy, writes DONALD CLARKE
HERE’S AN interesting suggestion. Rather than taking the superhero genre at face value, attempt a rigorous, satirical deconstruction of the increasingly weary conventions. Ponder the thin line between a desire to impose personal justice and an inclination towards violent psychosis.
Next, substitute Tom and Jerry violence for real wounds that spout blood and cause permanent damage. Point out that Spandex leotards make men look silly. Won't somebody pleasebring a post- modern edge to this po-faced universe?
Apologies for all the sarcasm, but the release of the perfectly enjoyable Kick Ass– available now at all Have Your Cake Eat It franchises – reminds us (yet again) how self- consciousness has infected every corner of the Superhero Estate.
When Alan Moore's superb Watchmen, a key text in this debate, was published in the mid-1980s the desire to subvert and pastiche had already overcome the best comic-book writers. By the time the slavishly boring film version was released last year, ironic reflection had become the default mode of communication.
With this in mind, it's hardly worth pondering what Matthew Vaughn's adaptation of Mark Millar's juicy Kick Asscomic has to say about the genre.
Aaron Johnson (John Lennon in the recent Nowhere Boy) plays a weedy kid, pals with two other weedy kids, who, inspired by his love of comic books and his feelings of social inadequacy, elects to experiment with being a costumed crime fighter. Aaron climbs into a green wetsuit and, fighting under the name Kick Ass, promptly gets beaten up by every hoodlum in town.
He does not, however, totally reject the scheme and, after a few modifications and after linking up with more terrifying allies, returns (you may now eat your cake) as an intermittently effective avenger. The usual satirical touchstones are all acknowledged.
The plot is, you will note, eerily close to that of Spider-Man. However, not least because the costumes are weirdly similar, the film offers, at first, more reminders of the recent broad comedy Superhero Movie. To be fair, the jokes are rather better than those in that farce, and the actors do manage to create moderately fleshy characters.
Over a busy opening act, Kick Assslowly develops into a mildly amusing if not particularly original variation on the high-school geek comedy. It's Superherobad.The limited budget of this Anglo- American co-production (doesn't New York looks creepily like Toronto?) shows through from time to time, but the film is never less than harmlessly diverting.
Then, about halfway through, the audience is smacked in the face by a hurtling curveball. A duo of infinitely more savage superheroes turns up to ram ninja swords through intestines, fire soft-nosed bullets into unhappy faces and fling colourful obscenities about the viscera-splattered room.
The fact that Hit Girl (Chloë Moretz) and Big Daddy (Nicolas Cage) are father and daughter and that the junior avenger is just 11 adds a genuinely transgressive surge to the movie (even more so if you object to the young actor being allowed to loudly bellow the c-word).
The sudden shift of tones is very disconcerting, but the upping of the pace compensates for any jarred sensibilities. In truth, Moretz is so engaging and her scenes so creatively savage that you find yourself wishing you were watching a (less complicated, less self-regarding) film entitled Hit Girl vs the Bad Guys.
Sadly, Vaughn's direction and Jane Goldman's script continue to fire off snarky broadsides at already heavily peppered barn doors. The most tiresome moment comes when, before the final conflagration, the team head up the stairs to the accompaniment of Ennio Morricone's theme to For a Few Dollars More.
Having enjoyed Sergio Leone's original films and noticed the music's reappearance in Kill Billand Inglourious Basterds, even the most tolerant film-goer will see this fourth-generation (fifth? sixth?) disinterment as evidence of cinematic decadence. By this stage in the Roman Empire's history, the vandals were already drinking the blood of blameless virgins.
