This time, Aaron Taylor-Johnston’s jimmy-jam-sporting doofus, Kick-Ass, embraces collective action in order to maximise the impact of his vigilante escapades. The film picks up where the last one left off then hastily replays the whole putrid saga again, virtually beat for beat. Plus, ironically deployed chirpy pop punk is used on the soundtrack, a tactic which was glib in the first film and now comes across as glib and unoriginal.
Here for every barney, the camera seems to get the nervous jitters and you lose all temporal and spacial sense of the scene. At least in the first Kick-Ass, Matthew Vaughn was able to keep the camera fairly still so you could actually witness the combat scenes. Writer-director Jeff Wadlow (potential superhero names: Doctor Inept, The Celluloid Charlatan, Captain Clusterfuck) appears to have absolutely no idea what he’s doing, what he wants to do and what he has done. Seeing the film, it’s clear that maybe the real reason he wanted out was because the film he had co-starred in was actually quite rubbish. The only thing Kick-Ass 2 proves is that Carrey was so keen to distance himself from this spandex monstrosity that he was willing to make a short-term public fool out of himself in order to save face for the long-term.
Could this be the superhero violence aria to end them all? Like The Sex Pistols and – to a lesser extent – The Wombles, the promise of the profane or the taboo evokes undue, possibly even illogical levels of excitement. Another inference from Carrey’s announcement was that this sequel had managed to trump the extreme intergenerational blood-letting of the original film - you could suddenly hear the sound of juvenile lips being licked.
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