FILM / “This Ain’t That Kind of Movie”: An Analysis of Gender and Sexuality in the Kingsman Franchise (in Contrast to the Traditional Spy Film Genre) / Delaney Burk
Image © 20th Century Fox
We open upon an examination room. Sean Connery, as James Bond, is shirtless and as smarmy as ever. A nurse carefully examines his torso for injuries. As she stands upright to inform him of her findings, he slides his arms around her and holds her to him, pressing their lips together into a kiss. As she squirms and struggles to pull away, he holds her tighter, expression unchanging as he refuses to relent and let her go. She is eventually released and all she is able to say in her defense is a curt “Behave yourself, Mister Bond”. The sexual misconduct is played for laughs for the entirety of his examinations, including instances of him being held down to a metal examination table as she jovially teases “There now, first time I’ve felt really safe all day” and his assurance that she will not lose her job, so long as he can join her in the sauna for some “private time”. All of these encounters take place over the course of one film, Thunderball – the highest grossing James Bond film of all time, making $63.5 million (valued today at $624 million) (Guerrasio).
The spy film genre and tales of espionage have been a major sect of the action film category for decades. With the popularity of film noir in the forties and combined efforts of directors like Alfred Hitchcock and Terrence Young, it is no surprise that audiences were gunning for more tales that combined the titillation of a mystery with the action and suspense that had become more desirable since the rise in war films during various conflict periods (Crow). And with that desire, Hollywood executives came to realize that there was a lot of money to be made in serializing such stories into a household name that could take on the perfect combination of action and surveillance – His name was Bond. James Bond. Since James Bond shot his way onto the big screen in 1962, the films of the super-spy have grossed a total of over $4.8 billion ($11.7 billion, if one were to account for inflation) (Guerrasio) and have inspired dozens of homage series’ (Mission Impossible, Jason Bourne) and parody works (Austin Powers, Johnny English). But in recent years, more and more critics have come to question the validity of this fame. Blowing up castles and hyper-specific drink orders can not necessarily make up for a franchise that is so heavily rooted in a white male imperialist point of view and while these films can serve as a huge piece of cinema history, the heavy-handed racism (Bond’s “Japanese disguise” in You Only Live Twice (1967)), sexism (Bond forcing himself on Pussy Galore – and her name in itself – in Goldfinger (1964), and homophobia (the queer-coding of Skyfall’s (2012) primary villain, Raoul Silva) that has been displayed through the decades that the films have been made cannot just be brushed aside in favor of clinging to a “guilty pleasure but one in which the pleasure is increasingly overwhelmed by the guilt” (Penny). Within Hollywood, male writers and directors have overtaken the spy film genre and have made their thoughts on gender very clear. They believe that traditional femininity can only be weaponized if it is sexualized (as seen when one compares the villainy of Sévérine (Skyfall – 2012) to Rosa Klebb (To Russia with Love – 1963), and if it is not weaponized, then the woman had might as well be dead (As seen in the “joke” that every woman that James Bond sleeps with is destined to die). As for the men (specifically in the case of Bond himself), chauvinistic and toxic masculinity is the only way to go. And if one does not fulfill such “ideals”, then the character is queer-coded and, by extension, made to appear as a villain (as seen in the case of Raoul Silva in Skyfall (2012) and Colonel Rosa Klebb in To Russia with Love (1963) – or in the case of Pussy Galore (a lesbian in the original Bond texts and simply “immune” to Bond’s charms in the films), one can be evil until Bond forces himself on them, turning them both straight and good, thus “reinforcing an implicit link between heterosexuality and goodness, and homosexuality and evil” (Spungen 16). How can one enjoy a film series that has been so reliant on the exploitation of various minority groups for so many years? Laurie Penny points out that “it is possible to watch the films ironically, but it is hard to sustain a rigorous internal critique when the scenery is blowing up and Dr No must be stopped at all costs” (Penny), recognizing that the overstimulation of the genre may be one of the reasons it has done so well. After all, one does not need to think too hard about the implications of Bond threatening a woman with sexual assault when in the next scene, he’s jumping out of helicopters and charmingly ordering another martini. But is there a way to form a cohesion between the excitement of espionage with a more modern recognition of the problematic nature of Bond?
Answering that call Kingsman: The Secret Service, one of the very same films that James Bond inspired the creation of. This 2015 film made by Matthew Vaughn and Mark Millar (the minds behind the genre-twisting superhero film Kick-Ass), pays homage to the traditional Bond films through knife-tipped shoes and mirrored dinner scenes, as well as nodding to its various successors. At the same time, the film still subtly calls out its predecessors on their poor character treatment. Vaughn and Millar present a wide variety of characters that twist the gender roles and tropes that spy film consumers have come to expect over time, thus proving that sticking to the mentality of “if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”, does not quite work when one’s notion of “ain’t broke” comes from a protagonist that feels that it is perfectly fine to spank a woman to get her to leave a “men’s talk” (Goldfinger – 1964) or is surprised by the very notion of a female doctor (Moonraker – 1979).
Going toe-to-toe with Bond in the protagonist role is Eggsy Unwin, played by newcomer Taron Egerton. Eggsy is initially presented as the traditional “bad boy with a heart of gold” – a young man coming from a broken home that just needs to be molded into a gentleman in order to succeed. Despite being placed into the spy genre archetype of the protégé, he shares very few traits and tropes with the James Bond character, and of the few that do match up, they are specifically stated to be downplayed, such as in the case of the Chick Magnet trope (“A Chick Magnet is a guy who draws girls to him like bears to honey (and if he's not careful, with similar results). He's not The Casanova or Kavorka Man, but he pulls girls in about as fast as they do, if not faster” (TV Tropes – Chick Magnet)), in that, during his Kingsman training, the female recruits are more likely to side with him simply because he is not classicist and interacts with them as equals, or in the case of the Chivalrous Pervert trope (“He can't stop ogling the ladies. But unlike some who ogle the ladies, he actually cares about them as people. Woe betide anyone who wrongs women, for he's watching you like a hawk—when he's not watching them, that is. Undoubtedly the best type of pervert” (TV Tropes – Chivalrous Pervert)), as he is shown to be flirty throughout both Kingsman: The Secret Service and Kingsman: The Golden Circle, but it is often the women that he encounters (in the cases of Princess Tilde and Clara Von Gluckfberg) that wish to extend the verbal seduction into the physical, such as when Eggsy teasingly suggests kissing Tilde before he frees her, only for her to suggest pursuing anal intercourse once he had thwarted Richmond Valentine’s plan (Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)). Alternately, the shared tropes are said to be twist, such as in the case of the Cruel to be Kind trope (“A situation where something sounds, appears, or feels like it is absolutely horrible or evil is actually an act of kindness. Essentially, it is a misunderstood action by the characters, who believe the action is being performed for nefarious purposes, while it is actually being performed to assist” (TV Tropes – Cruel to Be Kind)), a trope often employed by Bond as he deals with women and various films (Bond becoming overtly intimate with Sévérine upon just meeting her, only to reveal that she had once been a sex slave (Skyfall – 2012), is used by Eggsy as he threatens to shoot Harry Hart in an attempt pull his mentor from his amnesia (Kingsman: The Golden Circle – 2017). Extending from traits, his physical talents lie in gymnastics (“Your coach had you pegged as Olympic team material” (K:TSS) and flirtatious seduction, abilities almost exclusive to “Bond Girls”. Yet even with so many of his abilities resting in the category of romanticism and sexuality, he is reluctant to have sex with targets out of concern for his relationships (“Hi, babe. Uh . . . bit of a nightmare. I’ve got to sleep with a target, but I won’t do it unless you agree that it’s alright” (K:TGC)). He is portrayed to be intensely emotional, given how quick he is to cry throughout both movies, a trait that contrasts him significantly from the sociopathic nature of the traditional Bond. And he is deeply family-oriented in regard to his mother, sister, and companions (Meadows), as well as remaining loving and faithful to Princess Tilde, his girlfriend/fiancé following the end of the first film (another specific jab at the Bond franchise, given how the super-spy never remains with a Bond Girl for more than a movie or two). He is arguably the Bond for the feminist consumer, which is lovely, but his presence serves to emphasize just how low the bar is set.
For every protagonist, there is an antagonist, and said role comes in the forms of Samuel L. Jackson as Richmond Valentine and Sofia Boutella as Gazelle. Valentine is a self-made millionaire with the Liberal inclination to save the planet for the Conservative rich, while his henchwoman, Gazelle, remains by his side throughout the film and is intent on assisting him in any way that she can. At first glance, both appear to be the standard male-female villain duo, but in reality, their presence serves to expose the gender roles that have permeated the concept of such partnerships, both as individuals and as a pair. Valentine, like Eggsy, can be deeply emotional. He is quick to anger and frets over his plans (“Fuck that guy, whoever he is. I’m gonna . . . he made me blow up Professor Arnold. I goddamn love Professor Arnold.” (K:TSS)), and is just as easy to please (as seen when he delightedly grins at Harry Hart upon revealing that their fancy dinner is just McDonald’s on a silver platter). His attire is bright, flamboyant street fashion, contrasting him from the traditionally monochrome attire of just about every character in a Bond film. He fears blood and gore to a point of sickness (“No stomach for violence. I mean, literally, I see one drop of blood, that is me – done. I’m like projectile” (K:TSS)), making his willingness to blow up the heads of various political leaders if they betray him all the more macabre (Mirth Machine), as it emphasizes that his fear comes from seeing the violence and not from carrying it out. Finally, he speaks with a “feminizing” lisp, a decision made by Samuel L. Jackson with the intent of making Valentine the sort of character that had been “brushed aside a lot in his youth, and that made him smart as an adult” (Jackson – TODAY Show). On the other hand, Gazelle is neutral in all moments of violence, attacking and killing anyone that stands in her way and her weapon of choice (the stainless-steel swords that make up her body from the knees down) serve as a parody of prominent Bond film pun of “killer legs” (See the For Your Eyes Only poster). She dresses in all black and rarely is her attire traditionally feminine, yet another contrast from the Chainmail Bikini trope (“Usually when you include sexy characters in a work, you want to put them in revealing clothing for maximum fanservice. But what if these characters are warriors who are expected to wear armor into battle?” (TV Tropes – Chainmail Bikini)) that is so prominent in Bond films. She rarely speaks, and when she does, she is to the point and blunt (In response to Valentine’s inquiry as to why no one is celebrating: “I don’t know. Could have something to do with the mass genocide” (K:TSS). Additionally, Vaughn and Millar decision to carry out a “gender role swap” is emphasized when one considers that in the original The Secret Service comic book, Gazelle was a man, as male-female villain pairs are rare. When such combinations are portrayed, they are depicted one of two ways; one, the characters fulfill traditional gender roles, with the female of the team often being mocked for traditionally feminine traits that therefore equate to weakness (Joker and Harley Quinn of the Batman franchise, Blair and Chuck of Gossip Girl) or two, a gender-role swap occurs and it is played for laughs (Drakken and Shego of Kim Possible, Sharpay and Ryan of the High School Musical franchise). However, Valentine and Gazelle, despite the archetype titles of “villain” and “henchwoman”, are portrayed to be equals. They share nearly every scene they are present in. Valentine is intent on ensuring that Gazelle has as much a role in the plan as he does, by showing her every method of security and tech he has formed. She protects him from anyone that wishes to foil their plot (Outside of executing anyone he asks her to, she tackles him to the ground when Eggsy attempts to assassinate him) (K:TSS). Gazelle is the only person Valentine trusts enough to not put a S.I.M. card into her head, thus ensuring that if somehow the plan did fall apart, she would not be killed with the rest of the world’s leaders (K:TSS). Vaughn and Millar damned the relationship-based gender roles that have permeated the spy film genre and were intent on depicting the duo as equals from the start.
Finally, one must consider the character that seemingly fulfills the tropes of the traditional James Bond – Colin Firth’s Harry Hart a.k.a. Agent Galahad. Everything about Harry screams James Bond; from the impeccable suits and demure fashion choices, to the preference for action over planning, to the overall pride in elegance, manners, and what it means to be the traditional gentleman spy. But there is one specific trait that Vaughn and Millar apply, aligning Harry more with the Bond franchise’s villains than it’s hero; Harry is heavily queer-coded. With so many debates coming about regarding the compulsory heterosexuality of Bond films (Primarily based in the dispute that 1971’s Diamonds are Forever is “redolent with homosexual imagery and bodily threat to the heterosexual male” (Cox 185) and the fact that various actors that have played James Bond have been quite opposed to the idea; Daniel Craig stated bluntly in an interview with E! News that James Bond was not gay and Roger Moore speaking out multiple times about how James Bond should “never be a gay man or a woman”) and its various likeminded works, it would seem unlikely that a character created to emulated such a protagonist so closely would be gay (especially in a manner that is not made to be a joke, in line with the gender-role swap of male-female villain pairs). But dozens of moments throughout Kingsman: The Secret Service and Kingsman: The Golden Circle suggest otherwise. When Harry intends to leave The Black Prince, a member of Eggsy’s stepfather’s crew fires off a jibe reliant on homophobia (“If you’re looking for another rent boy, they’re on the corner of Smith Street” (K:TSS); said scene is mirrored with a Statesman agent in the sequel (“[You look] like some faggot looking for an eye-fucking . . . Suck my Southern dick, bitch” (K:TGC). And in both instances, he reacts by locking the offenders in an enclosed space (arguably locking them “in the closet”) and fighting back violently. He is visibly uncomfortable during the South Glade Mission Church’s sermon that is filled with statements of racism, homophobia, sexism, and bigotry and in his own form of protest, claims a cover that features a specification of homosexuality (“I’m a Catholic whore, currently enjoying Congress out of wedlock with my black, Jewish boyfriend who works at a military abortion clinic. So, hail Satan and have a lovely afternoon, madam” (K:TSS)). One of the most controversial scenes in the first film, in which Princess Tilde initiates anal intercourse with Eggsy (“Sorry, love. Got to save the world.” “If we save the world, we can do it in the asshole?” (K:TSS)) is mirrored in the sequel between Harry and Elton John, to the point of a suggested back-stage pass (“If I save the world, could I have two tickets to your next concert?” “Darling, if you save the world, you can have a backstage pass” (K:TGC). During his period of regression in the sequel, his amnesiac self is portrayed to be a soft-spoken and gentle lepidopterist with an inclination towards puppies and his mother’s care (“I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to go home. I want to see mother.” (K:TGC), suggesting that if he were not placed into the Bond role, i.e. this inherently violent archetype, he would not be the ferocious and brutal man he is seen to be (given the infamous church scene alone).Even Colin Firth has made a point to specify the ambiguity of Harry’s backstory in several interview, specifically in regards to his sexuality (“We don’t know if he’s married, or ever was married. We don’t even know if he’s straight” (Firth)). The entire point of this queer-coding is to emphasize that the argument of having a “gay Bond” should not be an argument at all. Harry turns the idea of Bond needing to automatically equate to being a ladies man on its head. He is still the ultimate super spy, down to his bespoke tailoring, outrageous gadgets. And if he happens to have a crush on Elton John? So be it.
Kingsman: The Secret Service was able to dedicate its concept to the original spy film genre while still making a place for itself overall. Vaughn and Millar recognize that masculinity is such a prominent feature in said films but have been able to stand by the notion that masculinity should not mean anything other than “identifying as a man”. Their male characters are all incredibly different, yet share one defining feature: their “manhood” is not rooted in toxic masculinity. This major step is what separates Kingsman from its predecessors. While said film still leaves much to be desired on many fronts (the “fridging” of Roxy Morton, the fact that all but one non-white character in the franchise are villains, etc.), it stands far ahead of Bond and Bourne and, hopefully, can serve as a guiding light for works that wish to head further into a future of representation in equality and espionage.
Delaney Burk grew up in Alexandria, VA and earned her BA in English with a Creative Writing focus at Virginia Commonwealth University. She's been previously published in Crab Fat Magazine, From Whispers to Roars, Gravitas Magazine, Bottom Shelf Whiskey, Cleaning Up Glitter Literary Journal, Coffin Bell Journal, Compressed, Defunkt Magazine, and Lunch Ticket. She is currently interning for Feels Blind Literary Magazine, attending George Mason University's MFA program, and unpacking her complicated relationship with the works of Stephen King.
