Kingsmen: a review

Kingsmen: The Secret Service is one of those films whose sole reason for being is to entertain. Of course a cultural critic seated in the corner will argue that much of the movie will go to waste if it’s left uninvestigated and its cultural significance unread. But sitting there on a Saturday night among the tired middle class only wanting to escape and forget for a couple of hours the dreariness of the weekday, a 9-5 worker cannot be asked more than to laugh, be amazed, and marvel at the actions materializing on screen.

It is a fun movie to watch. It asks nothing from the members of the audience but to make themselves comfortable in their smelly cinema seats while they hold a cup of extra-large Coke with their left hand and their other hands drowned mercilessly in a bucket of buttered popcorn and then to sit agape at the fast-paced plot and the almost likable characters outwitting and outmaneuvering each other.

This post, however, is not a review of the movie. Neither is this a cultural reading of the entire exercise of cinema-viewing-on-a-weekend-by-the-tired-middle-to-lower-middle-class.

This is a non-post masquerading as a legit post about a movie that is fun but empty. In a sense.

This is an empty post written to fill a space that would have been better left empty but is filled anyway because of the writer’s hubris and disdain for empty space and silence.

Because in the age when everyone is expected to talk, endlessly at times, not say anything is being treacherous to one’s kind.

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