DIRECTOR Matthew Vaughn returns to the world of over-the-top spy shenanigans with this bloated and curiously inconsequential follow-up that certainly looks the part but winds up a bit of an empty suit.

Straight away our newly minted young spy hero Eggsy (Taron Egerton) finds himself, alongside friend and mission support agent Merlin (Mark Strong), stranded without purpose when the key Kingsman locations are destroyed by a shadowy international organisation run by the ruthless Poppy (Julianne Moore).

Evidence directs them to a locked safe in which the seal on a whisky bottle points them across the pond and into the back yard of Statesman, a distinctly American cousin to the Kingsman run by people with alcohol-related codenames like charismatic head honcho Champagne (Jeff Bridges). With the help of Statesman agents Tequila (Channing Tatum) and Whiskey (Pedro Pascal) they set out to stop Poppy who is hell-bent on inflicting her will on the world.

The infinitely more enjoyable predecessor, The Secret Service, had that plucky, out-of-nowhere surprise factor that gleefully slapped you in the face with wildly inventive and knowingly preposterous set-pieces as we watched council estate youth Eggsy work his way through elite training to become a card-carrying, sharp-suited agent of the eponymous age-old spy outfit.

But in form as much as intention, the sequel has already backed itself into a corner as Eggsy takes on an international drug empire. It lacks the genuine button-pushing controversial flavour that made the first so worthy of time and attention, stabbing again and again at the jugular already well bled out by this point.

It takes its sweet time doing it, clocking in at a bewildering 141 minutes populated by action that simply rests on the laurels of what worked last time. It’s not that it lacks action – there’s always something attention-grabbing happening on-screen – but it feels bizarrely muted and samey, hindering any action moments that could shine bright in a sea of overly CGI-reliant visual noise and snidely profane accompanying dialogue.

It’s populated by an infuriatingly wasted cast; a dead-on-arrival case of cramming too many big names for the sake of it and not giving them enough to do. A heavily Southern-accented Tatum is fun but he’s barely in a handful of scenes, quite literally getting frozen out of the plot for much of its runtime. Bridges does his Bridges thing but his inclusion feels like it was an afterthought that took a mere afternoon to film.

Moore seems like she’s the only one playing things at the right note of odd cheerfulness contrasted against the wicked acts she commits against those around her. But she’s also given very little to do beyond threaten a plan that feels like a mere rehash of Samuel L Jackson’s demented villain from the last film.

Then there’s the return of Colin Firth as Eggsy’s mentor Harry whom we last saw being shot point blank in the head. While he’s certainly a fun character, and you can kind of understand them succumbing to the temptation of bringing him back, it nevertheless feels like something of a cheat that undermines the impact of his dramatic “death”, not to mention lowering the morality stakes for the rest of the film when seemingly anyone can be brought back via what can only be described as futuristic Bonjela.

There’s still a definite impressive kind of confidence in the slick, over-the-top world that it presents. But the gleeful, welcoming glint in its eye that made the first one such a ridiculous joy has been replaced by a smug grin from ear to ear, making this overstuffed sequel a bit of trudge to wade through.