Kingsman: The Secret Service is the latest big-budget offering by Matthew Vaughn, the man who brought us Kick-Ass and Layer Cake and X-Men: First Class and as far as I am concerned can pretty much do no wrong. And does none here. Or none to speak of.

Kingsman, like Kick-Ass, apparently is based on a comic book that I hadn’t previously heard of. Basically it’s about a common teen recruited to join a super-secret classic-Bond-style spy agency that’s run out of a Savile Row tailor shop. The movie, I mean. I don’t know what the comic is about because I’ve still never seen it, but it could be about elephants eating Cornettos for all it matters because it doesn’t matter at all. (Like that one? I’m tired.) Point is, this is a glossy and violent and smart movie and it’s the most fun you’ll have at the theatre all spring. I should know, I’ve seen it a bunch of times already. What can I say? I’m behind on reviews.

Let’s address a couple of things for a moment. Certain people won’t like this movie. They’ll think it’s hideously, over-the-top violent (it is), that it contains a particularly racy sexual quip (it does), that Samuel L. Jackson’s forced lisp is annoying (eh) and that it’s just awful to glamorize these sorts of things and so on and so forth. But this film is far too fun to take any of that seriously. It’s raucous, it’s shocking in all the right ways, it has a good heart, it’s nicely paced, and it never lags. It’s like cotton candy for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It’s a velvet smoking jacket with a Big Mac. And speaking of which, it has plenty of fodder for the proper gentleman’s sartorial corkboard, all of which has actually been produced and is being sold on Mr. Porter under the Kingsman label. Gotta hand it to them, that’s some clever cross-branding.

It also offers up the single best Colin Firth scene in the history of film. Go forth, ye, regard, and have ye some fun.

Haus Verdict: A wild, playful, hectic romp that’s everything you’ve heard, and then some.