The movie itself, a sort of bildungsroman in which raw recruit Eggsy (Taron Egerton) is given a class-conscious catapult to lethal gentlemanhood by older agent Harry (Colin Firth), was sufficiently slick and energetic that you might not notice at first what a callous, nihilistic, smirky, sexist, retrograde pile of expensive garbage it was. It even managed to make its last-call anal sex joke seem mildly charming … if you didn’t think about it too much.

The true tell in the first film was the character of Gazelle, a henchperson of the main villain, a woman whose prosthetic legs are sharp knife edges. With these she can amputate limbs, and even cut a man entirely in half. These mutilations were depicted in a sterile, near analgesic fashion; the audience is meant to titter at the loss of life and limb delivered so efficiently, with no pain, no mess. Similar dismemberments and body halvings are delivered in the sequel, “Kingsman: The Golden Circle.” It’s violence for cowardly voyeurs who want to make the people who annoy them just shut up in a way that’s silent, sterile, and thoroughly humiliating to the victim.

But the movie was successful, so now there’s the sequel, cooked up in the script department by director Vaughn and Jane Goldman. If you think having a woman co-writing the screenplay will help in the egregious gross sexism department you are mistaken; one of this movie’s “gags” involves putting a tracker on a villain’s girlfriend by means of a form of sexual assault the current president of the United States once bragged about. Eggsy performs this act reluctantly, we are meant to understand, in part because he is now in a committed relationship with the Swedish Princess who gifted him with anal sex in the first movie.

“Kingsman: The Golden Circle,” which finds the British tailors decimated and forced to join forces with a whiskey manufacturing U.S. spy network called “Statesman” and featuring such personages as Channing Tatum, Jeff Bridges and Halle Berry, is even longer than the first movie, clocking in at two hours and 20 minutes or so. As action-packed as the movie is, it feels like it’s six hours. That’s in part because the pacing is so spavined; the movie lurches twitchily from set piece to set piece and spends inordinate amounts of time on shots of its sharp-dressed characters slow-motioning into the widescreen frames showing off accessories that will be sold to you by various companies in various Kingsman tie-ins all over the Internet. (A scene wherein Firth is packing up his things finds the actor taking special care to make sure the wooden Art of Shaving soap dish is turned to the camera lens. In recent weeks, I’ve received no less than a dozen e-mails from Art of Shaving, all tied in to “Kingsman.”)