Agent Cody Banks 2: Destination London

Agent Cody Banks 2: Destination London

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Agent Cody Banks 2: Destination London unleashes itself upon us like an unchained Cerberus, lasciviously devouring all basic notions of intelligence and sophistication in its destructive, rampaging wake. This is a cannibal Holocaust in the wolf-in-sheep’s-clothing guise of children’s entertainment—the John Wayne Gacy of films. My Slant colleague Ed Gonzalez slapped his own 4-F on the first Agent Cody Banks, labeling it “kiddie porn.” We might best extend that metaphor to this even more officious sequel: Call it “kiddie porn-squared.” The discomforting double entendres fly fast and furious from frame one. Teenage super spy Cody (Frankie Muniz) attends a C.I.A. training facility named Kamp Woody (can’t wait for Susan Sontag’s break-it-down essay “Notes on Kamp”) where the camera—much like the film’s fey, slick-haired villains—leers and lingers over young male flesh. Not to be undone, the filmmakers become equal-opportunity sex offenders once the locale switches to London, taking in, with oblivious, lustful zeal, the fishnet stockings and va-va-va-voom!-ness of Cody’s underage female compatriot Emily (Hannah Spearritt). Has there ever been a movie so unaware of its own pedophilic tendencies? A rotten-toothed character named Jerksalot adds fuel to that rhetorical fire, to say nothing of the constant references to Cody’s “instrument” (a phallic clarinet, natch). But the ignorance doesn’t stop there. As Cody’s sidekick Derek, black actor Anthony Anderson extends cinema’s dubious tradition of minstrelsy, slow-wittedly tripping and traipsing his way into the Stepin Fetchit hall of fame. No surprise then that the filmmakers handily tiptoe around obvious race and class issues. One out of many: When juxtaposing Cody’s elegant sleeping quarters with Derek’s second-rate servant’s accommodations the compositions pack no satirical punch, so the whole sequence becomes little more than a rancid sight gag. Even more offensive is the multi-culti rogue’s gallery of music students who befriend Cody and are integral parts of the film’s forgettable spy-plot pastiche. The students are obvious skin-tonal stabs at political correctness, though this liberal knee-jerk is easily negated by the characters’ depthless verbal utterances—all accent-appropriate one-liners that emphasize a racist alien-ness. That these same kids are then exploited as peacenik mouthpieces in a climactic musical sequence featuring a bust-a-move Queen Mother (a joke that, admittedly, never gets old) is reason enough to ring up John Walsh and register this second Agent Cody Banks with the cinematic equivalent of the Megan’s Law database.

100 min
Kevin Allen
Don Rhymer
Frankie Muniz, Anthony Anderson, Hannah Spearriit, Daniel Roebuck, Keith Allen, Anna Chancellor, Cynthia Stevenson, Connor Widdows