Film Review: Deadpool

In an era when comic book adaptations rely on either all-powerful superheroes preventing impending apocalypse (Avengers, Superman), or PG-13 cheeky chappies opposing evil technological advancement (Spiderman, Ant-Man), there’s something particularly delicious about Deadpool. He’s the snarky, smug, pansexual antihero with a disfigured face and mental instability.

He’s wise-cracking and self-aware, breaking the fourth wall and mocking other superheroes. And though Tim Miller’s adaptation has its flaws, with some thin characterisation and plodding flashbacks, his shrewdly self-aware, gritty toned and nicely nasty film captures the vital essence of this character: Deadpool has no fucks to give. And it’s glorious.

As Deadpool sets out to inflict revenge on the sadistic scientist who tortured and maimed him, his perverse humour continually slaps the ego of everyone around him – when he’s not inflicting unapologetically vicious and gory violence upon them, that is.
Ryan Reynolds, whose wicked and whipsmart sense of humour is often underestimated because of his Hollywood Golden Boy good-looks, is sheer perfection in the role, layering on the snark. While Deadpool’s famous pansexuality isn’t explored beyond innuendo, his lengthy sex montages with girlfriend Vanessa (Morena Baccarin) are executed in filthily funnily fashion. (You will never think of International Women’s Day the same way again, for better or for worse.)

While Miller’s intercutting timelines occasionally stagger the action, his action sequences are brilliantly bloody spectacles, rife with high-octane gunplay and thrillingly choreographed acrobatics. The director’s background in visual effects makes the most of the relatively small budget, while the humour is suitably brutal.

With a deliciously subversive approach, Deadpool is sure to be one the year’s blockbusters.

In cinemas now

4/5