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.

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.