Deadpool

That Deadpool is not your typical Marvel film is clear within the first minute. The opening credits, rolled over a slow-panning freeze-shot of men soon to be wedgied, decapitated, and gutted like kebabs, inform the audience that this movie is directed by “An Overpaid Tool” (Tim Miller) and stars “God’s Perfect Idiot” (Ryan Reynolds).

Look at us being all self-aware and unconventional, the filmmakers prate, and for the next 100 minutes, that’s their running gag— and people are loving it. Deadpool had the best opening night ever for an R-rated movie, and Hollywood suits have already greenlighted a sequel. For any other comic-book movie, an R rating (for nudity, splattered brains, and F-bombs) equals death, but Deadpool puffs its scarlet letter with neon and glitter. That’s because its target audience is not pubescent geeks—it’s grown-ups with pubescent minds.

The title character was once Wade Wilson (Reynolds), a nice-looking, crude-talking, motormouthed ex-Special Forces mercenary who meets hooker Vanessa (Morena Baccarin). Their romance blooms over a montage of kinky sex scenes. Then, during an underground medical operation to treat his terminal cancer, Wade turns into Deadpool, a split-kicking mutant with superfast regenerative abilities.

Deadpool retains his trashy mouth, but loses his pretty-boy looks. The entire plot centers on Deadpool’s revenge on the posh-speaking villain (Ed Skrein) who disfigured him. He dismembers plenty of humans as he does so, while burping out every dirty, half-digested thought that pops into his psychopathic mind.

Without so much as a moral compass, what’s left for the sequel? How many more ways can you devastate a human body, how many more reproductive organs can you phrase into an insult? Well, liberal web magazine Slate did grouse that Deadpool isn’t “pansexual” enough. But while some audiences may find Deadpool entertaining and refreshing, in reality, it’s pretending not to be something it is: a cleverly packaged product of the very establishment it mocks.