Courtesy of Marvel Studios

“What the hell am I watching?” I gawked to myself as I threw my hands up in the stagnant movie theater air. Still processing what I had just witnessed and was continuing to witness, I knew that I was in for a hell of a ride. My eyes danced across the screen as Ryan Reynolds’ stunt double danced in a bloody euphoria through waves of TVA armed forces, air humping and shattering spines on beat to *NSYNC’s hit hump tune ‘Bye Bye Bye.’ I’m assuming that it was Reynolds’ stunt double and not the man himself, if so, hats off to you my sweet Canadian king. With every slash of his swords and bash of the bones of a certain deceased character with relation to a honey badger, my excitement grew. Reynolds took a step forward with this movie, both writing and producing it. His influence is immediately palpable. His flirty, frenemy bromance coupled with Hugh Jackman’s impeccable performance was a chef’s kiss that would make Gordon Ramsay blush in his little apron. 

All glazing aside, the movie was an enjoyable experience. Growing up with the golden age of the Marvel Cinematic Universe has made post-Endgame Zach (me) a bit of a party pooper. The multiverse they’ve been haphazardly attempting to assemble leaves me yearning for a reason to care. While this movie does fall in line with other ‘Phase 4” Marvel movies with dimension hopping and yep, you guessed it, the end of the multiverse and everything and everyone and all things and death and destruction and and and … you get the point. While I’m aware and excited when conflicts are on a massive scale, one must shine the same spotlight on the Deadpools, Daredevils, and Misty Knights of the world. This same spotlight is often occupied by the legacy characters that have hundreds of appearances. The Captain Americas and the Iron Mans and Thors of the world. They inspire and engage with everyone, yet are not deeply relatable to anyone as we are not billionaire geniuses or golden gods. Some just don’t deserve to have it. I mean Ant-Man? Fucking Ant-Man? Quantumania has now been added to my ‘Whale Sounds for Deep Sleep’ playlist because of how many times my twelve year old brother had to kick me awake during that movie. I’m thankful his corpse was used the way it was – for those who have seen Deadpool and Wolverine, you get it. The heroes that clean up the streets and help cats from trees are either unheard of or have made a maddening trajectory towards stardom much like Tom Holland’s Spiderman was forced to in Captain America Civil War. 

Continuing with the constant fourth wall breaking of the previous Deadpool movies, ‘The Merc with the Mouth’ was practically watching the movie along with the audience, sitting right next to us as he watches himself kiss the most foulsome dog I’ve ever seen. A painful 45 seconds, but still funny. As we waltz into an age where cameos and shattered fourth walls lay in piles a mile high, Deadpool and Wolverine sit in a space alone, save Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s masterpiece Fleabag. Crazy comparison, I know, I know, but when it comes to the relationship between the viewer and the media, I can think of no two options that better warp it. And while some of Deadpool’s constant jokes are meant for a kid only having hit puberty minutes before the start of the movie, I realize now that I don’t have to laugh at all the jokes. Let things be funny and laugh when they are. 

To quote a good friend of mine, Deadpool and Wolverine falls under the umbrella of “shit I would’ve loved in middle school,” with it being the pinnacle of this genre of film fiascos. As a man trying to allow the little boy within to laugh once in a while, I’m here for it. 

4/5