Breaking rules and focus-pools; the marvel of the rhinestone xxx-man

There's something oddly innovational in Tim Miller's postmodern potty-mouthed pulp of comic book fiction that supplants the cognisance of the (antithetical) superhero movie. That it challenges the conventions of its genre much in the way that 'Kick Ass' and 'Watchmen' debate the valour of heroism, 'Deadpool' further capitalises in a wild decree of satire in exploiting the illusion of fiction for comic effect. In its many self-referential treatments in breaking the fourth wall, at times hilariously deadpan intertextual quips and tongue-in-cheek inappropriateness, 'Deadpool' is wondrously paradoxical - for, whilst it IS standard superhero fare with regards to its fictional narrative, the seams of illusion are repeatedly dissolved (as overt as the removal of chewing-gum from the lens of the camera) in giving the hero an unnatural power of trapezing both worlds of fiction and (almost auto-biographical) non-fiction. In principle, such power should appear rather unsettling, and for the first few occurrences this can be the case, yet it is a tactic - an ingeniously successful one - for the audience to fall for a hero who is anything but.

For a Valentine's Day release, it is not without some irony that the film is particularly visceral in its bone-bending and blood-spattering imagery, yet gives every allure of being a rom-com - amongst horror and many other cross-breed utterances - and hence able to appeal to a vast scope of androgynous demographics with some ease, not dissimilar to that of the onion-layered family film. Contra to this, sure, the repeated ontological breaks can have an effect of some waning and for some the humour unnecessarily shifts between sassy, irking slapstick and cringingly sickly, but this does not dispel that the film is sumptuously shot, intelligently sutured and hysterically entertaining, laced with rambunctious gaffaws aplenty; regardless of one's preferred or politically (in)correct tickle. Just the notion of a superhero having to book a taxi, forget his ammo bag or poke fun at the X-Men is more than enough to judder an englobing chuckle on a whim. Even Stan Lee gets in on the act as cameo DJ...at a strip bar.

This is to commend a considerably well-devised script mirrored with execution par excellence from the cast, especially the encounters between Deadpool and X-Men's CG 'Collossus' (or Mr Colossal morality) and Deadpool's incessant teasing of 'Negasonic Teenage Warhead' (or teeny tweeting doppelgänger to Sinead O'Connor and Ripley from Alien 3) which allow Reynalds to own his character with an awe, arrogance and aplomb that only Ryan masters in muster. If to gripe, the strict attention upon Deadpool's character drastically outweighs the fervent development and comparably banal dialogue of supporting characters. Nevertheless, kudos to Reynalds for redeeming himself in red so lest we might forget his previous aura of Marvel green. The shoes of Deadpool were destined to be filled by Reynalds and, given the film's balanced admixture of universal and geek humour, will surely earn a reprise and perhaps a franchise for a man who has finally found his meta-thespian soulmate in Marvel's foul-mouthed mercenary. Red, dead good and vulgar; 'Deadpool' is quite simply the dark-side of a giddying marvel-lous.

8/10