Tropic Sprockets by Ian Brockway
Deadpool is an anti-hero from Marvel comics who was dealt a bad deal. He is a mercenary who, just when he was beginning to sort out his life with his girlfriend Vanessa, gets struck with cancer with months to live. Usually happy go lucky, he begins to internalize his bitterness. A chalk faced man with black eyes approaches with an offer: he can be cured and equipped with superhuman powers, but Wilson must resign himself to a capricious fate not of his choosing. His new abilities might be used for good or evil. Such is the predicament of Wade Wilson, known as Deadpool (Ryan Reynolds.)
The main thrill is Reynolds' staccato dialogue combined with enough nonstop sex jokes to make Larry David break out in hives. The film, more of a comedic tale than a Gothic hero epic, has a color and a freshness all its own. Ryan Reynolds completely embodies this socially innapropriate person and although crude of tongue, the man known as Wilson is never offensive. One laughs with him, perhaps because the superhero film is now so elevated on pedestal heights, as if beyond reproach.
Who else but Ryan Reynolds could be clad in red leather and ramble on about oral sex, S&M and penis size? And, to push the envelope, the iconic Stan Lee gives his most laughable cameo yet. Believe it or not, "Deadpool" doesn't shy away from its shades of haunt and poignance. Despite his intermittent flights of psychotic fancy, Deadpool just wants to return to his Vanessa (Morena Baccarin) with his face unscarred.
Best of all, in spite of the foreplay mentions and penis-envy, one begins to care about this man in the red and black suit. While Deadpool might at first seem late for a fetish party as Spiderman merged with Patrick Bateman from "American Psycho," (especially when remarking that lime juice and salt are perfect for removing blood stains on clothes) fear not. There is, in fact, a human beneath.
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