A fourth wall break inside a fourth wall break? That's like, sixteen walls.

Deadpool

(2016)

Yeah, Deadpool’s okay. Probably fantastic if you’re caught ‘midst the throes of adolescence. Which is pretty much what I expected; a relentless stream of masturbation and penetration gags does not a movie – let alone a great movie – make. The occasional spurt would have been more than sufficient.

Screenwriters Rhett Reese and Paul Warnick were clearly aware of this problem, such that they disciplined themselves and diligently incorporated a bona fide plot. But Deadpool/Wade Wilson’s fixation on recovering his looks so he can, in turn, recover his lost love is tepid at best. And yet. Deadpool delivers sufficient genuinely funny gags (most of the good ones are very meta-) and just about enough investment in the proceedings to keep its gnarly head above water.

I can only be faintly positive about the picture though, since it’s so clearly aimed at a completely different age group to my increasingly antiquated one. It has that much in common with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Which isn’t to say it’s rubbish, like Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, but they do both occupy a relentlessly hyper, juvenile, sugar-rush self-regard that far exceeds their actual effectiveness. Mostly, Deadpool doesn’t even pretend it isn’t engaging in playground antics of one-upmanship and outgrossing itself. This is especially so when Wade and Weasel (TJ Miller, not to be confused with director Tim Miller) exchange unpleasantries on how unattractive the former’s new visage is. And they still missed the most obvious one, that he looks a bit like a latter-day Nick Nolte.

Reynolds obviously is Deadpool, laying to rest a largely justified reputation as box office poison. If I were studio execs, though, I wouldn’t rush out and offer him every high profile part under the sun just yet; his newfound bankability may yet prove about as enduring as Daniel Craig’s star status in non-Bond roles. That said, this is a character(s) one could easily imagine Jim Carrey essaying in decades past, and Reynolds gamely delivers a slew of self-mocking quips, from referencing the disastrous Green Lantern, to his roundly reviled X-Men Origins Deadpool incarnation via a “Deadpool sewn-up mouth” action figure, to citing Ryan Reynolds getting by on minimal acting talent thanks to his pretty face.

Winning too are the biting-the-hand-that-feeds-it swipes at the Fox Marvel-verse, be it confusing James McAvoy with Patrick Stewart, repeated jabs at Hugh Jackman’s all-consuming presence, or barbs concerning Deadpool’s cheapness (The X-Men mansion, occupied as it is by only two mutants). However, this kind of thing could have gone further.

In the opening, extended car chase, Deadpool leaps from a bridge, but we don’t see him land on/in the villains’ car; instead, we cut to the merc with the mouth in transit. Missing is the money shot, one that would have been essential to a Bryan Singer main event X-sequel, and the failure to take the piss out of such limitations suggests Miller et al aren’t quite as no-holds-barred as they’d like us to believe. They may even be a little sensitive. While much of the action is decently-choreographed, it isn’t especially inspired; as with the pervasive nob gags, it’s all about getting to that severed head or pixelated bullet hole in a stray limb (Miller’s background is an effects artist). The sort of thing we’ve seen many times before, and just as overly CGI-assisted. Only not in a Marvel movie. Actually, maybe in the name-checked Blade.

Ironically, the most consistently engrossing part of the picture is largely dramatic; the flashbacks detailing Wade undergoing the mutant gene-prodding process. Of course, the least engrossing part (Wade’s relationship with Monica Baccarin’s Vanessa) is also largely dramatic. There’s no recourse to asides during these sequences, so rather than undercutting how formulaic they are, they again emphasise that the much vaunted anarchy (break that fourth wall, Ryan!) only goes so far.

Likewise, the villains (Transporter Unloaded star Ed Skrein and mixed martial artist and one-time Soderbergh muse Gina Carano, who here extends her range with some intense prop acting courtesy of much-chewed matches) are as generic as they come. Despite sporting an authentically comics-liveried X-Men costume, Negasonic Teenage Warhead (Brianna Hildebrand) makes little impression (you can only get away with so many Sinead O’Connor gags) but I liked Stefan Kapičić’s genteel and courteous Colossus (he even pauses mid-fight, inviting Carano’s Angel Dust to cover up her wardrobe slippage). The actual CGI for Colossus leaves something to be desired, but Kapičić’s performance more than compensates.

The ideal length for a picture of this ilk is about 90 minutes; short, snappy, leaving you wanting more. Instead, Deadpool manages to over-indulge, despite is modest trappings. That’s likely because it’s a martyr to excess, enamoured of its playground freehand to offend at the expense of any form of restraint. For all it’s revelry in distinguishing itself from its peers, I found the picture stopping yet again for more repetitively sourced Deadpool banter more wearying than when it heads into traditional set piece climax territory. You can see both coming a mile off, but straining so hard to be edgy quickly loses its lustre.

One area where the movie’s success appears to be unqualified, though: spelling the death knell for Bryan Singer’s over-reaching and under-nourished grip on the X-Men franchise. With it, Fox’s self-prescribed fairy tales detailing the ingredients for a hit comic book movie have instantaneously crumbled to dust. We’re now promised an R-rated Wolverine 3, which is rather missing the point that Deadpool has been a hit because it’s doing something different, but the pertinent takeaway may filter through eventually. Fox greenlit the movie only after the Internet went apeshit for a leaked test reel, which had been sitting on a shelf for two years. Usually I’d mock such online adulation as hyperbole, but Deadpool’s staggering success speaks for itself. So, like pretty much everyone else, I was dramatically wrong in my estimation of the appetite for the movie. Although, not so much in terms of its quality. But yeah, Deadpool’s okay.

You were this amazing occidental samurai.

Ricochet (1991) (SPOILERS) You have to wonder at Denzel Washington’s agent at this point in the actor’s career. He’d recently won his first Oscar for Glory , yet followed it with less-than-glorious heart-transplant ghost comedy Heart Condition (Bob Hoskins’ racist cop receives Washington’s dead lawyer’s ticker; a recipe for hijinks!) Not long after, he dipped his tentative toe in the action arena with this Joel Silver production; Denzel has made his share of action fare since, of course, most of it serviceable if unremarkable, but none of it comes near to delivering the schlocky excesses of Ricochet , a movie at once ingenious and risible in its plot permutations, performances and production profligacy.

No one can be told what the Matrix is. You have to see it for yourself.

The Matrix (1999) (SPOILERS) Twenty years on, and the articles are on the defining nature of The Matrix are piling up, most of them touching on how its world has become a reality, or maybe always was one. At the time, its premise was engaging enough, but it was the sum total of the package that cast a spell – the bullet time, the fashions, the soundtrack, the comic book-as-live-action framing and styling – not to mention it being probably the first movie to embrace and reflect the burgeoning Internet ( Hackers doesn’t really count), and subsequently to really ride the crest of the DVD boom wave. And now? Now it’s still really, really good.

Well, something’s broke on your daddy’s spaceship.

Apollo 13 (1995) (SPOILERS) The NASA propaganda movie to end all NASA propaganda movies. Their original conception of the perilous Apollo 13 mission deserves due credit in itself; what better way to bolster waning interest in slightly naff perambulations around a TV studio than to manufacture a crisis event, one emphasising the absurd fragility of the alleged non-terrestrial excursions and the indomitable force that is “science” in achieving them? Apollo 13 the lunar mission was tailor made for Apollo 13 the movie version – make believe the make-believe – and who could have been better to lead this fantasy ride than Guantanamo Hanks at his all-American popularity peak?

I can’t be the worst. What about that hotdog one?

Everything Everywhere All at Once (2022) (SPOILERS) It would have been a merciful release, had the title card “ The End ”, flashing on screen a little before the ninety-minute mark, not been a false dawn. True, I would still have been unable to swab the bloody dildoes fight from my mind, but at least Everything Everywhere All at Once would have been short. Indeed, by the actual end I was put in mind of a line spoken by co-star James Wong in one of his most indelible roles: “ Now this really pisses me off to no end ”. Or to put it another way, Everything Everywhere All at Once rubbed me up the wrong which way quite a lot of most of the time.

We’ve got the best ball and chain in the world. Your ass.

Wedlock (1991) (SPOILERS) The futuristic prison movie seemed possessed of a particular cachet around this time, quite possibly sparked by the grisly possibilities of hi-tech disincentives to escape. On that front, HBO TV movie Wedlock more than delivers its FX money shot. Elsewhere, it’s less sure of itself, rather fumbling when it exchanges prison tropes for fugitives-on-the-run ones.

Drank the red. Good for you.

Morbius (2022) (SPOILERS) Generic isn’t necessarily a slur. Not if, by implication, it’s suggestive of the kind of movie made twenty years ago, when the alternative is the kind of super-woke content Disney currently prioritises. Unfortunately, after a reasonable first hour, Morbius descends so resignedly into such unmoderated formula that you’re left with a too-clear image of Sony’s Spider-Verse when it lacks a larger-than-life performer (Tom Hardy, for example) at the centre of any given vehicle.

So, you’re telling me that NASA is going to kill the President of the United States with an earthquake?

Conspiracy Theory (1997) (SPOILERS) Mel Gibson’s official rehabilitation occurred with the announcement of 2016’s Oscar nominations, when Hacksaw Ridge garnered six nods, including Mel as director. Obviously, many refuse to be persuaded that there’s any legitimate atonement for the things someone says. They probably weren’t even convinced by Mel’s appearance in Daddy’s Home 2 , an act of abject obeisance if ever there was one. In other circles, though, Gibbo, or Mad Mel, is venerated as a saviour unsullied by the depraved Hollywood machine, one of the brave few who would not allow them to take his freedom. Or at least, his values. Of course, that’s frequently based on alleged comments he made, ones it’s highly likely he didn’t. But doesn’t that rather appeal to the premise of his 23-year-old star vehicle Conspiracy Theory , in which “ A good conspiracy theory is an unproveable one ”?

Twenty dwarves took turns doing handstands on the carpet.

Bugsy (1991) (SPOILERS) Bugsy is very much a Warren Beatty vanity project (aren’t they all, even the ones that don’t seem that way on the surface?), to the extent of his playing a title character a decade and a half younger than him. As such, it makes sense that producer Warren’s choice of director wouldn’t be inclined to overshadow star Warren, but the effect is to end up with a movie that, for all its considerable merits (including a script from James Toback chock full of incident), never really feels quite focussed, that it’s destined to lead anywhere, even if we know where it’s going.

He’ll regret it to his dying day, if ever he lives that long.

The Quiet Man (1952) (SPOILERS) The John Wayne & John Ford film for those who don’t like John Wayne & John Ford films? The Quiet Man takes its cues from Ford’s earlier How Green Was My Valley in terms of, well less Anglophile and Hibernophile and Cambrophile nostalgia respectively for past times, climes and heritage, as Wayne’s pugilist returns to his family seat and stirs up a hot bed of emotions, not least with Maureen O’Hara’s red-headed hothead. The result is a very likeable movie, for all its inculcated Oirishness and studied eccentricity.

He doesn’t want to lead you. He just wants you to follow.

Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore (2022) (SPOILERS) The general failing of the prequel concept is a fairly self-evident one; it’s spurred by the desire to cash in, rather than to tell a story. This is why so few prequels, in any form, are worth the viewer/reader/listener’s time, in and of themselves. At best, they tend to be something of a well-rehearsed fait accompli. In the movie medium, even when there is material that withstands closer inspection (the Star Wars prequels; The Hobbit , if you like), the execution ends up botched. With Fantastic Beasts , there was never a whiff of such lofty purpose, and each subsequent sequel to the first prequel has succeeded only in drawing attention to its prosaic function: keeping franchise flag flying, even at half-mast. Hence Fantastic Beasts: The Secrets of Dumbledore , belatedly arriving after twice the envisaged gap between instalments and course-correcting none of the problems present in The Crimes of Grindelwald .

Now In Full Color, with a Happier Ending

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