Deadpool: Delivering all of your twisted Valentine’s Day movie needs in a battered, bloody sack.
Uproariously funny and unabashedly irreverent, Deadpool manages to take the major themes of any run of the mill romance–the declaration of love, the tragedy, and the quest—turns them on their heads, and sprinkles them with f-bombs and the blood of the titular protagonist’s enemies. In the words of the Merc himself, “you gotta hold onto love,” even if it’s with bloody hands.
From strong opening credits that the person in charge of likely had a field day making, to a snarky post-credit scene, Deadpool delivers a self-aware romp through a film with solid writing, stellar delivery, and gratuitously violent, tightly knit action scenes. Ryan Reynolds in red spandex is worth the price of admission, but the fight choreography, strong character voice, and unrepentant sarcasm and wit of Wilson more than makes up for the fact that every part of your body will be smarting with sympathy pain by the end credits.
Don’t believe me? Just ask Betty White. If nothing else, you’ll never think of tiny plastic hands the same way again. Or Angel of the Morning. Or International Women’s Day.