Deadpool & Wolverine (2024)
Directed by Shawn Levy
Every story has its fool, the court jester who uses madness to reveal truths hidden from heroes, and the Marvel Cinematic Universe is no exception. Deadpool serves as this divergent figure, lowering the tone, dismantling mythologies, and bringing scatological humor. Despite appearances, even such an unconventional character operates within the industrial system, sustaining the brand with a brazen yet ultimately harmless self-irony.
Because, yes, it is curious to witness family entertainment openly discussing—while diminishing their disturbing aspects due to the superhero’s characteristics—topics like masturbation, fellatio, cocaine, and ableism, using language full of obscenities and vulgarities. Deadpool doesn’t need to save the world—everyone insists on this, much to his chagrin: neither the Avengers nor the X-Men want him, leaving him to protect his eccentric, non-superpowered friends. This proximity makes even the most serious members of their respective companies, like Captain America and Wolverine, seem coarse.
The most interesting aspect of Deadpool & Wolverine, the 34th installment in 16 years of the MCU, is not its sarcasm and ridicule. Yes, there is a degree of awareness not to be confused with self-criticism or self-parody: referencing the Loki series episode necessary to understand a certain passage does not disapprove of the narrative universe’s limitless expansion but feeds on it. Mentioning Disney’s acquisition of 20th Century Fox, from the logo sinking into the void to the management of the X-Men franchise, indicates a shade of brand service (the end credits are a tribute to the past). The jokes about role imprisonment (“They’ll have you playing Wolverine until you’re ninety,” Deadpool, aka Ryan Reynolds also as screenwriter, predicts to Hugh Jackman, mentioning his real-life divorce) and the stars’ salaries even for cameos are harmless, just as superficially nostalgic is the recovery of superheroes forgotten due to commercial flops (Jennifer Garner as Elektra and Wesley Snipes as Blade).
No, the most interesting thing relates to the fool’s function but involves an industrial theme: in summary, among the protagonists’ jokes and comments, Deadpool & Wolverine tells us that this multiverse business is becoming problematic, that endlessly expanding and multiplying worlds require attention, that the audience (with Deadpool as its insolent spokesperson) could get lost and eventually tire of an occasionally unmanageable media franchise. This reflection, which Shawn Levy’s film (a Reynolds ally who believes in comedy) allows in its final part, does not fully commit to it because—obviously—the rules dictate paying dues to the house’s duties (saving the world from an antagonist who is as she is due to being a victim of the past).
Deadpool & Wolverine is certainly entertaining with its succession of choreographed and truly comic-like fights, its use of a sentimental lexicon that extends from the friendship scheme between two opposites to the very social concept of “aura” (males attracted to males who do not admit homoerotic impulses), and its pop imagery ranging from allusions to Reynolds’ expressions in The Proposal to a soundtrack including Green Day, Avril Lavigne, AC/DC, and especially Madonna with Like a Prayer. However, it cannot escape the system and, in affectionately chipping away at it, ends up celebrating it with devotion: that ending (spoiler, for what it’s worth) where superheroes reclaim normal lives and set aside their masks does not seal the metatextual and critical discourse but seems to underline the awareness that a film like this, which takes explicit liberties, is just a bizarre parenthesis within a system too vast to feel challenged.
Lorenzo Ciofani
Cinematografo, July 24, 2024
