Quickie 15 – Deadpool 2 (2018)

or “The Cable Guy”

In honor of our collective passage through the stargate known as the vernal equinox, I’ve opted to do a little spring cleaning here in Het Graf van Anubis. Given my dangerous allergy against actual tidying, I’m instead going to do a few reviews for sequels of movies already featured in our ever (okay, “occasionally”) growing ranks of dearly departed diatribes on motion pictures. As such, here’s Deadpool 2!

“Every good family film starts with a vicious murder.”

When we last left the human tumor in red, mouthy mercenary Deadpool had wrapped up his first vulgarity-fueled big screen adventure on a happy ending. He got the girl, he vanquished his nemesis, and he rode that stone pony to the highest grossing (worldwide) box office take for an R-rated movie E-V-E-R. Well, within the first few minutes of his sequel, Freddy Krueger’s stunt double experiences tragedy when his world hopping heroics (well, murdering mass quantities of organized crime fodder still counts as “heroic”, right?) crossover into his personal life with devastating consequences. The fallout leaves ‘Pool seeking refuge in suicidal tendencies (not the back catalog of the band), which don’t sit well with his super duper mutant healing factor. Unable to die, he sinks even deeper into depression until do-gooder Colossus gathers up his broken pieces and takes him to stately Xavier Manor in the hope of dragging him kicking and screaming from the crushing gravitational field of his emotional black hole.

Inspired by a renewed purpose of spoilery extents, Dead joins the X-Men as a trainee in the hopes that doing some gooding of his own will mend his broken soul. This immediately goes the way of my puphood Stinkor figure (straight down the shitter) though when, on his first mission as one of the white hats, our hero(ish) lays some righteous, fatal vengeance on some bad guys who’ve been abusing the wards under their care at an all-mutants orphanage. One such victim is fourteen year-old pyrokinetic Russell, who’s chosen “Firefist” as his nam de pouvoir and spouts gangsta rap references like the whitest Maori kid you’ll ever see. As punishment for Pool putting a bullet in the brain of one of Russ’s tormentors and Russ attempting to arson the orphanage to the ground, the pair are arrested and sentenced to mutant prison, otherwise known as “The Ice Box”.

Here, the pair’s powers are nullified via dampening collars, so the freshest fish of the cooler become easy targets for the lock-up’s hard-asses, fronted by decidedly white dickhead Black Tom Cassidy. While Russ tries to make the best of life in the big house, seeing it as an opportunity to put his not-real street smarts to use and turn himself into a tough guy, Deadpool would rather lay low and slowly die of the full-body cancer no longer held in check by his newly neutralized healing factor. His woe-is-me act dies a quick death though, when a time-traveling mutant militant named Cable pops into The Ice Box, looking for a Hungry Man dinner… by which I mean he aims to Minority Report “Firefist” for some nasty shit his future self will inflict on the grizzled old soldier’s loved ones. With re-renewed purpose, Deadpool’s personal journey now entails him keeping Russell alive and putting the lad down the path of least homicide while keeping Cable from canceling the kid’s service… you know, like you’d have your cable service canceled?

See, this is why you should really come into these (sh)articles looking for nothing because you think you’d realize by now that I’m always going to somehow manage to deliver even less. Make like that ‘MadTV’ video dating service skit and try some *sing songy voice* “lowered expectaaaations”.

The Sophomore Slump is a legitimate concern when sequelizing any successful cinematic opus, let alone one whose receipts amassed the biggest box office cabbage cache of its MPAA ratings classification. All sequels are tasked with measuring up to their predecessor installment, so Deadpool 2 already had quite a fucking incline to ice skate up before it even had a first draft. To its merit, Cable is a welcome addition to the cast, while the entirety of Deadpool’s version of X-Force (fellow mutants hired for a prison break that… doesn’t quite go as planned) works only as a throwaway gag (I feel the writers were fans of MacGruber…), aside from the perfect exception: Domino. I would pay to see a Domino and/or Cable solo movie immediately if not sooner.

Though Deadpool is still his typical wacky, irreverent, “fly your freak flag in the air like you just don’t care” self and the returning members of the last movie’s supporting cast are also great, the “origin movie charm” of meeting the main character and his twisted little facsimile family is gone and, having lost said leg, this follow-up is left hopping around for a while. Fortunately, much like one of ‘Pool’s own appendages, that leg grows back as the new characters are hazed into this foul-mouthed fraternity, each bringing along their own appeal! This metaphorical regeneration doesn’t happen until the latter half of the flick, so the script tries to fill the time with a surplus of dick and fart jokes. I have nothing against a well organized march of potty shtick, but there’s a fine line between Clerks and Freddy Got Fingered, and the first half of DP Deuce falls face first into the Fingering pit.

The second half is a worthwhile reward for sitting through the first half’s frat boy version of the Chinese Water Torture (with toilet jokes being dripped on your forehead in place of water), but for my five bucks, I’ll stick with the original movie over this one.

Also, any movie that has adult men making sex jokes about a fourteen year-old boy? Not my cup of balls. Oh, and fuck TJ Miller. Don’t @ me. My “fuck” stands carved in granite.

Moral of the Story: Just like less can be more, sometimes more is less. But, in this case the “more” is more like Les Moonves. Well, not sexual predator bad, but disappointing enough for that shitty pun.

Final Judgment:

Three-and-a-Half “True Face Les Moonves”es out-of-Five

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All materials found within this review are the intellectual properties and opinions of the original writer. The Tomb of Anubis claims no responsibility for the views expressed in this review, but we do lay a copyright claim on it beeyotch, so don’t steal from this shit or we’ll have to go all Farmer Vincent on your silly asses. © October 1st 2013 and beyond, not to be reproduced in any way without the express written consent of the reviewer and The Tomb of Anubis, or pain of a physical and legal nature will follow. Touch not lest ye be touched.

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