Watching the film is like sitting at dinner with a teen-ager who believes that, if he swears long and loudly enough, he will shock the grownups into accepting him as one of their own.
Flamboyantly vulgar and determinedly self-referential, Deadpool has the shape of a superhero movie but the soul of a Danny McBride flick.
Deadpool is obnoxious and puerile and infantile and has an irritating meta tone so snide that it's constantly in danger of nullifying the entire movie -- and I still got a pretty big kick out of it.
It's fun for a while, and then it all becomes deeply disheartening, because calling attention to the more businesslike mechanics of superheroics isn't subversive when you're also playing right into them.
It seems less irreverent than self-congratulatory.
Deadpool is everything that Hollywood has raised audiences to believe heroes are not: crass, selfish and with a vocabulary that would have made George Carlin blush.
Reynolds has never meshed as well with a character or found a better outlet for his smirking, smart aleck persona.
This is a different kind of movie. The only rule it adheres to is that tropes are made to be eviscerated, turned on their heads, and trampled over.
In a landscape where superhero roles are too often seen as paycheck parts, Reynolds breaks the mold. Too bad his film doesn't.