Even the MCU’s Floundering Can’t Touch the Reason Deadpool Always Hits
Is it surprising that Deadpool & Wolverine has already made well over half a billion dollars? Of course not. It’s Deadpool. Even the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s post-Endgame floundering can’t slow down his hype train, and there’s a simple reason for that.
The MCU Avengers holy trinity of Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor all have their appeals. Iron Man is the fantasy of a man bootstrapping his way into superherodom. Captain America may have genetically modified physical strength, but his real power is his idealism and moral compass. Thor is the idealized vision of an all-powerful monarch who actually cares about the ants he could crush beneath his feet.
Deadpool is an idiot who will survive any kind of physical attack brought on by his incessant sh*t-talking. Iron Man, Captain America, and Thor all represent what we aspire to be in our more optimistic moments. The circumstances are heightened, but everything they represent could be attained and replicated in small ways in your everyday life. But why would you try to be any of that when being Deadpool would come in handy when you’re pissed off in traffic or when someone cuts the line? He’s the most populist of superheroes in Marvel’s lineup, and that relatability goes a long way.
Deadpool is a celebration of being able to do what we want, when we want, and survive the consequences no matter how grisly, to the point that it rises to the level of superheroism—or, at least, a kind of antiheroism that appeals to those who find being a squeaky-clean beacon of stalwart valor too boring. Why have all that power if you’re not going to have fun with it, and maybe abuse it sometimes? Just a little.
Deadpool is the Reagan-era American action movie hero extrapolated to its most logical, self-parodying, and self-aware extreme. Of course that archetype is going to make $1 billion in no time. He appeals to the people who want to be that person and to the people who make fun of that person. Forget the traditional four-quadrant box office draw. That’s a two-quadrant draw that covers pretty much every human on Earth. Deadpool has ruthlessly efficient box office appeal.
An endless font of arrogance, a potty mouth, and hyper-violent, but always ultimately falling on the side of “good” is exactly how America sees itself, and much of the world, too. But while many try to be Deadpool, they aren’t immortal beings who can expertly wield a katana in one hand and a Desert Eagle in another. Most people know this about themselves, even if they don’t want to verbally admit it. It’s a knowledge that prevents them from becoming true monsters. Our social media feeds, driven by the engagement of controversy fabricated by obnoxious polarizing figures, seem to be filled with people trying to be Deadpool, to an extent. To me, at least, they rarely seem like people who are happy being the monster.
Deadpool is an excuse to vicariously live through someone who generally seems happy being the monster—the guy who every other hero in the Marvel universe tolerates because at least he’s not that bad of a monster. He’s the monster on their side when he’s not trying to kill them, and even when he is, hey, it’s Deadpool! You take the good with the bad!
It’s a delicate balancing act that the character has mostly maintained throughout decades in the comics and that Ryan Reynolds has more or less maintained throughout the films, depending on your level of tolerance. Maintaining that balance is the key to Deadpool’s appeal. He’s annoying; he’s sophomoric; he’s the guy in your office who’s referencing memes from 10 years ago. A lot of us fantasize about bad things happening to that person. But being that person? I get the appeal. It would be a sinful indulgence of our most obnoxious instincts, but thankfully, a lot of us have enough sense to never actually indulge outside of the context of the Deadpool movies—and the human race is better off for it.
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