Deadpool & Wolverine to the Franchise Rescue 

DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE. I don't know that I'm eating crow exactly, but, if I am, I am very much making a meal of it. For those keeping score — mostly vindictive white men of a certain age, if I had to guess — I have been less than effusive in my praise of Marvel movies for the last 100 years, or however long they've been churning them out. For all their star power and technical impressiveness, I've more often than not found the finished products to be less than the sum of their parts: dour, generally mirthless, a washed-out tribute band's version of something bright and lively and innovative.

I'll pump the brakes here, again for the scorekeepers: I am not, nor have I ever been, a true student of the comic book form; I've dabbled. As such, my complaints about the Marvel Cinematic Universe, even in reference to the source material, are more about movie-craft than faithfulness to the origins. But I have paged through enough comics, both in the terrifying clarity of youth and the mildly numbed, glassy-eyed headiness of my, well, less-youth, to have formed some closely held, if uneducated opinions about them (this is America, babe). Comics, like movies, are one of the truly vital populist artforms of the 20th century, a forum for the discussion of personal and cultural issues rendered as art that can be as loud, quiet or both as the creators deem appropriate. Superheroes embody the strengths and weaknesses — superpowers, I guess; seems obvious when I write it out — inherent in everyone and that define all of us, like it or not. Superheroes are people, would seem to be my point, even if they exist in the most exaggerated spaces imaginable (and even if some of them are, in fact, not people).

Granted, the Marvel of movies has at least paid lip service to this idea, giving us Captain America's origin story and a Spiderman whose teen angst is relatively convincing. But the canvas upon which these characters are rendered, the glossed technocracy of their Earth, plays against both the idea of struggle and self-discovery so vital to the form and the vibrant and varied artwork of their many creators and contributors. Comics are for kids, which is not to suggest they are dumbed down or simplistic, rather that they tap into the imaginative parts of ourselves that are, though innate and indelible, gradually dulled and compartmentalized by the rigors of "growing up."

The way a comic book looks, the way the frames transition from one to the next is (or can be) an even freer and more innovative narrative form than cinema, unhindered by pesky reality. I think Marvel boss Kevin Feige probably knows this, but the created universe he has overseen de-emphasizes the color and variability of the form in service of an awfully serious tone and look. Until now, maybe? Cue Deadpool.

Because of some corporate pie-slicing, a great number of Marvel comics characters found themselves, for years, siloed off from their lately so-successful contemporaries. As Deadpool & Wolverine gleefully informs us, this has to do with the now defunct/absorbed/cannibalized 20th Century Fox imprint. Whatever the fine-print minutiae, the X-Men and Wolverine and Deadpool haven't really gotten to play in the same sandbox as the Avengers. And, as time doesn't wait even for superheroes, most of them are now dead (at least in the movie chronology). Which, in its self-awareness, is where D&W ushers us in.

Wade Wilson (Ryan Reynolds), having been told he's not quite ready to be an Avenger, has resigned himself to life without the mask, unsuccessfully trying to sell Kia minivans at an automotive superstore. He tries to convince himself that this is enough but really all he wants is to make a difference. Enter Mr. Paradox (Matthew McFayden), a perhaps not-quite sanctioned middle manager at a shadowy organization tasked with managing the innumerable timelines of superheroes. He informs Wade that his own world is at risk of dissolution and that only he (well, Deadpool) can save it. Ulterior motives are clearly at work, but moral ambiguity has always been Deadpool's stock in trade, so fair enough. With a new lease on death and a spring in his step, our (anti)hero sets off across the multiverses in search of Logan/Wolverine (Hugh Jackman) to recruit for his cause. The churl in question is understandably upset about his circumstances and more than a little nonplussed to deal with the red guy. But deal he does, both with his companion and his existential crises, as they venture into a liminal multiverse state overseen by Charles Xavier's twin, Cassandra Nova (Emma Corrin), a sadistic mindfreak with a major chip on her shoulder.

The best of Deadpool and the best of Wolverine (the Mangold movies) have always outstripped the others, in my estimation, and there is something alchemical in their coming together. Jackman's Logan is as angry and freighted with grief as Reynolds' Wilson is unmoored and lonely, but somehow their sorrow is transmuted into high, bloody comedy that feels genuinely joyful in its execution. R. 132M. BROADWAY (3D), MILL CREEK (3D), MINOR.

John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.

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For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.