Tim Miller's Deadpool is counterpoint (counterpunch?) to the Marvel Universe's customary earnestness -- much like 2014's Guardians of the Galaxy and 2015's Ant-Man, both of which starred enormously likable leads (Chris Pratt and Paul Rudd, respectively) playing characters who reluctantly pulled on a hero's mantle. In Deadpool, Ryan Reynolds' Wade Wilson -- cancer survivor and mutated vigilante badass -- is no more interested in being one of the sanctimonious X-men (he's being courted by Xavier's emissaries) than he is in flying to the moon. That is to say his aspirations are pretty base. Deadpool, the character, is a lethal, indestructible vulgar hedonist, who delights in both eviscerating his enemies (Ed Skrein and Gina Carano) and in holiday-themed sex play with his squeeze (Morena Baccarin). Deadpool, the film, is a celebration (and also a bit of a denunciation) of fame and fandom, targeted at fanboys who still think a quick punch to the nads is hilarious and the fangirls who hang with them. It's glib hyper-violence and a good amount of tightly choreographed mayhem and destruction. Don't forget to wear your cups -- boys and girls.