Let’s get one thing out of the way—Ryan Reynolds didn’t just play Deadpool. He became Deadpool. Somewhere between the sarcastic eyerolls of Van Wilder and the Calvin Klein abs of Blade: Trinity, the man basically manifested Wade Wilson into existence with snark, charm, and cheekbones so sharp they could cut through a studio’s bad creative decisions. (Cough X-Men Origins cough.)
What started as a passion project turned into a superhero revolution. And now that Deadpool 3 is here to traumatize the multiverse and confuse the Mouse, it’s time to celebrate the gloriously unhinged trilogy that gave us exploding heads, pegging jokes, and one of the best romantic arcs in superhero cinema. Yes, I said it. Let’s go.
Deadpool (2016): The Birth of a Beautiful Disaster
Remember when superhero movies were too afraid to be fun? Then came Deadpool, flipping the genre on its side like a truck on the freeway in the film’s opening scene. Made on a “barely-enough-for-CGI testicles” budget, Deadpool stunned Hollywood with its R-rated success, proving that audiences were thirsty for a little blood with their punchlines.
And it worked because it was different. It wasn’t just a superhero origin story—it was a meta meltdown, complete with fourth-wall breaks, sarcastic narration, and a protagonist who knew he was in a movie. Reynolds didn’t just nail the role. He obliterated it. Wade Wilson wasn’t a character; he was Ryan Reynolds weaponized.
Even under all that red leather, we saw a beating heart—one that belonged to a man who just wanted to be loved (and healed, because damn that cancer subplot hit hard). Combine that emotional throughline with the film’s frenetic pace, brutal fight choreography, and jokes so filthy they needed to be hosed down, and you had lightning in a very vulgar bottle.
Deadpool 2 (2018): Bigger, Bloodier, and Somehow More Tender
If Deadpool was a bloody Valentine’s Day card, Deadpool 2 was a full-on love letter—complete with death, daddy issues, and Celine Dion.
The sequel leaned harder into emotion while also giving us the time-traveling, gun-toting grump we didn’t know we needed: Cable, played by a very committed and very constipated-looking Josh Brolin. (Side note: that man had a hell of a 2018 between this and playing Thanos.)
We got X-Force. We got Domino’s perfect luck. We got the best opening credits sequence this side of James Bond—featuring, let’s not forget, a Celine Dion power ballad that somehow didn’t feel out of place in a movie where baby legs were treated like a punchline.
And amidst the chaos? Real heart. Wade’s grief. His search for purpose. The found-family trope turned up to 11. It shouldn’t have worked. But it did. Because behind all the slapstick and severed limbs, Deadpool 2 was about belonging, and what we’re willing to sacrifice to protect it.
Also: the Green Lantern and X-Men Origins jokes? Chef’s kiss. Self-awareness should always come with shrapnel.
Deadpool & Wolverine (2024): The Bromance Multiverse Needed
After years of teasing, leaks, and aggressively trolling Hugh Jackman on social media, Deadpool 3 finally landed. And sweet baby Stan Lee, it delivered.
This was the Marvel multiverse finally doing what it should have done from the beginning—giving us fan service that feels earned, not forced. Wade and Logan are the odd couple from hell, and Reynolds and Jackman’s real-life friendship bleeds through every moment of their barbed chemistry.
The jokes are sharper, the violence is even more creative, and the stakes? Somehow higher despite being set in the multiverse equivalent of a demolition derby. There are easter eggs, cameos, and yes—Ryan Reynolds continues to violate every rule of narrative structure with a smirk and a fourth-wall-breaking one-liner.
But at the core? It’s about identity. Redemption. The way trauma clings to us like spandex on a humid day. It’s also about two men who absolutely do not want to be heroes, begrudgingly doing the right thing. And it’s as satisfying as it is stupid. Which is very.
Ryan Reynolds: The Smartest Man to Ever Sell a Dick Joke
Let’s not pretend Deadpool’s success is an accident. Ryan Reynolds is not just talented—he’s a damn genius. He fought for years to make the first movie happen, leaking footage, leveraging fans, and daring the studios to take a risk. That gamble paid off with a franchise that feels entirely shaped by his sensibilities.
He redefined what a superhero could be—irreverent, raunchy, deeply damaged, and still someone you root for. And Reynolds? He’s built an empire around it. Mint Mobile. Aviation Gin. Wrexham AFC. The man could sell a colonoscopy and make it seem charming. (Honestly, I’d probably schedule one.)
But the reason he works as Deadpool isn’t the humor—it’s the heart. He plays Wade Wilson not as a cartoon, but as a man desperately clinging to humor to survive grief, trauma, and loss of identity. Sound familiar? For those of us who’ve lived through the chaos of trauma, who’ve laughed in the face of pain just to keep from unraveling—it’s not just funny. It’s relatable.
Final Thoughts: Long Live the Red Suit
The Deadpool trilogy broke rules, broke records, and broke the fourth wall so often it should probably pay rent there. It reinvented how we tell superhero stories by refusing to tell them “properly.”
It let itself be messy. Crude. Wildly inappropriate. And somehow, also real.
Because under the katana blades and chimichangas is a story about surviving when the world keeps trying to break you. About love that endures disfigurement and death. About friendship, sacrifice, and embracing the parts of yourself that society says are too much.
And that, dear reader, is why Deadpool matters. And why Ryan Reynolds remains the only man alive who can make us cry while wearing a red leather gimp suit and cracking fart jokes.