Dear Deadpool, or, It’s Not You, It’s Me

Dear Deadpool,

This is the last letter you’ll ever receive from me. I couldn't bear to see the look on your face when I tell you, so I figured it would be best to do it in writing.

We can’t be together anymore.

Over the past year I’ve been there with you every step of the way. Through every explosion, one-liner and hare-brained scheme that miraculously succeeded in spite of itself. 

That is, until about issue #40. That’s when Daniel Way stopped treating you like the “Merc with a Mouth” and stared treating you like, well… let’s just say it… like a major pansy sissypants.

Frankly, Deadpool (read: Daniel Way), I deserve better than that.

  

The Institutionalized, You Complete Me and most recently Dead arcs fell flat because, and this sounds selfish, you showed me a side of you I had no interest in seeing.

Don’t get me wrong, there were times during our relationship when I was genuinely happy, like your fights with Macho Gomez and watching the plan you hatched to take down Evil Deadpool unfold. And if I'm honest, I enjoyed most of Dead until the last issue.

I love being with you when you’re doing what you do best: going bat-shit crazy with a pair of machine guns, katanas, bazookas, or whatever the flavor of the day happens to be. I love getting to listen in on the internal dialog you have with the voices in your head. And man, those pouches on your costume. I’ve always been a sucker for some good pouches.

But I stopped caring when your internal struggles changed from “doofus mercenary haphazardly makes good” to “action hero rom-com, melo-dram.”

I didn’t get into this relationship for character development. There, I said it. I’ll admit it. I only care about the mask, not the man behind it. I came to you for the contents of those glorious pouches and the hilarious and often violent ways in which you put them to use.

I came to you for knock-down, drag-out fun. And explosions. But most importantly for the laughs. That’s what made you special, Deadpool. You have your own unique way with words and you were always good for a few chuckles.

But you’re different now. The outcome of Dead changed you, and not for the better. The change has been a bit of a slow burn, but now that the smoke has cleared I can plainly see the path you’re on. I’m sorry to say I can’t continue down that path with you.

 Believe me when I say this: it’s not you, it’s me.

So this is it, Wade Wilson, the Regeneratin’ Degenerate, the Crimson Comedian… goodbye. Maybe we’ll meet again someday when the inevitable happens and you regain what you lost in Dead. Until then, I don’t see any way this relationship can continue.

Always,

Keith

X-Men Season One, or, Why I Love Superhero Comics

X-Men Season One

Story: Dennis Hopeless

Pencils: Jamie McKelvie

Colors: Matthew Wilson

OK, I’ll admit it. I’m a sucker for an origin story. Give me the last of a dying race, a radioactive spider bite or (one of my favorites) a millionaire playboy stranded on a deserted island forced to master the bow and arrow to survive, and I’ll ask you where to sign.

What is it about seeing someone who’s extraordinary gain that important little “extra?” I’ll get to my answer to that question, but first: X-Men Season One.

This is a fun comic. The story of the first team of X-Men has been told before, including in a recent major motion picture, but this story feels fresh. It feels young. I’m guessing it feels kind of like Lee and Kirby’s first X-Men comics felt to people in the 60s (before the weight of 50 years of continuity was eagerly heaved over the shoulders of that first, little, scrappy X-men team).

At its most basic, this is a story we can all relate to because it’s about a bunch of teenagers finding their place in a world where it feels like they don’t have one. I don’t care if you were a jock or a nerd or whatever in high school, you felt like that at least once. We can relate, but at the same time, it’s so much more fun than your usual coming of age tale because this one is about a guy who can shoot laser beams out of his eyes and a girl who can throw rocks at a T-Rex with her mind, among others of course.

Dennis Hopeless meticulously develops the characters in this comic, but it feels effortless and light. The dialog is true to life, quirky and fun. You come to root for the X-Men without too much convincing.

But for me, that feeling of youth and eternal hope was conveyed mainly through the art of Jamie McKelvie. This guy can straight up draw. The lines are clean enough to eat off. The action scenes are kinetic. But what really gets me are the faces. You can say so much with a glance and in many cases McKelvie tells us everything we need to know about how a character is feeling in a single panel.

The way Jean bites her lip during an awkward conversation with a potential love interest.

The disappointment on Warren’s face after a badly handled social situation.

The way Bobby stares at the beautiful Scarlet Witch as she passes by.

The reason it’s fun to watch all these human moments being played out by the X-Men and their caped and spandexed brethren gets at why superhero comics are great.

They feed our imagination and give us something to aspire to, no matter how extraordinary it might seem. It’s right there within our reach because all that separates us from them is that little “extra.”