Review
Culture
Film & TV
9 min read

Deadpool and Wolverine admit there’s only one story worth telling

Here's why a knowing take on post-modernity's void strikes a chord.

James is Canon Missioner at Blackburn Cathedral. He researches technology and theology at Oxford University.

Two superheroes, deadpool and Wolverine, stand and crouch respectively, in a desert like place.
'A desert of criticism and a wasteland of cynicism.'
Disney.

Can Marvel Jesus save a dying cinematic universe? That's the key question for the latest film from Marvel Studios and, it would seem at least from the box office, that the answer is: yes!  

Deadpool & Wolverine, the snarky buddy comedy odd-ball team-up between Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman, made over $590 million in its first week. That’s the sixth biggest opening of all time. 

What follows is not a traditional review, you can find plenty of those online already. Instead, I want us to consider Deadpool & Wolverine as a cultural artefact that displays some of the key themes of our society. The stories that we tell, including the films that Hollywood produces, can act as a mirror to our culture, giving us an opportunity to see trends that we might have otherwise missed.  

As a mirror to this cultural moment, I want to suggest that Deadpool & Wolverine presents us with a cynical and nihilistic take on the end of an era in which all the protagonists can do is barrage the audience with an endless stream of jokes and quips. 

The third instalment of the Deadpool trilogy is the first to be set in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) since Disney acquired the rights to 20th Century Fox for $71.3 billion. Until now all the X-men movies, the Wolverine movies, the prequels and the Deadpool movies have been produced by 20th Century Fox. But it’s the start of a new chapter for the X-men franchise.  

The Disney executives hope for a new lease of life for the MCU, which has been struggling to find its way ever since the epic conclusion to Avengers: End Game. Of course, ordinarily, this sort of corporate back and forth would be irrelevant when thinking about the themes of a movie, but, in this case, the business backdrop is effectively a major plot-point of the film. 

A significant portion of the dialogue is spent discussing the acquisition of the X-men franchise by Disney. Deadpool talks about what Kevin Feige (president of Marvel Studios) will and won’t allow in his films. A major action set-piece takes place next to a ruin of the 20th Century Fox logo. Deadpool jokes with Wolverine that he is joined the MCU when they are in a bit of a slump, and, when Deadpool is asked to save the universe, he takes this to mean that he should save the entire MCU franchise describing himself as ‘Marvel Jesus’. The movie knows that this film is the product of a business deal, and it wants its audience to know that too. 

So, this film takes place at the end of an era and to highlight this throughout the film, a series of high-profile cameos are made by actors and characters from the last 24 years (no spoilers here). They are brought into the movie so that they might be given a final send off. A heroic on camera action hero death, one last valiant fight before the curtain falls. In a sense, Deadpool & Wolverine is a eulogy to the comic film industry, an era has passed away, we live only in the ruins of a once great edifice and all we can do is joke around and reminisce about the good old days

Deadpool’s is a dark humour, laughing death in the face, traipsing around the trash heap at the end of time incessantly spouting one-liners. 

The scepticism Deadpool and Wolverine exhibits about the movie industry, correlates neatly with a post-modern disposition to be suspicious about the role of power. Deadpool knows, and points out to his audience, that it is only the vested interests of corporate power that allow this film to take place, and he revels with delight when these corporations seem to be failing. He is under no illusions that the studios are benign entities who merely hope to make worthwhile art - Deadpool is a cynic, the jester, who takes great satisfaction in declaring that the emperor has no clothes.  

Coupled with this is the constant breaking of the fourth wall. This is one of Deadpool’s foundational characteristics, he has been breaking the fourth wall since his earliest appearance in the comics and the previous two films. Deadpool uses this ability to deconstruct and point out some of the quirks of the superhero genre. For example, in the first film when a villain jumps into the scene from a great height, Deadpool says to the audience: “Superhero landing. She's gonna do a superhero landing… You know, that's really hard on your knees.” (This joke is repeated in Deadpool & Wolverine)

The deconstructionist tone contrasts sharply with Marvel’s previous movies, particularly the grand narrative which spanned 22 films and culminated in Avengers: Endgame- an unashamed mythic narrative about the defeat of evil and the triumph of good over bad. Yes, there were jokes and subversive elements in the MCU before Deadpool, but in the main the characters like Captain America are sincere and the movie takes them and their motivations seriously. Deadpool in contrast delights in deconstructing the narrative: Marvel’s grand narrative is over, Fox’s cinematic universe is over, and it is unclear if they will be able to successfully tell another epic mythic story. 

All of this, I imagine, sounds quite dystopian and that is not just how the film feels but also serves as the set piece for the middle section of the story. The misadventure of Deadpool & Wolverine lands both characters in “the void at the end of time” a place described as a Mad Max set, a barren desert where only the strongest survive by dominating the weak. In this hellish environment, Deadpool is completely unphased, he continues to make joke after joke, despite multiple characters in the movie telling him to ‘shut up’, and he displays zero remorse when his joking around results in other characters being killed. The humour of this film is the final element which makes it feel very post-modern and nihilistic. Deadpool and Wolverine are left in a hellscape and all they can do is fight with one another and make non-stop sarcastic quips. Deadpool’s is a dark humour, laughing death in the face, traipsing around the trash heap at the end of time incessantly spouting one-liners. 

Paul Ricoeur, the French Christian and philosopher describes in his work two instincts in modernity: a ‘willingness to listen’ and a ‘willingness to suspect.’ The willingness to suspect is best exemplified by the three ‘masters of suspicion’, Karl Marx, Friedrich Nietzsche and Sigmund Freud. Following these masters of suspicion, modernity has learnt to be critical and to criticise texts, narratives, motives and power. Ricoeur thinks that we need both instincts, we need to be able to listen and we should be able to suspect, but, he cautions post-modern society that it is possible to find yourself in a desert of criticism in which there is nothing symbolic, nothing sacred, nothing but power and will. I have never seen a better depiction of the ‘desert of criticism’ put to film than Deadpool’s void at the end of time. 

Perhaps the film is doing this because this is, in fact, the only story worth telling.

All of this was bubbling around in the back of my head when the film came to its final climax. It is my experience of the finale that made me want to write this review of the film. After almost two hours of post-modern nihilism, in the denouement, our two protagonists are faced with the classic superhero choice to sacrifice themselves so that they can save their universe from imminent destruction. And, of course, like good superheroes, they go willingly into danger and give up their lives for the sake of their friends. 

I had such a strange set of emotions as I watched this part of the story unfold. 

Firstly, I thought “Oh, right, this is the moment when the hero sacrifices himself- that is obviously what comes next.” I have been conditioned by decades of superhero films to expect this sequence of events at the end of the movie. But secondly, I found myself thinking. “This is so out of place with the rest of the film, this is pure sentimental heroics, we’ve just had two hours of cynicism and fourth wall breaking and the climax of the whole thing is a traditional superhero ending?!” And then, lastly, I found myself wonderful, ‘Perhaps the film is doing this because this is, in fact, the only story worth telling- that everything up to this point has only been playing at cynicism because, at a fundamental level, the filmmakers realise that cynicism and scepticism aren’t enough to make a compelling story.” 

Western society feels as if it has lost its narrative. It is as if, just like the MCU, our best story is behind us, and we are flailing to find a new story. 

Deadpool & Wolverine is a strikingly resonant film, it has struck a chord with contemporary culture. The film offers us a mirror to the contemporary society in which we live and I think we must look deeply into the mirror if we are going to accurately diagnose the ills of our current cultural moment.  

Many people today feel like they are living in a desert at the end of time, devoid of meaningful symbolism and sustenance for the soul. The hollowing out of meaning in post-modern Western culture has resulted in a tinderbox which is ready to combust at a moment's notice. “Over the last month we have seen riots breakout across England caused by an incident in Southport that sent sparks flying.”. Relatedly, contemporary Western society feels as if it has lost its narrative. It is as if, just like the MCU, our best story is behind us, and we are flailing to find a new story. Look at the average Netflix viewing figures to discover that many of us only enjoy watching re-runs of our favourite TV shows from 10 years ago. 

The cynicism and scepticism of Deadpool & Wolverine resonates with many people in the contemporary West, and the film offers two ways of reacting to the pain of our cultural moment.  

For most of the film Deadpool saunters through this nihilistic hellscape spouting a barrage of gags, sex-jokes and sarcastic quips- that is the first option, to laugh in the face of meaninglessness. But for the climax of the movie, it’s as if the writers knew that they couldn’t maintain the ruse. When the characters of Deadpool and Wolverine make the choice to sacrifice themselves for the sake of others they choose to live for something bigger than themselves. They admit in their actions that they aren’t the nihilists they were pretending to be, and the film acknowledges that in the final analysis there is nothing ultimately satisfying, nothing ultimately sustaining, in that way of being in the world. 

Or, to put it another way, the only way that Deadpool could become ‘Marvel Jesus’ is by following in the footsteps of actual Jesus: by sacrificing his life for those whom he loved and by discovering that true life, resurrection life, is always and only ever found on the far side of death. 

Paul Ricoeur writes that ‘beyond the desert of criticism, we wish to be called again’, called to a second, or post-critical naïveté. Naivete is a deliberately provocative term to use, no one wants to be considered naïve (even postcritically naïve!), so perhaps you might prefer to think of it as synonymous with restored or as experiencing a recollection of meaning. I think many people in the West today are waking up to the challenge of living in a desert of criticism and a wasteland of cynicism. The capacity to criticise is an important skill, but it has run rampant and left out society with a void of meaning in which nothing is sacred, nothing is enchanted. 

Deadpool & Wolverine speaks of a culture desperately in need of a new story, a narrative within which meaning can be found. The film paints in vivid imagery the result of a society that has lost its narrative. And, in the end, Deadpool and Wolverine seems to admit that there is only one story worth telling: self-sacrificial death and resurrection. 

Essay
Belief
Creed
Holidays/vacations
Mental Health
12 min read

Walking the Camino gave me blisters, good company, and these seven lessons

220 kilometres of questions

Jessica is a Formation Tutor at St Mellitus College, and completing a PhD in Pauline anthropology, 

A pilgrim with a red backpack heads off.
Shirley Roots, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

It was Sunday night, and I was packing my bag. On Monday, I flew to Porto, Portugal, to begin walking a stretch of the Camino de Santiago. I had taken some extended leave from work to mark 10 years of working and wanted to take some time to reflect and hear from God. As I was packing, I was listening to a sermon online. The preacher suddenly said, “You don’t need to walk the Camino de Santiago to hear from God!” Ah. Good point. Nevertheless, it was all booked, so I set off to embark on this pilgrimage.  

The Camino de Santiago is a popular pilgrimage route, with a network of routes all leading to the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, the resting place of the apostle St James. On average, around 200,000 pilgrims complete The Way of St James each year, with 2024 closing in on half a million pilgrims. 

They say the Camino “calls” you, and for whatever reason, people respond by walking hundreds of kilometres. I set out on this pilgrimage with a backpack and some good walking shoes (or so I thought), hoping for some time out, beauty, and time and space to hear from God. What I didn’t anticipate was how the Camino would hold up a mirror to my inner life, revealing patterns and lessons I didn’t know I needed. 

The Camino was many things, but above all, it was a space. Space to be and reflect on the little lessons along the way. Here are the seven things that walking 220km of the Camino de Santiago taught me.  

It is ok for questions to be left unanswered 

There is a general thought on the Camino that most pilgrims come with a question. Something we are mulling over while walking, perhaps hoping for a resolution when the walk culminates in Santiago de Compostela. It is therefore not uncommon for one of the first things people ask you whilst walking to be “What question are you bringing to the Camino?” Which is a bold question from a stranger who doesn’t know my last name. Nevertheless, these kinds of questions are what bond you with others so quickly, as you share stories of what has led you to walk this path. There was a question I was carrying with me. One that was unanswered.  

In the evenings and quieter afternoons, I had space to read. I had a Kindle and was enjoying having multiple books at my disposal. I was re-reading Augustine’s Confessions. In Book 6, he writes about humanity's longing for our questions to be answered; he writes, “for it is better for them to find You (God) and the questions unanswered, than to find the answers without finding You.” I stopped still. There are many things in life for which we don’t have the answer, often related to pain, suffering, or injustice. A friend once reminded me of the story of Job in the Bible. A man who experiences deep pain and suffering. When Job confronts God and asks Him repeated questions about why he let this happen, God doesn’t answer any of his questions; instead, He questions Job. Job is left in awe of God and his character, proclaiming, “Surely I spoke of things I did not understand, things too wonderful for me to know.”  

There are questions we carry in life, but the words of Augustine and the story of Job reminded me that if we find God, our unanswered questions are safe in the arms of those strong enough to carry them. It was a helpful reminder that not all the questions we have need an answer. There is a possibility of being content with the unknown. 

We are better, together  

I wasn’t going into this walk to make friends. For me, it was a spiritual pilgrimage to hear from God and reflect on my life. I thought I would spend my days in silent contemplative prayer, blissfully gazing upon God’s creation and skipping from town to town. This all changed at the end of day two. About 50 kilometres into my walk, I developed some terrible blisters. My shoes (which fit perfectly before) had started to rub and gave me the worst blisters I have ever had. The Portuguese coast was hot, and I’d gone the wrong way, so I spent around five kilometres walking alone. I arrived at my Albergue that evening broken and in pain.  

After dinner, I was tending to my broken feet when a girl I had zig-zagged with on the walk came to chat. We’ll call her, Evie. I admitted I was finding this all really hard, and Evie shared the same, only her day had been lifted by walking with another pilgrim. She had also begun the day hobbling in pain along the path, but when she got chatting to another pilgrim, she was no longer focusing on her pain, but on the conversation with another.  

 The next morning, I set off, hobbling along the path, and questioned how I would be able to complete the day’s 28 kilometres. When I was behind, I heard someone shout “Jess!”. It was a girl I had shared a bunk with on the first night at the hostel, Jamie. She arrived like an angel the Lord had sent to help me get through today. There was no way I was going to make it on my own. We spent the day walking, talking, and getting coffee, passing the time until all of a sudden, we found ourselves in the next town. I’d done it! We’d done it.  

This taught me that my pain can often draw me inwards, and when our pain is all we see, the journey ahead feels impossible. However, turning outward and sharing with those around us takes our attention away from our own experience and allows us to see the other. Christians say we are all part of the “body of Christ”, as the apostle St Paul described us - called to “bear one another’s burdens”.  As it turned out, walking and journeying with others would be one of the biggest gifts of this Camino. Sharing and travelling with one another’s joy and pain made the way ahead seem so much more hopeful.  

It is important to address things when they are small 

I learned this the hard way—through a blister. Around the 20-kilometre mark on the first day of the walk, I began to feel that tell-tale “hot spot” on my little toe. What I should have done then and there was stop, remove my shoe, and treat it with a blister plaster. But instead, I pushed on for another 15 kilometres, determined to reach the hostel without delay. By the time I arrived, my toe had swollen to three times its usual size, and the damage was done. The situation got so bad that I had to buy new shoes halfway through the Camino, and gained another 10 blisters across both feet for good measure.  

Looking back, it was a minor issue that quickly escalated into a much bigger one because I ignored it. It’s a lesson that extends beyond foot care. Tiny irritations, unhelpful habits, or unresolved tensions can quietly build momentum until they begin to shape us in a negative way. It is an age-old human trait. Another book that accompanied me on this pilgrimage was the Bible. A text I had walked with my whole life.  In the Bible, these unhelpful habits are frequently referred to as “sin”. The building up of things in our life that do not make us fully alive. Walking, I reflected on the little habits I form or the thoughts I allow to take hold begin to form and shape me in ways I might not be aware of until it is too late. As I tended to my broken feet each evening, it was a reminder that it is helpful to pause and address things when they are still small, to pray and bring them before God. It makes for a much more enjoyable journey. 

It is never too late to turn around 

I did this walk alone, with the gracious support of my husband, who sadly couldn’t get the time off work. My husband and I enjoy hiking together, and when we do, he has the role of “map reader.” Without him here, I was now responsible for navigating my route each day and picking the right course. There was one morning when I set off early with no other pilgrims around. On this day, I intended to hug the coast, always keeping the sea on my left, as this walk was much flatter and shorter than an alternative route that took you inland across varying terrain. 

As my day started, I realised I was heading away from the sea and up and out of town. This wasn’t the route I’d planned. I paused to look at my map and realised I was following the wrong one. What do I do? I was 15 minutes in the wrong direction. In that moment, I remembered something my husband had once said on another hike when we went the wrong way: “It is never too late to turn around.” I did just that. Swallowed the loss of 15 minutes the wrong way to get back on course.  

In life, there are times when we think we have gone too far down the wrong path, that we are beyond the point of no return. But in God’s story of grace, it is never too late to turn around. No detour is final. We are always invited to course-correct, to reorient ourselves toward truth, peace, and purpose. Sometimes, the holiest thing we can do is stop, look honestly at where we are, and have the humility to turn back. Even a misstep can become part of the pilgrimage if it eventually leads us back home.  

Rest is not failure. 

I made a rookie mistake in planning this walk: I didn’t plan a rest day. “How hard can walking for 10 days be?” I thought to myself. Turns out, very. My feet were painful. My blisters had blisters. I couldn’t stand without winching in pain. But I wanted to finish. So, I need to rest. One day, I decided to surrender my trainers and take the train. I felt like a failure.  

One of the repeated instructions in the Bible given to God’s people to live well is to “keep the sabbath holy”. To set one day of rest aside each week, as we see God do in creation, and how he commands his people. In our high-paced Western society, taking time off to stop and disconnect can feel counter-cultural. Walter Brueggemann discusses how the sabbath is an act of resistance to our consumer-driven culture. In the constant rat race of Western culture, the Sabbath provides an opportunity to rest and be still amidst the chaos, restoring us to our true humanity.   

Taking this day of rest on the Camino helped me to lean into the rhythms of grace and rest that, as a Christian, I am called to participate in. For me, it was learning that rest here was not failure, but a necessary part of the journey. The most helpful thing I could do was pause, not push on.  

We crave rhythm, ritual and simplicity 

On a multi-day hike, you quickly settle into a rhythm. Wake up. Coffee. Walk. Coffee. Walk. Lunch. Walk. Coca-Cola. Check-in. Shower. Aperol Spritz. Read. Dinner. Pack your bag for tomorrow. Sleep. Repeat. The cadence of the days, though physically demanding, was strangely comforting. There was something profoundly grounding about knowing what came next, and being free from the decision fatigue that so often clutters everyday life. 

I carried only the simple things I needed on my back. Halfway through, I even threw away some of my makeup to save weight, and I didn’t miss it. Life stripped back to the essentials felt freeing. The Camino quietly reoriented me toward simplicity, not as deprivation, but as a kind of clarity. 

In this pared-back way of living, rituals emerged, ordinary acts repeated with intention. I am also aware of what a privilege this was, comparing my life of plenty back home to the simplicity of being on a trail. Simplicity isn’t a choice if it is the only option. Tying my shoes each morning, sipping coffee at sunrise, washing my socks in a hostel sink, these small things became anchors. Rituals have a way of transforming what is ordinary into something sacred. These small daily practices gave my life stability that we all long for. We all have things that are sacred to us–and I think deep down–we all long for what is sacred.  

Throughout Scripture, we see how God brings order out of chaos. The decision fatigue I face each day is a reminder of a great blessing, but also a deep distraction. The Camino reminded me that simplicity and ritual don’t shrink life–they give it shape. 

There is a spiritual longing in all of us  

There was one thing that shocked me most about doing this pilgrimage. The Camino de Santiago is one of the world’s oldest religious pilgrimages, culminating in a mass at the Cathedral in Santiago de Compostela. But whilst walking the Camino, I did not meet a single Christian. No one had a faith. Everyone I met was walking with those questions, or the adventure and the journey along the way. But no one with a deep faith or hope in God. 

As I walked, I listened to Lamorna Ash’s latest book, Don’t Forget We’re Here Forever: A New Generation’s Search for Religion. In it, she explores a generation’s turn to Christianity as she follows the lives and stories of those within and without faith. The stories of people who the church had hurt, those who carried brokenness and were longing for peace. Listening to this audiobook was often interrupted by the beautiful encounters I had with other pilgrims along the way.  

These conversations reminded me that, while not everyone has a faith, I believe there is a longing for something bigger than us, in all of us. Whether spoken or not, there was a hunger for transcendence, a desire to be part of a story with direction, with purpose. The rhythm and ritual of completing this pilgrimage was a sacred act, something that held deep meaning for everyone walking. The sense of adventure, journey or even telos (Greek for purpose or goal) that we were all walking towards in the end at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela, gave our days direction and purpose.  

As I walked the Camino, it was the highlight I didn’t expect. I came into this thinking I would want to be alone. Listening to scripture and praying all day, every day. However, in the end, the best parts were the stories and conversations I had with the people I met along the way.   

So, there it is: the seven things walking the Camino de Santiago taught me. It was, without a doubt, the most physically and emotionally demanding thing I have ever done. And yet, it taught me so much.  

We all carry questions. We all long for meaning. We all crave rhythm, connection, and the sacred in the midst of the ordinary. Although I returned with my mind still pondering questions left unanswered or new things that had come to the surface, I was reminded that life is found in the small steps we take and the people we take them with—echoes of the One who made us for relationship, for purpose, and pilgrimage. 

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