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But how serious is he about his predilections? Without sending him into the arms or beds of other men, the movie leaves that point moot. In its entire 107-minute running time, it finds room for only one male-on-male kiss, and this takes the form of Deadpool giving a peck on the cheek to a man whom he has just threatened to rape. On the evidence of the film, he seems (to adapt the infamous quote by Brett Anderson of Suede) to be a pansexual who has never had a non-heterosexual experience. Or, like Robbie Williams, maybe he wants to evoke the sassy, risque side of gayness without going the whole hog. “I am 49% homosexual and sometimes as far as 50%,” Williams said in 2013. “However, that would imply that I enjoy having a particular sort of fun, which I don’t.” Actions speak louder than words and there is nothing in the movie to prove that Deadpool would be any more willing than Williams to put his body where his mouth is and sample that particular sort of fun. The film’s reluctance to make good on its hero’s pansexuality should not overshadow the little moments of daring, the subtle advancements, that have survived to the screen. In a medium characterised by the male gaze, it is implicitly radical to include a lingering closeup of a man’s pert behind, especially when that shot isn’t giving straight male viewers the get-out clause of replicating a woman’s point-of-view: everyone, male or female, is simply being invited to enjoy the image on its own merits.Ī similar subversion of male identification occurs later in the film, during one of Deadpool’s fourth-wall-breaking bits of narration, when he addresses those audience members who have been dragged to see this superhero movie by their boyfriends.