I walked into "Deadpool" hopeful for the superhero genre. In recent years, I had become disillusioned by the superhero genre. Its movies had become bland, the dialogue consistently unrealistic and untimely comedic to the point of self-parody, and the implementation of "The Avengers" had made films with so many story lines that I felt like I wasn't really experiencing anything, just ducking my head in and out of several places, focusing on when I'd go to the next instead of what was happening in the current one.

Above all though, I was devoid of anything original. These PG-13 films lacked any edge. They seemed to go with the crowd and please everyone while still having the confidence of someone who was off the beaten path. No wonder why Disney owned Marvel. That's why I walked into "Deadpool" hopeful for the superhero genre. This movie was what both I and the superhero genre have been longing for: something edgy, original, and post-modern. I was looking for something that could really stretch both my imagination and my patience, something that my filmmaker was unsure of making because he knew he had to show it to his mom; something that would stick in our minds past walking to the car (or, in my case, the B bus at Rutgers) home, and then throughout the weekend, and then at work (or class) the next Monday.

What I got was pastiche.

"Deadpool" did have its attributes, don't get me wrong. A handful of jokes stuck. I especially appreciated the Limp Bizkit dig. The emotional side really struck through, as apposed to other action movies that use it as just a plot device, as a persuasion for males to bring their unwilling girlfriends to the theater to see it. Ryan Reynolds was also thoroughly satisfying. His vocal presence, something very crucial in a movie in which the superhero talks excessively amid action sequences, took over, and it seemed like he formed a new accent entirely, ringing forth his staccato vocal points in a pressing, relentless way.

But B-storylines, voice, and Limp Bizkit jokes only go so far, and I walked out of that theater and onto the B bus without the thing I was looking for: edge. What I got instead was a superhero movie, but, instead of a punch in the face, there was a shot in the head, and, instead of a joke, there was a dirty joke, thus the word "pastiche." For a movie that was audacious enough for its team to ironically release it on Valentine's Day (oh so clever), as a counterpoint to the point of crowd pleasing to the point of over saturation romance movies either of the works of Nicholas Sparks or of the knock-offs of Nicholas Sparks, I actually got a crowd pleasing film in its own sense. You can see it in the box office, as, according to boxofficemojo.com, it was the second-highest grossing R rated movie of all time, or based on the opinion of 83 percent critics, according to Rotten Tomatoes, or really any Superhero fan you'll meet, if you yourself aren't already one.

What I didn't see, something that the marketers and even the film itself, portrayed as a positive, is putting anyone off of the film based on its proposed audacity. That instead was the proponent of its followers, calling the film 'edgy' or 'controversial,' while the other side of the controversial coin is nowhere to be seen. I sit on the other side of the coin as per liking the film, and what I found was the actual opposite of being put off. I was bored. And I thought I stay bored ... until I found "The Lobster."

In a parallel universe, single people are brought into "the hotel." These people are given forty-five days to meet someone their partner, and, if they are not successful in doing so, they are turned into an animal of their choice. "The Lobster" was out in the art house that I worked in about a week before I saw it. At that point, I was excited it was out because of its buzz at festivals and its high-concept premise, and I think that's what the customers thought, too, but nothing more. David, played by the perfectly casted Colin Farrell, someone who is looking for a comeback of his own after the disappointing second season of "True Detective," was recently divorced and looks to find a partner in The Hotel. His choice for an animal? A lobster, because, courtesy of David, they live up to 100 years and they're cold-blooded, like aristocrats.

I saw "The Lobster" about a week after it came out in the art house theater that I worked in. Its release provided some excitement for me, as I had heard its praise at several festivals as well as from critics. I think that's what its film-goers at the theater had seen to, but nothing more. I noticed, during its first showing, that many people would leave the theater and not come back, and my suspicions were finally confirmed when a woman walked out of the theater halfway through right up to us workers. "I have not walked out of a theater all of my life until I saw this movie."

I was not discouraged from this. In fact, I was even more excited, being that if "The Lobster" was something provocative enough for a woman to lose her walk-out-of-a-movie-halfway-through virginity, it must have struck a chord, something that didn't happen with me and "Deadpool." This might be what I was looking for.

And, well, it was. The humor was razor sharp, so much so that I think many didn't even pick up on it being a comedy (I was the only on in the theater laughing). The shock factor was consistently present, but it was never gratuitous or strayed away from the plot. It, too, had its own merits as a film, a balanced structure, character-driven plot, the works, but let's go its shock factor. There are many things that could turn one off to the film. For example, the opening shot is a car pulling up to a field of horses, a woman entering the frame, pulling out a gun and shooting the horse point blank, and that's before the opening credits. However, as others looked at that in confusion and horror, I looked at it as a testament to what cinema can do, the expanding of our boundaries and discovery of the unknown, and the "edge" I was looking for.

I found several similarities on paper between "The Lobster" and "Deadpool." For one, they're both considered dark comedies. The true centerpiece to it was a love story. It was also almost nihilistic in its essence.

There was just so many contrast, though, as to how the filmmakers made their films their own forms of edgy. "Deadpool" couldn't shoot five people without looking at the camera and pointing out how bad-ass he was. Meanwhile, in "The Lobster," you had to sit through (or, in better terms, "got" to sit through) thirty seconds of John C. Reilly's hand forcibly put in a toaster as punishment for, well, I think you can connect the dots. This bluntness, this self-aware lack of self-awareness seems almost made to put people off, and that's the point, and the point would not matter anymore if it would be said through voice-over in a sarcastic way that Wilson does about every three seconds in the "Deadpool." Compared to "The Lobster," "Deadpool" is like that kid in middle school that thought he was a skater because he wore Volcom.

I'm glad I had this experience because I truly found what being edgy was. Being edgy was about doing something over the top, thinking about how people would react, and then do it even more over the top. It isn't about thinking about how people would react, doing something over top, and then thinking again how people would react. In easier terms, it's about being so auspicious in such a way that it will definitely piss some people off, but its the people that stick with you 'til the end that will truly be rewarded.