Review | Deathstroke #1

Deathstroke dishes out a worrying amount of obnoxiousness before sucker-punching you with its gritty punchline. Well, okay, you see the bloody dénouement coming from four klicks away. Our cycloptic antihero, a grizzled amalgam of Nick Fury and G.I. Joe figure, is an '80s action hero stuck in a '00s Hollywood chopsocky. The Sunkist-colored mercenary gets stuck with a mouthy Gen X ops squad you could only find in Chris Evans' script pile. These jackasses with goatees (the, no shit, "Alpha Dawgs") banter incessantly about sex and bullets and Deathstroke grits his teeth and grunts. As he works alone, and carries a big, improbable sword, you can guess what comes next. Writer Kyle Higgins is teasing, "Oh, you think this is Deadpool? Fuck you, this is going to be metal." These are the kind of rock & roll kicks that Charlie Huston has perfected. Higgins isn't there yet, but I appreciate the nose-thumbing.



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