Steven Soderbergh’s Magic Mike is both the dealer and the narc. Both the buzz and the buzzkill. Both the orgy and the post-orgy prayer circle.
The audience I saw it with—almost exclusively female—was whooping and hollering and ready for a party.
And for its first hour or so, Magic Mike provided it. At the Tampa all-male strip club where our titular (or should I say . . . naaa, it’s too easy) hero (Channing Tatum) works, they got to see all the pelvic thrusting and body-rolling their hearts could desire. The guys—a bevy of Hollywood hunks, including Alex Pettyfer (who looks like a stretched out Jude Law) as Mike’s protégée, Adam, a.k.a. “The Kid”; True Blood’s pectacular Joe Manganiello; and White Collar’s chiseled Matt Bomer (I said Bomer, people, Bomer)—run through a variety of choreographed moves, almost all of which end with them dry humping some half terrified/half euphoric woman from the crowd.
The dancing is fun and cheesy and hot—and in particular, Tatum reminds us that he’s a real dancer, not just an actor with some moves.
Matthew McConaughey is front and center as the club’s owner and emcee —and he’s giving us the Full...