Magic Mike

This film is a bit like a political speech. It promises much but rarely delivers. Channing Tatum is the eponymous male stripper who complements his roofing job with some entertainingly provocative dancing with his “Kings of Tampa” at the club of “Dallas” (Matthew McConaughey). Meantime, “Adam” (Alex Pettyfer) is down on his luck and so being easy on the eye and willing, “Mike” drafts him in to show off his wares to the baying hordes of gals up for a good time! Turns out they like him, and quickly he’s making decent money and hopeful of helping his mentor get a club of their own. His isn’t the wisest head, though, and a combination of east cash and easy drugs soon starts to risk everything all of them have striven to achieve. To be fair to Tatum he really does put some effort into his characterisation here, and sets about the role enthusiastically. McConaughey is also fairly convincing, too. It’s Pettyfer that lets it down. He’s a good looking man but delivers in body rather than in spirit. He has all the charisma of a wet tea bag. The dance routines work well enough but Steven Soderbergh doesn’t seem to have the courage of his convictions when it comes to delivering the goods. For a film that’s supposedly about the sexualisation of the male body, we see way more female nakedness and that I felt rather defeated the purpose. I don’t mean we needed dangly bits all over that place, but to tell a story about sexploitation - both the good and the bad elements of it, well - you need something more natural. If it doesn’t make your eyes water to think about it, then yes - it needs less strategic cutting! What humour there is is all a bit clichéd and as it rumbles on into the realms of “I love you bro’!” melodrama, it simply runs out of steam. Pity, it had potential, but in then it’s just a glitzier but more feeble version of the far more authentic “Full Monty” (1997).