Steven Soderbergh's fondness for casting actors in roles
that suit their real-life abilities is good news for Channing Tatum. Before
making his name as an actor, Tatum worked as a stripper, and he has mined his
own past for inspiration with Magic Mike, in which he plays the title
character. For Mike, life appears to be good; he wakes up with two naked women
in his bed, he's busy making plans to turn his passion for furniture design
into a business, and at night he struts across the stage as screaming women
thrust cash into his thong. But, as we are introduced to Mike's world through
the eyes of newcomer Adam (a surprisingly excellent Alex Pettyfer), Reid
Carolin's screenplay warns us that there's a soullessness and a dark side to all
of these sexy shenanigans.
This portion of the movie makes the film feel a little
lopsided. Magic Mike is so much fun when we're either onstage or backstage,
enjoying the energy of the strippers' routines and their jokey camaraderie behind
the scenes, that the consequences come as something of a drag. It's not that
there's anything wrong with these scenes per se, it's just that the film really
needed stronger actors than the ones Soderbergh has assembled to make them feel
like anything more than familiar, hackneyed moralising. This may be the role he
was born to play, but Tatum's range of emotional expression does not match his
range of dance moves, and when a poignant close-up is required, the camera
lingers on Tatum's face without getting a great deal in return. The same could be said of
Cody Horn, who plays Adam's sister and Mike's love interest. She seems
uncomfortable and unsure of her actions, and her sullen demeanour makes it hard
to give a damn about this burgeoning relationship.
I don't think Soderbergh cares too much about it either.
He's far more engaged by his central male trio, who collectively offer a snapshot of a
stripper's entire lifespan. Pettyfer is the wide-eyed innocent, drawn to this
job by the promise of easy money and sex; Tatum is a man at a crossroads,
hoping to leave this life behind and go legit – while Dallas (Matthew
McConaughey), is the ghost of stripping future. A faintly ridiculous figure
still clinging to his past glories and his dream of establishing an empire,
Dallas is the most outrageous character in the ensemble, and McConaughey has a
ball playing him. Parodying his own shirtless reputation (and naked
bongo-playing skills), McConaughey gives a hilarious performance, but there's
also an underlying sense of desperation in his portrayal. This is most evident
in Dallas's final dance number, with which he wants to show the world that he's
still got it. What exactly is the value of what he's got, we wonder.
Another man showing the world that he's back on form is
Steven Soderbergh. When Soderbergh isn't firing on all cylinders, his
disinterest is all too apparent, and I've felt he has been coasting through his
last couple of pictures. Magic Mike is something else entirely, particularly in
the thrilling dance sequences, when the director's eye for a great shot and his
sharp cutting generates an intoxicating electricity that reaches the cinema
audience in the same way it hits the women screaming around the stage.
Soderbergh's direction is fun and inventive (the penis pump shot is inspired),
and it's a thrill to see him bringing his loose, energetic style to a
subject matter that really benefits from it. Many viewers will undoubtedly turn
up to Magic Mike only for the oiled-up torsos, but I hope they appreciate just
how well-directed this movie is. The dancers on stage may be the ones putting
on a show, but Soderbergh is the one bringing the magic.
