Magic Mike tells
the story of how Mike takes in Adam (Alex Pettyfer), a rudderless, susceptible nineteen
year old, under his wing and brings him into the male stripping enterprise that
Mike’s life revolves around. On the surface, it seems like the type of
lifestyle that’s pretty great for a young guy. You make a lot of money, you
sleep with a lot of women, and you drink and party all night. Adam is quickly
caught up in this lifestyle. He’s a nervous, shy guy when we first meet him,
but he’s also a little cagey. He doesn’t realize what Mike knows deep down:
this is all a little empty.
Mike doesn’t really want to lead this life. He’s thirty,
looking to start up his own business (custom furniture in fact). He wants to
save up enough money and then get out of dodge. He doesn’t want to end up like
the owner of the strip club Dallas (Matthew McConaughey) who’s in his forties and
spiraling the drain. How long can you keep at this lifestyle? Eventually, you
have to grow up is the underlying argument of the film. There’s an element of
man child-ism brewing in the film.
In the relationship between Dallas and Mike, the film finds
one of its twisted mentor-mentee relationships. There’s a predatory,
manipulative quality to Mike’s relationship with Dallas, and later Dallas’s
with Adam. Mike pretends to have it all figured out and have all the answers when
he’s with Adam, but it’s increasingly obvious that it’s all bluster. Mike and
Adam’s relationship eventually breaks down as Adam becomes more engrossed in
the stripper lifestyle. Adam starts doing more drugs and even selling drugs,
and it’s not long before he’s trapped. Just another Magic Mike, destined to
keep reaching for dreams that will never come; allured by money, pseudo-fame,
and easy sex.
The camerawork in Magic
Mike is unintrusive. In the non-dance scenes, the camera seamlessly disappears for the most part; it
rarely draws attention to itself. It’s simple, distant, direct. The script by Reid
Carolin is the real star here. Outside of the elaborate dance sequences, the film is one of people speaking, and the
dialogue is what gives the film its panged nature. The camera is just
an observer of these people, as they self-deceive and try to make connections.
These connections are unsurprisingly not very successful. Mike’s
relationship with Adam becomes increasingly complicated as Adam starts to fuck
up. Mike’s romantic track record is also in need of examination. He sleeps with
numerous women casually, but there’s an emptiness to it all. He sleeps on-and-off
with Joanna (Olivia Munn), a psychology grad student doing a study of the strip
joint, but there’s no real intimacy there, as much as Mike would care to think
otherwise. Mike’s best chance to connect comes with Adam’s levelheaded sister Brooke
(Cody Horn), who has little time for Mike’s bullshit. She sees the sincerity
and goodness underneath all the gusto but she’s also just at arm’s length. We can see where Brooke might be won over by Mike. Tatum is such
a generally charming and good looking person that it’s hard not to root for him
through all his bullshit.
The film has a glossiness to it. Everything is made to look
just a little prettier, a little more glamorous than it actually is. The strip
club isn’t a dirty, dank place; it’s open, colorful, strangely inviting. It’s
telling the dirtiness is more apparent in the wings backstage where the
performers wait. At face value this is a nice, clean, sexy place. Just behind
the curtain, behind the facade, it’s all a little darker, a little sadder.
Magic Mike is an
intriguing character study that takes its characters seriously even though they’re
just male strippers. Beyond it's elaborate dance sequences and other funner moments is some thoughtful exploration of masculinity and capitalism.
Grade: B+
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