Ladies, if you haven’t seen it, and need a little inspiration to spice up your love life, run – don’t walk to see Magic Mike. If you don’t come home ready for some hot-steamy-love-making after watching this movie, you really need to hold your doctor hostage until she prescribes the right hormones.
How could I let my readers down by not going to see this? It’s not my usual high-brow artsy flick, but I thought I could subject myself to the absolute horror of seeing Channing Tatum rip off his clothes while writhing on stage. Only for you my loves, do I make such incredible sacrifices.
The opening scene is a tasteful nude profile shot of Mr. YummyPantsTatum from chest to mid thigh – naked. That alone was worth the price of admission. Ladies and gentlemen, we have officially found this generations answer to Patrick Swayze. That one scene alone was all I needed to fuel my already brightly burning fire. I was ready to get up and go home. I already had goose-bumps, and there was a new, sensuous, humidity creeping into my nether-regions.
Mathew McConaughey gives a stellar performance as the experienced-yet-past-his-prime strip club manager named Dallas. His character is seedy, funny and tragic at the same time. I was in a fit of laughter as he gives the ‘kid’, played by Alex Pettyfer, lessons on how to take-it-all-off in front of a mirror during rehearsal.
Of course the movie got terrible reviews. After all, how on earth can we take a movie about heterosexual male strippers seriously? The same way we can be mesmerized by the glamour and riches of Sex in the City. The same way we swoon over Johnny Depp dressed as a dirty pirate. Arggh ladies, would you like to wash my plank? Magic Mike is a chick-flick that hasn’t pretended to be anything other than it is. A kitschy romance with a whole lotta shakin’ goin’ on.
Anticipating the complete discomfort the movie might inflict, I arranged for a rendezvous shortly after with my wonderful, much younger, very able and attentive lover. For the sake of protecting his identity, let’s call him Francis. I hurried home, chilled the bubbly,lit the candles, had a long-hot soak and got all girlie smooth. When my manly-man Francis arrived, I was still warm from the bath, smooth, and ready in a lovely negligee that I pulled out of hiding. I don’t know how these things shrink over time? Not Francis, my negligee. Anyway, I felt fabulous and so did Francis.
Today, thanks to a little encouragement from Magic Mike and a lot of attention from Fantabulous Francis, I’m feeling quite….refreshed.
This movie is like hot and sour soup for the relationship/freinds-with-benefits/one-night-stand soul. Get down off your high horse and go see it. But take my advice – climbing back up onto that unforgiving saddle won’t feel very good unless you call in your best man to meet you when the movie ends and help stretch your thighs.
That’s what I did, and it was lovely. Giddy-up!