The magic grinds its way out of town
Magic Mike XXL
(out of 4) Starring Channing Tatum, Joe Manganiello, Jada Pinkett Smith, Amber Heard and Andie MacDowell. Directed by Gregory Jacobs. Opens Wednesday at GTA theatres. 116 minutes. 14A All wrong, all wrong, all wrong.
Matthew McConaughey is sorely missed in Magic Mike XXL, an underendowed sequel that tries to go big but should instead have gone home. Everybody knows it, too, because his character Dallas is often invoked, like a ghost at a failed séance.
Slyly sexy cowboy Dallas was the real tease amongst the male strippers (sorry, entertainers) of Steven Soderbergh’s 2012 original, a funny and poignant look at the job of selling swagger. Channing Tatum’s title character “Magic” Mike Martingano was based on Tatum’s pre-stardom dance career.
Absent the brio of Dallas and also the mojo of Mike’s designer ambitions (he finally got that furniture business going), Magic Mike XXL -instead dives into the hoariest of cli- chés: the proverbial “one last ride” by guys who have nothing left to lose, but also nothing to say or prove.
It takes no effort to persuade Mike to unhand his tool box and to re-bump and regrind with the remaining Kings of Tampa dancers — including Big Dick Richie (Joe Manganiello), Tarzan (Kevin Nash), Ken (Matt Bomer) and Tito (Adam Rodriguez) — aboard a converted food truck bound for Myrtle Beach, S.C.
That’s the scene of a strip-a-thon where these aging stud ponies will prance into the sunset under a “tsunami of dollar bills.”
To kill time en route to the salami slamdown, they crash a drag bar, trade dreams (Big Dick wants to market condoms with condiments) and struggle to amuse women.
Among them are a jaded ex-stripper (Amber Heard) who is “trying to avoid ending up on the pole,” a saucy southern socialite (Andie MacDowell) and a Savannah club owner (Jada Pinkett Smith) who figures into Mike’s past and the Kings’ future.
It all peels off with the predictability of a carnival peep show, with Soderbergh handing the directing reins to his long-time associate Gregory Jacobs, while keeping the producer, cinematography and editor roles for himself. Magic Mike’s Reid Carolin returns as scripter, but his pen is flaccid.
Yes, yes, but what about the dancing?
Also pretty rote stuff, all hat and no horse, shot as if the small screen was the height of its visual ambition. As for the tunes, well, “Closer” by Nine Inch Nails was a lot more “dangerous” 20 years ago.
If the suggestive use of spray cream whips you into a froth, boy, do these lads have a movie for you.