Despite Alex Pettyfer’s presence as Adam, Magic Mike is not about the beginning of a male stripper who is down on his luck and just plain lazy. I’m not even sure it’s really about being a male stripper – much like Boogie Nights isn’t just about being a porn star. While Paul Thomas Anderson’s film is better – if only because of the cast of actors – both films are about appearance. Neither film is nearly as base to simply declare that strippers and porn stars receive no cred because of their occupations, but rather, both go a bit further and juxtapose these lascivious careers with a society obsessed with arbitrarily-defined ranking systems.
From the opening scene of Magic Mike – the morning’s residue of a threesome between Mike (Channing Tatum), Joanna (Olivia Munn), and an uncredited, unnamed, unknown, passed out conquest in this triad – gender prescriptions are tweaked. Mike gets prepared to leave for one of his many jobs (auto detailing, roofing, male stripper, furniture designer), and Joanna dresses and deflects a request for a second date (or tryst), insisting that she’ll call. Given the premise, this is not the only role reversal. On stage, the men become the desired and the preyed upon and the objects of desire. More profoundly, the women within the film hold the jobs of responsibility – with the exception of the condescendingly pedantic Paul. Aside from him, Brooke sifts through medical claims in a hospital, Joanna is finishing a doctorate in psychology and is just six weeks from being a certified psychologist. (I’m pretty sure it’s “licensed,” but she says “certified.”) Even the hurricane that moves over Florida is named Elaine – something that would be seen as coincidentally accurate had “Hurrican Elaine Hammers the Florida Coast” not been splayed on the ubiquitous televisions throughout Dallas’ house during a party.
The reversal of roles here is an obvious jumping point for cinematic themes; however, Soderbergh doesn’t overdo it. Instead, he writer Reid Carolin weave in other exploratory narratives. Most noticeably, the film explores the double standard placed on sexuality – and the viewing of it. Post the threesome when we meet Mike, he’s on a roof, laying terra cotta tiles with the inexperienced Adam. That evening, Adam wanders through Tampe and passes a long line of gorgeous people waiting to enter a club. At the front of the line stands Mike, making his way past the bouncer. In exchange for a favor, Mike gets Adam in, apologizing for his tattered red hoodie and scruffy facial hair all the while. Within, the music pumps, beautiful women wait for drinks at the bars, and scantily clad, neon-illuminated women dance in cages that hang from the ceiling and above the stages.
As an extension to the favor, Mike tells Adam to chat up a few just-turned-twenty one ladies looking for a good time. Shortly after, Mike hands them a post card, inviting them to Xquisite, an underground – literally – club that features the Male Dance Revue, or as the owner Dallas (Matthew McConaughey, in what might be his best role) calls them, the Cock Kings of Tampa. Xquisite is clean, but it’s hidden in the basement of the thumping night club above. As opposed to being exclusive, it’s all-inclusive, but barely anyone seems to know about it.
The comment made in the above comparison is that women are almost expected to be on display while men-on-display is more closely linked to homoeroticism – if not homosexuality – something that’s poked fun at while Adam sits in the male dressing room (a converted restaurant kitchen complete with shaving cream, women’s razors, and g-strings). Stating that women are often objectified is nothing novel, and I won’t belabor the point here; Magic Mike tweaks this theme a bit by ironizing its own commentary. While the choreography of the group dance numbers is quite impressive, the film lacks the requisite nudity of a strip club – with the exception of random naked women throughout the film, naturally. By sardonic design, even the film itself succumbs to prudishness, showing women clamor for half-dressed men who are never naked. Throughout, the penis is missing, replaced by phallic props: a stuffed horse head on a stick, an umbrella, a pair of pants, the American flag (part of the film takes place over 4th of July). In effect, the missing male organ is doubly missing even in a business dedicated to its presence – yet the women paw over the men on stage like tigresses stalking wild boar. (Even the stage is set in jungle design.)
In addition to the swapping of roles, Magic Mike also plays on constructed legitimacy. According to Mike, his many jobs are financial stepping stones to his ultimate goal: opening his own custom furniture business. However – as depicted by his discussion in the bank – his (hefty) stack of money (that he meticulously straightens and flattens as to prevent it looking like crumpled bills given to a stripper) hardly translates to a down payment because his credit score is abysmal. He has no debt, but, as a result, he has no credit. And here, Magic Mike dabbles in a discourse that depicts credit as the new currency. Cash is useless if credit is non-existent. Here, credit also becomes self-worth. Despite his luxurious home, his car, and his wardrobe, Mike is relegated to the fiscal category of “distressed,” urged to consider various programs that the bank offers. Mike’s delegitimized money can also uncannily be linked to his covert profession. In other words, success and capability are defined by roles deemed worthy, like bankers, mortgage brokers, or financial analysts.
What’s doubly interesting, is that this depiction of roles and its relation to worth and value bunk the American dream of being an entrepreneur, or owning one’s business. Though linked to sexuality, Mike’s occupation is just as much of a means to money as a waiter or bartender’s. Really, Mike’s profession is based on suggested sexuality – as “sex” is never seen.
As a follow up to Haywire, Magic Mike mixes a number of narratives into an interesting, often funny tale of self-worth and public worth. The one downside to this film is its ultimate devolution to the pedestrian convergence of puerilities and narcotics. This trope is overplayed, overdone, and predictable – as is the eventual rift between Mike, Adam, and his sister, Brooke. Even though conflict is necessary to prompt the overall resolution, the pairing of drugs and sex is tired and nearly debunks the legitimate commentary on gender roles and social hypocrisy limned in the first three quarters of the film.
