REVIEW - MAGIC MIKE

There is a line between art-house filmmaking and commercial filmmaking, and it is visible in all of Steven Soderbergh's mainstream films. It's possibly their only fault, and it's one which they all share. The best crossover films don't seem to pay heed to this line - the film doesn't notice it and neither do we. But those moments, so integral to the substance of his work, where Soderbergh unexpectedly places a jump-cut, or uses a characteristically disorientating camera angle only draw our attention to it. Employed with greater frequency, they might fulfill greater stylistic purpose, although perhaps that may be too predictable for this most irreverent of American directors. In their current usage, though, they're jarring (if welcome) reminders of his capabilities as an artist. Magic Mike does afford him some luxuries in its concept - the locale, the attractive cast, the darker corners in the narrative - which play right into his hands, but maybe not enough. It's maybe a little too deep for such a surface-dwelling filmmaker, and he entrusts these depths for his actors to navigate (this is nothing new, and his films consistently feature superb ensemble performances, so he must be doing something right in this regard). The only actor who isn't up to scratch, expectedly, is Alex Pettyfer, but his insipidness suits his role. Cody Horn, previously unknown to me, is charming and natural as Pettyfer's sister, and Channing Tatum, well, Channing Tatum...I've always refuted the assumptions that he's not a good actor, but if you want to know how good an actor he is, just watch how good a stripper he is. A shame that, as he enriches the character to its fullest, the screenplay shits out such a conventional happy ending; it's not what happens that I object to, but the manner in which it is done, as if all of the discomfort and bleakness in all of these people's lives has been cleansed by a few corny lines and a kiss. Good luck getting that $10,000 back, mate.