If there’s one word that could describe Steven Soderbergh’s vast directorial oeuvre, if would be “unclassifiable.” Over the course of his 30+ year career, Soderbergh has gone from indie stalwart (Sex, Lies, & Videotape) to arthouse auteur (The Girlfriend Experience, Bubble) to studio franchise maker (The Oceans Trilogy), and not always in that order. He’s maintained a consistency in inconsistency, whether he’s tackling the vast sociopolitical tapestry of the War on Drugs or making a straight-up action movie. Even Soderbergh’s retirements aren’t reliable, which is also something you could say for the protagonist of his second most famous cinematic franchise: Magic Mike.
It’s odd, but rather wonderful in retrospect that 2012’s Magic Mike, a restrained indie about a male stripper having a quarter-life crisis, ended up spiraling into a multi-media franchise that includes three films and a live stage show. The original movie, written by Reid Carolin (who also writes the sequels), takes inspiration from lead actor Channing Tatum’s actual experiences working as a male stripper. It had an unassuming authenticity and surprising lack of eroticism that impressed (and maybe disappointed) some critics and audiences upon release. By contrast, 2015’s Magic Mike XXL, directed by Gregory Jacobs, is an unabashedly plotless road movie that resembles Step Up if it was filtered through the lens of Robert Altman. It’s a sequel that improves on the first, trading in its predecessor’s staid drama with a holistic and progressive vision of male sex work as a vessel for liberative female pleasure.
Magic Mike’s Last Dance is the franchise’s first straight-forward rom-com, one final subversion in Soderbergh’s trilogy to deliver a flashy but flatly conventional finale to an unconventional series. In a videotaped introduction before the advanced screening, Tatum states that the project’s inspiration comes from a dramatic, rain-soaked dance in the Magic Mike Live show. Over-plotted yet under-motivated, Magic Mike’s Last Dance seems to have been reverse engineered less as a conclusion to the character’s story than a handsomely shot advert for the Las Vegas stage show. Still, if the hot guys dance, does that even matter? With a tagline like “the final tease,” you’d hope it deliver at least on that front.
As the film begins, Mike Lane is adrift. Just to make his headspace more obvious, the very first shot of the film is him literally staring out at the ocean. He’s lost his small furniture business amidst the economic impact of the pandemic and bartends in Florida while maintaining a steadfast retirement from dancing. Whilst bartending at a fundraiser, Mike meets Maxandra Mendoza (Salma Hayek Pinault), a wealthy but lonely socialite going through a divorce who finds out about his past and asks him to give her a dance. The former stripper’s routine spiritually reawakens Maxandra, who invites him back to London with her and offers him a job: direct a stage show. “I want every woman who walks into this theatre to feel that a woman can have whatever she wants,” Max says, “whenever she wants.”
Soderbergh’s direction is brisk and skillful, as is the cinematography, shot by Soderbergh under his regular pseudonym of Peter Andrews. As with the prior films in the series, he employs an anamorphic lens to give each frame a textured, classic feel, which especially befits this story’s posh London setting. The camerawork during the dance and stripping sequences is raw and kinetic, especially in that opening and final 40 minutes, which are essentially a continuous series of dance numbers. The editing, once again done by Soderbergh under his editor pseudonym of Mary Ann Bernard, gives these scenes a punctual and rhythmic quality that, combined with the music, creates an intense sensorial feel. Mike warns the dancers early on that their work can release a “zombie apocalypse of repressed desire.” That dancing is the film’s main selling point and its greatest attribute. The film is most alive when bodies are in motion, giving its talented physical performers, including Tatum, a chance to really shine onscreen.
Aside from missing the original and XXL’s goofy ensemble, though, Hayek and Tatum simply don’t have much chemistry. It feels less like a romance than a rich woman who could afford to bring her fling out to London for a month. Both Hayek and Tatum are strong in their respective roles, but the screenplay isn’t doing them any favors. Soderbergh has chosen to punctuate the film with narration by Maxandra’s adopted daughter, Phoebe (Nancy Carroll), who spouts platitudes like: “if you love dancing with someone, does that mean you love someone?” Or later: “Can you dance with someone you don’t trust?” The show they’re putting on is about a woman who must choose between a man that’s rich and boring or a man that’s handsome and poor. Obviously, this is about Maxandra, and Mike’s direction of the play feels incidental at best. He’s a prop for her desires and there isn’t much focus paid to how it feels to be that prop.
Magic Mike’s Last Dance is ultimately pleasant, even very good at points, but its message of female sexual liberation doesn’t feel as genuine or rambunctious as it did in XXL. With much of the edge of the prior films taken out, intentionally or not, it’s a rather mild conclusion that provokes a mild response. Soderbergh has never done anything without intention, and this clearly is the film he wanted to make. The result is enjoyable while it’s on – any film starring Hayek and Tatum would be – but that satisfaction only runs skin-deep. You get the sensation that you’ve seen a glamorous show, but for a story ostensibly aiming at the spiritual power of dance, beauty and seduction, the result feels a lot more like fluff.
Photo courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures
The post Magic Mike’s Last Dance appeared first on Spectrum Culture.