I’m making plans now for a heavy duty date night. It should involve wine, a few canapés, at least one of my girlfriends and Channing Tatum. That’s right – I’m going to see Magic Mike.
If you’ve been living under a rock and haven’t heard of this movie, let me be the bearer of excellent news. The Southern born 32 year old stud muffin Mr Tatum has had the good sense and generosity of heart to get his gear off in a movie about boy strippers for the benefit of me and 3.5 billion* of my closest friends.
(*Note: I feel it’s important to explain how I arrived at this number. The current population of the world is just under 7 billion, so the formula works out to be World Population divided by Two minus All Straight Men minus All Gay Women plus All Gay Men. So about 3.5 billion. But that’s a rough estimate.)
(On another note, while Microsoft Office includes the entire Cyrillic alphabet, it does NOT include the old school symbol for “divided by” featuring the line with the dot on top and the dot on bottom, nor does my laptop. Anyone know what’s up with that?)
Of course, the theme of Magic Mike is something about how he wants to be more than just young, really good looking, really fit and really rich. Although the story is loosely based on Mr Tatum’s real life experiences as an actual stripper*, it’s still a work of fiction so what his character in the movie really wants is to build furniture and have a meaningful relationship.
(*Seriously, Wikipedia says that US Weekly says that he was a stripper in Florida right after he dropped out of college – who am I to argue?)
I guess it’s possible that a stunningly good looking guy who makes his living from clubbing might truly want to get married, grow a beer belly and “hook up” with the same woman over and over again for the course of the next forty-something years. Far be it from me to belittle his dreams.
I guess the real point, though, is that he takes his shirt off – A LOT – in this movie and I really respect that. He even gets my other favourite Southern guy Matthew McConaughey to take his shirt off too. So if he wants to settle down and have babies and work up calluses on his giant, manly hands, that’s fine with me. I’m sure I’ll still respect him.
Well, his abs anyway. And his deltoids. Oh, and his pecs. Ooo and I forgot about his triceps and biceps. And if I need to pause for a breath, I really shouldn’t leave out his smile and those big blue eyes. Are they blue? Who really cares? Because he takes his shirt off. A LOT. It’s sort of the whole point of the movie.
Bless his cotton socks – well, his singlet top, anyway.