Magic Mike

The story of undiagnosed hot people wandering around a Piss Christ stained Florida and having quiet meandering conversations with people they don’t like very much punctuated by vibrant pops of abs. This movie is either yellow or it’s purple. Every single conversation is a transaction that leaves both parties worse off. If this movie were meaner the board shorts all the men wear would’ve been bigger. But it’s not asking you to laugh at anybody. Not even the usually uproarious Gabriel Iglesias. It’s just asking you to spend three months with some guys. The stakes remain low the entire time because it’s clear that every single character in this movie is doomed with or without a catastrophe occurring. A symphony of the physical horniness that lingers like sweat long after emotional horniness has melted away. The flesh is strong but the spirit is weak.