So. In the interest of satisfying my curiosity, please raise your hand if you have had drunken sex with an ex and immediately put on your bra, tank top, and knickers, while (s)he replaces his/her t-shirt and boxers, before falling asleep on the couch under the strangely convenient and pristine white duvet. Or is the pickled ex-sex being had through multiple layers of cotton? Am I in a pervy minority thinking that the only acceptable post-coital attire is a thin layer of rapidly cooling sweat? Hmmmm.
I’d say this doesn’t need to be seen large, and will fit a small screen just as well, if not better.
PostScript: Except for the absolutely ENRAGING pretext that a successful smart woman who splits with an underachiever will descend into a spiral of alcohol, dirty clothes, and drug abuse, and then slowly come to realize she’s a domineering bitch, completely deserving to be alone and heart broken, this movie is VERY entertaining, fun and silly. There are MANY incidents that will illicit loud outbursts of laughter, and it’s a perfect example of the evolution we’re seeing in rom-com. It’s no Meg Ryan/Kate Hudson special, and is in many ways a more honest examination of modern relationships for all it’s delightful silliness. The character work by the entire cast is rich, and if not for the bloody infuriating and far too easy pretext that a successful smart woman who splits with a chronic underachiever will descend into a spiral of alcohol, dirty clothes, and drug abuse, and then slowly come to realize she’s a domineering bitch, completely deserving to be alone and heart broken, I would have loved this movie.
Subterranean. Bottommost. Subjacent.
Studettes, I’m afraid I haven’t the language to describe just how low my bar was set for this particular film. I was all primed to catch me some Abe Lincoln when BAM! Into my lap fell advance screening tix. What’s a slut to do? I mean, really.
Needless to say, I grabbed my bar from the dirt pile in which it lay, tossed it down an open man-hole (heh heh), and pranced right in. I left charmed and delighted; NO SHIT, I was “charmed”. Now please don’t get me wrong, brothers and sisters – in all likelihood, it was complete rubbish, but I enjoyed myself and can comfortably employ heinous sex-role stereotyping and call this a Macho Man Romance (MMR). That is to say it’s completely bereft of actual romance, but the predictable construct is too obvious to deny. In fact, you’ll be able to predict the entire plot within the first 15 minutes, but the choreography and superb scenery actually succeed in making up for the pedestrian script and plot. Truly.
Magic Mike lacks the shame-free fun of Boogie Nights and in a perfect story-line, Mike is not punished for his “sinful” lifestyle, and not partnered with the surface prude still searching for her inner Studette. In this one, however, we must be satisfied with Matthew McConaughey playing the disgusting, Crisco-coated, too-fit, porn star in a 10 gallon he always plays and actually may be with zero shame, and with Joseph Manganiello FINALLY delivering the goods he slyly flashes glimpses of in True Blood, and it’s surprisingly easy (two words for you tarts: Alcide Herveaux). Channing Tatum is a dancer and actually worked as a stripper before acting, and it’s easy to be convinced there must have been CGI or a body double; the man can DEFINITELY shake his groove thang. Yes, Stephen Soderbergh has indeed made magic with a pile of dirt, and I’d say it’s worth a view with good friends, male and/or female.
But maybe a bad idea for a first date, hmmm?
Keep studly, my friends.
First, was there EVER a more studly wikkid step-monster than Charlize Theron as Ravenna? As passionate, as strangely sympathetic, as bat-shit looney? Oh, I think not.
She is voracious in her appetites and exquisite to behold. Ravenna is ambitious, driven and motivated – all the things we Studettes catch flack for (Intimidating? Domineering? Aggressive? Save it Pansy, and grow a pair). Yes, Ravenna delivers the goods all night long; she’s the gift that keeps giving. Which is a good thing since Kirsten Stewart as Snow White cries out for a refund from minute one.
To be fair, her English accent is spot on and deserves kudos, as do her stunning two front teeth, which we see in every single scene. Aside from that, Bella failed to entice. Entice? I was barely kept conscious much less titillated in any way, and sandwiched between Charlize Theron’s non-stop solo lust fest and Chris Hemsworth’s strangely compelling Scot growl, Stewart was ethereal at best. The kind of ethereal that 14 year olds find, like TOTES tragic and stuff, but the kind that made this particular Studette hope her hymen breaks soon so she can become a reasonable hand drawn facsimile of interesting.
The movie is breathtakingly beautiful, the dwarves are outstanding, the Queen is remarkable. The trade-off is a script that couldn’t have taken more than 45 minutes to write (you’ll recognize a scene so clearly swiped from Lord of the Rings, I hope Peter Jackson got a cheque), and the absolute certainty that Kristen Stewart will never not be Bella. A fair trade if someone else is paying! See it big, it will be a complete waste on a small screen.
Keep studly my friends,