The entire female population of Lakeland, Florida, has gathered at Cobb Theatres at Lakeside Village Mall to see “Magic Mike.” Stoked on margaritas, wine and hors d’oeuvres at the nearby Chili’s, the mass of horny females thrusts inside theatre #10 where the heat has climbed to 98 degrees. Doesn’t the management know how hot it’s going to get when Channing Tatum hits the screen?
The first man the 408 women see is not Tatum, however. It’s the manager who has foolishly stepped on stage to ask the ladies to shove their asses over so some dumb blonde who had the misfortune to tinkle on her dress in the bathroom can get some sympathy and a seat. The women start hollering at the poor schlub and pull dollar bills out of their billfolds to stick in his crumpled black suit. He makes a hasty retreat.
Only four other men whose sexual identity is in question have set foot inside the theatre. What the hell were their wives thinking? That if they allowed their man to come he’d learn some new moves? That he’d become buff by sitting in the faux velvet seats? That, horrors, he’d actually look good by the end of the night?
The only men who look good here are up there on the screen. They’re wearing fedoras and raincoats that come off in a snap when Magic Mike and the other strippers rip away their velcroed pants to reveal more bulges than Arnold. The women roar.
Now this is summer vacation.