‘Magic Mike’s Last Dance’ Is Bad—and That’s Exactly What Makes It So Good

When I sat down in an Austin, Texas theater last weekend to see the latest in director Steven Soderbergh’s seemingly endless parade of Magic Mike movies, my heart sank when I realized the seats around me—all the seats, in fact—were filled by drunk, rowdy women. Not to be whatever, but the ambiance screamed “bachelorette party,” with all of its attendant penis straws and awkward karaoke numbers and compulsory heterosexuality, and I’ve always had trouble enjoying the kind of event where “gals” (barf) are encouraged to let go and have fun.

To be fair, given the Channing Tatum-led franchise revolves around male strippers, this is a completely expected state of affairs for viewing Magic Mike’s Last Dance. I should have assumed that the vibe would be extremely “WOOOO!,” but for whatever reason, I wasn’t prepared—and neither were the two friends I’d brought with me. What I was even less prepared for, though, was to find myself…having fun? (Granted, Alamo Drafthouse lets you drink during the movie, but I swear my enjoyment wasn’t all alcohol-based.)

Let me be clear: Magic Mike’s Last Dance, which focuses on the titular Mike choreographing a strip show in a historic London theater at the behest of his lover-slash-boss, Max (who is played exquisitely and terribly by Salma Hayek), is not good. The premise is shaky, the acting is overwrought, the script is full of lines that make absolutely no sense, and yet: Magic Mike’s Last Dance is fun as hell, specifically because it’s bad. ªAll that said, Tatum is inordinately gifted at delivering one-word lines like “’Sup?” and his dry bro-ishness provided the baseline that the rest of the movie’s improbable heights needed.)

Over the past three (million) pandemic years, I’ve grown used to watching movies at home, which I think has raised my bar for what I see in theaters; after all, why go catch a forgettable action flick for $15—not including parking and snacks—when I could watch a marvel of modern cinema like The Godfather or Something’s Gotta Give from the comfort and safety from my bed? (In my mind, these films are equally important and valuable. Fight me.) What I’ve lost, though, is the ability to sit in a movie theater and—in the words of critic Dwight Garner—“submit to the spell being cast,” and Magic Mike’s Last Dance casts quite a spell indeed.