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Instead, the road trip lands the gang at private events and people’s homes. What if, in addition to baring their asses, they also bared their souls?
They’re making house calls, and the intimacy of the settings compounds the fantasy, personalizes it. The change is a brilliant shift in prerogative from the first movie, which was a druggy and jokey, slightly overwritten romantic comedy between Mike and a beachy but practical chick (Cody Horn); between artists and money (on either side of the camera); and among the dancers themselves.
Both the first film and the ads for the second make hay of penises.
She also, presumably, wants to show him how real men please women.
And so Mike and Ken and everybody else become bystanders as the camera takes in her cabinet of wonders, one of whom turns out to be Michael Strahan. I’ll only say that Pinkett Smith puts her steeliness to its sexiest use ever (ending a decades-long squandering) and that there was no reason to include this sequence.
The moment is a little bit , and 100 percent for us. There’s not much to these people as individual characters — they’re openly shallow. It’s explained at some point that Matthew Mc Conaughey’s emcee character from the original has run off to Asia to start a new show with the Kid, who was played by Alex Pettyfer.
Tatum’s dancing by himself isn’t as technically sound as Gene Kelly or Fred Astaire. The guys have found a new emcee, played by the comedian Gabriel Iglesias — another veteran of the first movie (he played the DJ) and known to the world by his nom de stand-up, Fluffy.
But the movie comes honestly by both the search and the assistance. Eventually, he does, and it’s beautiful, and you get the sense that the movie is about the search for a similar suitable home.