By Susan Granger
When Steven Soderbergh’s over-the-top comedy romp was a surprise hit in 2012, “Magic Mike XXL” was inevitable.
Three years later, Mike (Channing Tatum) abandons his burgeoning furniture business to re-join the brawny Kings of Tampa for one last road trip to a Stripper Convention in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina.
In Jacksonville, Mike meets Zoe (Amber Heard), a flirtatious photographer. And when Big Dick Richie (Joe Manganiello) does an impromptu solo, grinding on a soda machine, just to bring a smile to the face of a glum mini-mart clerk, Mike realizes they all need to come up with some new, erotic moves.
So it’s onto Savannah to find raunchy Rome (Jada Pickett Smith), who runs Domina, a private pleasure palace where black women can indulge their fantasies. While Mike convinces her to become their new Master of Ceremonies, she can’t hold a candle to Matthew McConaughey’s charming zest.
These buff, oiled-up, half-naked, virile guys include Matt Bomer as Ken, Adam Rodriguez as Tito and Kevin Nash as Tarzan – show off their rippling, washboard abs and deliver lots of pelvic thrusts, joined by Donald Glover as romantic rapper Andre, NFL Super Bowl Champ Michael Strahan as athletically-inclined Augustus, and Stephen ‘t’Witch’ Boss as Malik, who mirrors Mike in the show-stopping finale.
Their ridiculous gyrations delight Andie MacDowall’s uninhibited, cougar-like, sex-starved Southern divorcee and Elizabeth Banks’ convention chief, who candidly wonders whether Mike still has the magic. And the raucous interlude in a LGBT club is an obvious nod to the gay audience.
Based on producer/star Channing Tatum’s experiences, it’s superficially scripted by Reid Carolin, choreographed by Alison Faulk and directed by Gregory Jacobs – with the concept’s creator/producer Steven Soderbergh behind-the-scenes as cinematographer and editor, using the pseudonyms, Peter Andrews and Mary Ann Bernard, respectively.
On the Granger Movie Gauge of 1 to 10, “Magic Mike XXL” is a sleazy, sybaritic yet surprisingly sweet 7, revolving around a troupe of male strippers who are determined to elevate women’s self-esteem.
Rin Tin Tin lives! Well, almost. Combining elements of “American Sniper” with a family theme, “Max” is a hybrid canine adventure about a war dog whose U.S. Marine handler is killed in Afghanistan.
As his story begins, heroic Max is on a specialized search mission with Kyle Wincott (Robbie Amiel), who’s killed in a skirmish. Desolate and unruly, Max suffers from PTSD, returning to the Texas dog-training facility. Slated for euthanasia, he’s unable to relate to anyone except Kyle’s rebellious teenage brother, Justin (Josh Wiggins).
Back in 2000, President Clinton signed a law allowing military working dogs (WMDs) to be adopted by their handlers or their civilian families, so Max comes to live with the Wincotts, despite reservations by Justin’s grieving parents (Thomas Hayden Church, Lauren Graham) who are justifiably wary.
When he’s not pirating video games, sullen slacker Justin hangs out with BMX-riding Chuy (Dejon LaQuake) and tough-talking Carmen (Mia Xitlali), who teaches him how to relate to distraught Max.
As they bond, Justin discovers that Kyle’s Marine buddy, Tyler (Luke Kleintank), is not only lying about Max’s role in Kyle’s death but has also become involved with an illegal weapons deal involving the local Mexican gang leader (Joseph Julian Soria), a crooked cop (Owen Harn) and two vicious Rottweilers.
Directed by Boaz Yakin (“Remember the Titans”) from a conventionally patriotic, cliché-riddled screenplay he wrote with Sheldon Lettich (“Rambo III”), it’s burdened not only by clunky dialogue but also Trevor Rabin’s manipulative score.
Kudos to animal coordinator Mark Forbes, who used several different Belgian Malinois as Max. The military switched from German Shepherds several years ago because Belgian Malinois are smaller, lighter and more agile; in addition, they live longer and don’t suffer from hip-dysplasia problems.
On the Granger Gauge, “Max” is a schmaltzy 6, yet parents should be aware that some of the ferocious dog fights may be too scary for young children.
The most inventive sequence in the lackluster “Ted 2” opens the titles, as the Ted (voiced by Seth MacFarlane) marries his gum-chewing girlfriend, Tami-Lynn (Jessica Barth), with Sam Jones (1980s Flash Gordon) officiating, followed by a lavish Busby Berkeley-like dance number atop a giant wedding cake.
Cut to one year later, when Ted and Tami-Lynn squabbling. Although Ted has no genitals, they agree that having a baby will quell their domestic strife and save their relationship.
So Ted and his “thunder buddy,” John (Mark Wahlberg), pay an ill-fated visit to a sperm bank, then sneak into New England Patriot’s QB Tom Brady’s house at night, hoping to use him as a donor.
When that fails, they visit adoption agencies, only to discover that, according to Massachusetts law, Ted’s not really a person but a piece of property. So it’s off to find the fledging lawyer (Amanda Seyfried) who will take on their legal/philosophical civil rights case – pro-bono.
Meanwhile, there’s a subplot in which a creepy Hasbro janitor (Giovanni Ribisi) tries to kidnap Ted and dissect him to discover his ‘secret’ to manufacture a new line of sentient, self-aware, Ted-like bears.
When writer/director Seth MacFarlane (TV’s “Family Guy”) devised the profane, pot-smoking CGI teddy bear, it was amusing. But this inept sequel revolves around one crude joke – that grows stale fast.
Perverted and proudly politically-incorrect, there are seemingly endless marijuana reference, punctuated by celebrity cameos (Jay Leno, Morgan Freeman, John Slattery, etc.) – with Liam Neeson delivering dead-pan humor, purchasing a box of Trix cereal.
Following a soundtrack homage to “Jurassic Park” dinosaurs, there’s lovely, lyric interlude in which Seyfried sings “Mean Ol’ Moon,” mesmerizing various woodland creatures, including a raccoon and a lobster. But the climactic Comic-Con chase sequence falls flat. It’s hit-or-miss mediocrity.
On the Granger Gauge, “Ted 2” is a flagrantly fumbling 5. The bawdy bear is back – and it’s disappointingly un-funny.
( Editor’s Note: Westport resident Susan Granger grew up in Hollywood, studied journalism with Pierre Salinger at Mills College, and graduated from the University of Pennsylvania with highest honors in journalism. In addition to writing for newspapers and magazines, she has been on radio/television as an anchorwoman and movie/drama critic for many years. See her reviews at www.susangranger.com.)
