It is rare these days that I actually laugh out loud at a theatrical review in a newspaper - but the piece by Sharon Lougher in today's Metro was a good 'un:
‘ARE YOU ready to get more suspect meat than a late-night kebab?’ is the clarion call that comes (sorry) at the start of Magic Mike Live.Ha!
‘Whoooooooo!’ came (again, sorry) the inevitable response from a tanked-up, oestrogen-rich Tuesday night crowd, who were about to witness a Loose Woman’s wet dream.
Theatre, this ain’t. Neither is it, in terms of plot, the live version of Magic Mike the film, starring Channing Tatum, who produces and directs here.
Instead, Magic Mike Live, which sold out its first dates in double-quick time, is unapologetically just a strip show. But it is one that comes (oh I give up) with high production values. In a specially converted space inside the Hippodrome, men with five-star abs (they’re rock-solid, which I know, because I touched them - it’s allowed) and six-star eye contact (aaargh) dance, grind, play instruments and do aerial acrobatics either above you, around you, on stage or in your face.
If you’re not tactile and really don’t want a stranger thrusting his crotch at you on a school night there is a safe word: unicorn. A more useful instruction for such people might be ‘try Antony & Cleopatra at the National’.
And, loathe as I am to feature gratuitous objectification of male flesh...
Cover me in honey, and just throw me in!
