I didn't invite any of my friends to accompany me to see the new Channing Tatum film, Fighting, because, when I watch porn, I like to watch it alone. Don't you?
Yes, I know that the movie is billed as an uber-masculine action flick about underground street fighting, but, for me, Channing Tatum punching things in a wife-beater is an erotic experience.
Sure, he's a fine actor (perfectly charming in the very entertaining Step Up and She's the Man and compelling in Stop-Loss) and he brings a convincing mix of desperation and decency to his role as street-tough Shawn MacArthur, but you can't fault me for objectifying a man who launched his career as an underwear model:
Anyway, Fighting features some brutal fight scenes with true primal appeal (didn't Susan Sontag praise boxing at some point in her career?), as well as a comic and sad performance by Terrance Howard, who seems to be doing a butched-up variation of Michael Jackson's voice, playing MacArthur's de facto manager.
The filmmakers must've read my mind because the movie climaxes with a violent shirtless fight scene on a skyscraper rooftop. Aren't you fascinated by how I find joy in the little things in life?