Pleasure Principles + Raunchy Rhythms: Depictions of Dance and the Female Gaze in Magic Mike and Dirty Dancing

By Gabriella Anifantis

Dance in cinema is the ultimate symbolic display. It serves as a romantic trope, a narrative catharsis, and it propels storylines forward. It has the power to shape physical and psychological proximity, route emotional interpretations, build tension, and reinforce relationships. Classics such as Singin’ in the Rain, White Christmas, and Kiss Me Kate first introduced the ways that dance (specifically tap and ballroom) could indicate friendship, conflict, family, or romance. It was Hollywood’s Golden Age of movie musicals that popularized the art form’s presence in cinema, however its lasting significance has perforated the modern screen. Dance in the contemporary world showcases less footwork and is more centered in storytelling from the body. This mirrors popular culture ideologies, where traditionally prudent art has become more accepting of sensual behavior. Sex has become destigmatized, and therefore finds its way into daily habits and activities. One of the impacts of this culture shift is how the role of dance on screen has changed; Dance is now used synonymously with sex. Because it is more digestible to mass audiences than displaying intimacy, dance becomes a key artistic device in creating desire. It has also become a tool to enhance female enjoyability, allowing for a female gaze to appear in film. Emile Ardolino’s Dirty Dancing and Steven Soderbergh’s Magic Mike are prime examples of this. Their depictions of dance are crafted through cinematography, lighting, touch, posing, and costuming, each of these elements establishing the narrative that sex and dance go hand in hand. Exploiting male bodies makes space for the female gaze, historically not present in the media. 

In discussing visual pleasure in cinema, film theorist Laura Mulvey positions the following societal binary: Traditionally, man is spectator and woman is spectacle (Perfetti-Oates 18). Simply put, it is omnipresent that women are objectified within modern media, while men are the subjects of such gaze. This is everywhere. Male musical artists will use their videos to showcase themselves surrounded by beautiful, often scantily clad women. The American idea of bachelor parties, especially those shown in film, thrives off the sexualization of women before a man is “tied down”. However, this objectification is changing. In recent decades, there is an emerging presence of the opposite. The “chick flick” genre in particular has always been geared towards young, female viewers. While this demographic has usually been the center of sexual objectivity for others' pleasure, select films have instead positioned masculinity as the source of visual pleasure. Whether progressive intentions to change the industry, or marketing tactics to target broader audiences, the sexualization of physical masculinity is being used to be viewed and consumed (Arimbi and Leona 191). This all comes down to the ways in which dance is portrayed on screen. Provocative choreography, strategic dress code, lighting, and camera shots all sexualize the acts of their dancing. This will be examined through close readings of scenes from Dirty Dancing and Magic Mike.

The 1987 dance romance Dirty Dancing was a cultural reset in media. Following its huge box office success, it quickly earned itself the title of “Star Wars for girls”. The film’s protagonist, Baby (Jennifer Grey), a young woman on vacation with her family, represents female audiences watching the film. As the 17 year old integrates herself with Johnny (Patrick Swayze), a mature dance instructor at her resort, and the world of dance, she learns of love, lust, and relationships. Her age is indicative of her innocence and she lacks any experience in aforementioned areas. Academic Eija Ventola interprets this dynamic by describing it as a “terpsichorean deflowering,” where Baby’s dance lessons serve as a form of erotic foreplay (Charles 149). She is a stand-in for all of the women in the audience, though she more specifically represents the subset of women who have not yet had agency in sexual interactions. 

Baby’s plain and innocent demeanor makes her relatable to everyone, most women and even some men, watching. The camera’s movements suture Baby’s gaze to that of the audience “such that the viewer shares Baby’s experience” (Borelli 139-146). She experiences the film’s moments in a parallel pattern to the audience learning as well. Baby’s introduction to the world of dirty dancing is when Billy (Neal Jones) first brings her to the break room. She enters the room, where a wide shot briefly captures the space. Billy leads her through the crowd, and a camera follows to capture her reactions. Throughout the entirety of the scene, men grab at women’s waists, sultry stares fill the room, and bodies move to the rhythm of the music. The camera pans in on a bare leg being thrust by a male dancer. Looking only briefly, Baby takes observation of female thighs, close pelvises, and fluid motions that follow with the music. All the behaviors are sexually enhanced. These depictions of dance “appear improvised, spontaneous, and [are] both emotionally [and] sexually expressive” (Borelli 139). This is to excite audiences, by making the movement look effortlessly pleasurable. The camera zooms in on dripping sweat. A man’s hand caresses his female dance partner’s face. Moments later, Johnny is introduced. His shirt is unbuttoned, and Baby holds her gaze at him. Baby watches the way Johnny holds his dance partner. He grabs her hips, flips her hair, and the camera goes back to Baby. Doe eyed, she watches him. Dim red light highlights his strong arms. This color, which is typically associated with love and lust, contributes to the erotic energy that the scene has created. Its dim brightness also creates a sultry essence. His physique is depicted from all different angles, showing that he is the intended focus of the scene. After dancing with almost every woman in the room, a path is cleared for him. A long angle shows this path as he struts down through the crowd.

Figure C (Ardolino 00:18:50)

This establishes his dominance as a dancer and emphasizes him as a spectacle. He thrusts his chest and hips into the lens. Moments later, it is Baby’s turn to dance. Johnny grabs her pelvis and attempts to circulate it. She is stiff and awkward, initially sticking her limbs out too far, creating separation between their bodies. He looks down and moves closer to her, but she moves her hips jarringly “making the dance look too much like the sex that it implies” (Borelli 140). Their movements are meant to be suave and effortless, but Baby is neither of these things. It is her timid and awkwardness that “highlights her lack of knowledge about dance, sex, men, and more importantly her body” (Borelli 140). The events of the film are here to teach her of these emotions, and to gain familiarity with this new sexual otherness. This otherness offers female viewers a space where their own pleasures and desires are taught and fulfilled. 

The middle of the film features a montage of Baby’s instructional dancing journey. “Hungry Eyes,” a pop ballad, is the non-diegetic score of choice, with the title of the song itself saying a lot about the physical choices that are soon to play out. Baby is wearing a pink polka dot two piece set, and the revealing ensemble is far different from the modest cardigan she sported in her first time in the break room. Her stomach, arms, and legs are all exposed. The same applies to Johnny, who is shirtless by the finale of the number. Their physiques cater to the audience, who want to be in Baby’s shoes. Johnny’s veins and defined muscles dominate the center of the frame. When they dance, Baby always remains somewhat center, while Johnny is slightly skewed to either side. Though she is the one learning to dance, he is the object of the audience’s sexual desire. In the chorus’ second pass, we see Baby sporting a pair of briefs with a white cropped bralette. Johnny’s large hands touch her small waist. The camera holds on this pose before panning to Johnny, who is shirtless. Baby caresses his shoulder before he grabs her hand and guides her to the rhythm. Their movements are eroticized via lighting choices and inherently sexual movements. A key frame is at moment 0:38:18, when they are featured dancing on a stage.

Figure D (Ardolino 00:38:18)

His face is submerged in darkness while his body glows under faux lighting, once again objectifying the male body on screen to cater to female audiences who are traditionally the ones being objectified. Further in the scene, there is a close up of Baby’s back touching Johnny’s torso. Because of their height difference, we don’t see his face but we do see hers. His looming masculinity helps to assert his dominance, and reinforces his position as a sexual prop. She lifts her arms, which rest against his head. He traces his fingers down the sides of her arm, torso, and waist. She squirms and giggles so he starts again. They repeat the motion over and over, to which he gets frustrated. Baby, however, is smiling and beaming. Watching the female protagonist receive pleasure from her male counterpart is exciting for audience demographics who usually do not see this. The intimacy of their movement is truly captivating. The strategic use of color, camera, costuming, and most importantly choreography, all position this male protagonist as an object; Doing so establishes the feminine empowerment and agency that the film’s world attempts to establish. 

Just like in Dirty Dancing, Magic Mike sexualizes its male characters through choices of costume, lighting, cinematography, touch, and pose. Magic Mike uses male strippers, and inherently their bodies, to serve as the entertainment for audiences outside and within the narrative. The 2012 comedy-drama emphasizes details of hypermasculinity as a tool to cater to female viewers. Mike (Channing Tatum) is the leader of the “Kings of Tampa,” a crew of strippers who dance at various clubs in Florida. Early in the film, their first performance number is a rendition of 80s hit, “It’s Raining Men.” The act is fun and light hearted, though its significance resonates much deeper than that. Lighting in this scene is extremely intentional; Downward directional angles of the light source illuminate the performers, specifically their physical appearance. Their black costumes absorb most of the beams, while their fair arms, legs, and torsos radiate and glisten. Their bodies are objectified to fulfill a “desirable commodity” of masculine body image that “is identified as tall, strong, sturdy, muscular, and broad shouldered” (Arimbi and Leona 195). In a fundamentally heteronormative society, this eroticizes male body movements and satisfies female viewing pleasure. It is more common in other raunchy comedies of the time period that close ups of women in bikinis are filmed as they exit a pool. Their breasts are shot in slow motion while they run on a beach. A short skirt is filmed from a low angle. Reversing these roles makes for a rarer and more modern take. 

Figure A (Soderbergh 00:23:20)

Touch and pose go hand in hand when enhancing the sexual nature of their movements. Taking the stage to himself, Mike lowers his torso to the ground and grinds his pelvis into the floor, which is an inherently sexual act. As he scoots his way down the apron of the stage, the camera pans to women in the crowd watching him closely. Mike and the rest of the Kings of Tampa position themselves at the front of the stage, where they are filmed from a low angle. This blocking and cinematography choice will be a trend throughout close readings of this film’s scenes. The choreography positions the male characters in a place to showcase dominant sexual power. For some of these low angle shots, their heads are cut out of frame, sexualizing them further by focusing on their bodies rather than their face. They are diminished to their physicality. Point of view shots are used to recreate the perspectives of a character, in this case, the gaze of female spectators. Close ups are used on the arms, muscles, and abs of the performers. These shots are intercut with club audience reactions, whose inter-film responses drive how the movie audience should be taking in the performance as well. Their smirks and screams say it all, they are pleased with what they see. The female audience members are posed to sit in their chairs for the majority of the performance. The sentiment of them sitting down is further indication that this is all for their own entertainment. These men are merely eye candy. 

These intentions are furthered through clothing selection as well. “It’s Raining Men” begins with the group wearing long black trench coats. The modest costumes cover them from head to toe, and are accessorized with black hats and umbrellas. As their performance progresses, they strip to simply a pair of pants. This makes room for the camera to use their bodies as the focal point of the dance. When “It's Raining Men” ends, Mike and his co-stars invite women to the stage and also head into the audience to get them involved. Touch becomes very important here. Passionate touching and aggressive grasping of Mike’s body is paired with cheering and whooping. The crew encourages this behavior by sitting on their audience’s laps as well. The intimacy of dance portrayed in these moments caters to female audiences, as women are the ones getting something out of it on screen. While a traditional model has functioned with women as the erotic object of desire, this scene furthers the ways Magic Mike has positioned women to be the ones actively gazing (Arimbi and Leona 194).

Similar approaches are taken later in the movie, when Dallas (Matthew McConaughey) performs his solo act on stage. The scene begins somber, with the cowboy strumming his guitar and singing to a country ballad dedicated to the ladies of Tampa. It starts with a long shot, emphasizing distance between the camera and characters. This shot establishes the dynamic within the scene with the male dancer on stage and the women surrounding him. He caters his performance based on audience reception. After increasing tempo, the audience lets out hollers. This ignites him to speed it up and change the energy of his performance. Lighting a torch, he undresses. He strikes a very important pose, pointing his hand in the air and tilting his head downward, allowing his hat to fall over his eyes. This creates a shadow of darkness over his face, further emphasizing his unclothed torso, which is brightly highlighted in the golden lighting. The strategically positioned glow depicts his body as the focus of his dancing, again sexualizing the men in the movie.

Figure B (Soderbergh 1:38:46)

Before allowing the audience to caress him, he turns to face the crowd and begins touching himself. He traces circles on his nipples, and strokes his chest while grabbing his pelvis. The element of touch does not always have to involve another individual to deem itself as sexual, and Dallas’ self touch further eroticizes his dancing. Once again, cuts are inserted of the audience, demonstrating how women are being receptive to this performance. He removes his clothing more and more. He eventually sports nothing but a black leather G-string, a garment traditionally worn by women. There is clear emphasis on the buttocks, which is fully visible at this point. At 1:40:03, Dallas is positioned in the center frame, where he splits his legs wide across the dance stage. This suggestive pose invites ideas of sexual activity. Therefore, his “pose which is stereotypically associated with women… [allows] him to be feminized by his depiction as an eroticized, sexualized, and visually available object for the female gaze” (Arimbi and Leona 195). This ironic physicality demonstrates the ways in which women are normally the ones being exploited. By putting Dallas in a feminine stature, the film puts him in a position to be sexualized, there is a vulnerability that comes with being nude. Women surround him, touching his legs, arms, chest. The female reception to the dancing on camera is representative of how real off screen audiences are supposed to be feeling. A significant moment in this scene is when he takes his final bow at 1:40:51. The camera captures a wide shot of Dallas, who stands near a gold statue in his periphery. This gold statue appears to be nude, muscular, and Greek god-like. Its physique looks almost identical to that of Dallas, serving as symbolism for the objectification of the male dancers. Just like Mike and his friends, the nude statue is also being put on display as erotic eye candy.

Magic Mike turns dance into erotic spectacle via provocative clothing, strategic posing, touch (both by self and others), and cinematographic movement. Each of these elements allow for man’s body to hold power and sex appeal. They highlight hypermasculinity to lure female patrons. This goes beyond the fact that they are strippers. It is through these elements that the Kings of Tampa are “transformed into a desirable commodity that can satisfy spectators' pleasures of looking” (Arimbi and Leona 191). This culture allows for a reverse viewing experience, where the female gaze is prioritized. 

Whether discreet or on the nose, the use of dance and sex are synonymous. In the instance of Dirty Dancing, dance is a tool used to subtly integrate themes of love, pleasure, and relationships. Baby becomes sexually aware through her mastery of dance. In the case of Magic Mike, it is more explicitly demonstrated; The masculinity of the Kings of Tampa is eroticized via strip dancing and used as a source of entertainment. What these films share is a common accentuation of masculine body image and using it to cater to female audiences. Through strategic camera blocking, lighting choices, costuming, and intentional touching, these films successfully sexualized their male characters and created space for a female gaze in an industry typically more accustomed to the male gaze.

Work Cited

Ardolino, Emile. 1987. Dirty Dancing. United States: Vestron Pictures.

Borelli, Blanco Melissa, Colleen Dunagan, and Roxane Fenton. “Dirty Dancing: Dance, Class, and Race in the Pursuit of Womanhood .” Essay. In The Oxford Handbook of Dance and the Popular Screen, 139–46. London: Oxford University Press, 2017.

Filipovic, Jill. “Hugh Hefner the Playboy Did Not Love Women.” Time, Time, 30 Sept. 2017, https://time.com/4963765/no-hugh-hefner-did-not-love-women/. 

Soderbergh, Steven, Reid Carolin, Gregory Jacobs, Channing Tatum, and Nick Wechsler. Magic Mike. United States: Warner Bros., 2012.

Leona , Agnes, and Diah Ariani Arimbi . “Man’s Body on the Line: Male Objectification in Magic Mike (2012) .” Allusion, English Department, Universitas Airlangga 05, no. 02 (August 0, 2016): 191–98.

Perfetti-Oates, Natalie. “Chick Flicks and the Straight Female Gaze: Sexual Objectification and Sex Negativity in New Moon, Forgetting Sarah Marshall, Magic Mike, and Fool’s Gold.” Gender Forum: An Internet Journal for Gender Studies, no. 51 (2015): 18–25.

Tsai, Addie. “Magic Mike, Dirty Dancing, and the (Empty) Promise of Heteromasculinity.” The International Journal of Screendance 9 (2018): 99–112. https://doi.org/10.18061/ijsd.v9i0.6040.

Ventola, Eija, Cassily Charles, and Martin Kaltenbacher. “The Multiple Modes of Dirty Dancing.” Essay. In Perspectives on Multimodality, 149. John Benjamins, 2004.

Willicoxon , Lexi. “Magic Mike and the Male Body as a Source of Spectacle.” The University of Mississippi Undergraduate Journal 1, no. 14 (April 1, 2016): 49–52.