But even when Tatum’s characters are domineering or self-regarding, there’s rarely a wantonly nasty or ugly aspect to his on-screen energy. A fundamental decency comes through no matter what. Whether he’s playing a man who’s selfishly cunning or sweet & dumb, the character always seems like the sort of person might pull over to help somebody fix a flat tire during a rainstorm rather than keep on driving (which creates the possibility of surprise no matter what). We might be at the point now where some enterprising director could cast Tatum as repugnant, brutal, and terrifying bad guy, if only for the shock value—like the way Sergio Leone cast Henry Fonda in “Once Upon a Time in the West”—or as an unhinged hero-turned-depraved antihero, in the vein of James Stewart’s performances for Alfred Hitchcock and Anthony Mann. (Quentin Tarantino seemed like he might be willing to go there in “The Hateful Eight,” but Tatum was barely in the movie.)
Writer-editor Emily Hughes summed up the light-magic charisma of Tatum in musicals and comedies: “Like a golden retriever cursed by a witch.” If, in fact, Tatum is a shape-shifter, it would explain why he has never obeyed W.C. Fields’ dictum “Never act with children or animals.” He’s an actor who brings overgrown-kid rambunctiousness to comic roles, and has always seemed at home playing opposite younger performers, even toddlers and babies who cannot be said to be capable of acting (the retriever remembers what it was like to be a puppy). And he’s thrown his filmmaker’s weight behind two separate (creatively intertwined) dog projects, the 2017 documentary “War Dog” and his 2022 directorial debut “Dog” (co-directed with Reid Carolin), a road picture about a former Army ranger (Tatum) escorting his fallen comrade’s dog to the man’s funeral.
Tatum is a subtle and intelligent screen performer who can deliver comedic dialogue that’s self-aware, verging on “Saturday Night Live”-sketch catchphrase-cutesy, without seeming precious about it. I still laugh thinking of the moment in “22 Jump Street” when he ends a fight with his onscreen detective partner, Jonah Hill, by staring at him, soul-sick and seemingly on the edge of tears, and saying, “I think we should investigate other people.” A lot of his success in various genres comes back to what seems like a lack of self-regard. He doesn’t indicate, signal, underline, boldface, or otherwise make a point of telling you that he gets it, whatever “it” is. No matter who he’s playing, or what scene the character is entangled in, Tatum always defaults to seeming like he’s not in on the joke—or barely aware of it and not letting on because he fears he might not understand it, which is just as funny as being oblivious. One can imagine him reading this piece and then forgetting all about it on purpose, because self-consciousness is the last thing an actor, dancer, comedian, drama star, or action hero needs.