Books, Arts & Manners: Games People Play

EVEN though it may be the worthiest new film around, I found The Full Monty offputting because I had serious trouble understanding it. There was a brief period when British films featuring Cockney or regional speech were subtitled, a practice I applauded. But the practice soon died out-whether for economic reasons or from shame at seeming condescension, I don’t know. And here I was left struggling with the street talk of Sheffield.

It may have to do with my being foreign born, but the first twenty or thirty minutes proved well-nigh impenetrable, and even the remainder rather hit-or-miss. To be sure, I am not one of those who kid themselves into laughing along without full comprehension. In any case, though, The Full Monty, written by Simon Beaufoy and directed by Peter Cattaneo, is deft and interesting. Some unemployed steelworkers stumble onto a Chippendale club: male strippers performing for an all-female audience. Gaz, the protagonist, actually sneaks in with his young son, Nathan, and is astounded by the participatory zeal of four hundred women customers roaring their approval at handsome, muscular males who strip down to a g-string.

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John Simon

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EVEN though it may be the worthiest new film around, I found The Full Monty offputting because I had serious trouble understanding it. There was a brief period when British films featuring Cockney or regional speech were subtitled, a practice I applauded. But the practice soon died out-whether for economic reasons or from shame at seeming condescension, I don’t know. And here I was left struggling with the street talk of Sheffield.

It may have to do with my being foreign born, but the first twenty or thirty minutes proved well-nigh impenetrable, and even the remainder rather hit-or-miss. To be sure, I am not one of those who kid themselves into laughing along without full comprehension. In any case, though, The Full Monty, written by Simon Beaufoy and directed by Peter Cattaneo, is deft and interesting. Some unemployed steelworkers stumble onto a Chippendale club: male strippers performing for an all-female audience. Gaz, the protagonist, actually sneaks in with his young son, Nathan, and is astounded by the participatory zeal of four hundred women customers roaring their approval at handsome, muscular males who strip down to a g-string.