In order to help the actors with the stress of the final scene all were allowed alcohol on set. The kiss Robert Carlyle puts on his son was not scripted resulting in the actors' perplexed reaction. See more »
In the funeral scene, Lomper is playing the hymn "Abide with Me" on cornet, and his fingers are clearly visible playing the notes. He plays every note correctly until the last line, where he swaps the two notes on "[ab]-ide with [me]" - he should be playing straight down the scale Bb,A,G,F and in fact plays Bb,G,A,F. See more »
Anti-wrinkle cream there may be, but anti-fat-bastard cream there is not.
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The film shown behind the opening credits is "Sheffield...City on the move", made in 1971 for the Sheffield Publicity Department. See more »
The Full Monty offers a seductive, playful piece of comic gumption: Six unemployed steel workers become amateur male strippers, baring themselves as an antidote to the dole. The title is British slang for "buck naked," but the film isn't about nudity, or lust, exactly. It takes as its subject the free-falling sense of desperation provoked by unemployment. As these flaccid bodies strive to exude "sexiness," director Peter Cattaneo turns their struggle into a blue-collared survival reflex, which yields a thin yet agreeable amount of emotional weight.
Robert Carlyle plays a bitter but devoted divorced father trying to meet his support payments so his son will trust him, and Mark Addy just wants to provide for his nurturing wife, who worries about the secret G-string buried in her flabby husband's underwear drawer.
Suffering ritual-humiliation for the sake of loved ones, these men pawn their dignity for economic survival. Cattaneo allows the script to hint at the social and fiscal conditions endured by the working-class under Thatcher, but mostly he avoids politicizing the material. Instead, he aims for rowdy, laugh-out-loud passages about awkward pseudo-debauchery. Perhaps The Full Monty settles for rather broad, coarse humor, but it has intensely pleasing charms and Cattaneo gives it an unexpected deadpan consistency. He exposes the comedy of shame, and then the comedy of shamelessness.
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