MET’s sensitive Full Monty should be better dressed
A strong cast can’t quite outstrip Metropolitan Ensemble Theatre’s production missteps in the company’s staging of The Full Monty, that theatrical ode to the dad bod.
The stripteasing musical, a smart yet softhearted exploration of beer-gut masculinity, doesn’t lack the raw materials to make a crowd-pleaser. Based on the popular 1997 British film of the same name, Terrence McNally’s stage adaptation loses some political thrust in its American translation, which centers on laborers in Buffalo, New York, rather than on the Thatcher-challenged U.K. steelworkers of the original. Still, McNally’s book coasts gracefully on a couple of universal themes: self-confidence and sex appeal.
Driving the show are unemployed (and seemingly unemployable) steelworkers Jerry Lukowski (Drew Starlin) and Dave Bukatinsky (Vincent Onofrio Monachino). Jerry lost his wife, Pam (Leah Swank-Miller), to divorce and is on the verge of losing his son, Nathan (Whittaker Hoar), if he can’t muster child-support payments.
Dave has troubles of his own: He’s overweight and criminally insecure, and he hasn’t touched his wife, Georgie (Andrea Boswell-Burns), in months.
In a fit of masculine ardor, Jerry convinces Dave to break into Giordano’s, a local strip joint, and confront Georgie and her friends on ladies’ night. But a chance meeting with one of the male strippers (a hairless, hilarious Tony Beasley) convinces the pair to change tack. Strippers make good money, after all. And what women want, Jerry posits, are “real men,” not Chippendales. “Imagine what they’d pay to see you and me,” he says to Dave.
“Nothing,” Dave replies.
To compete, the men realize, they’ll have to offer something the Chippendales don’t: trouser snakes sans glitter thongs, “the full monty.”
Dave and Jerry set about recruiting a few other steel-mill casualties in a sort of extended training montage. Among them are Malcolm (Adam Henry), a suicidal loner who lives with his mother; Harold (Bob Paisley), former foreman and debt-riddled sophisticate; and Horse (Quincy Nile Kuykendall), an aging arthritic who sings about being a “Big Black Man” despite his apparently average appendage.
Starlin and Monachino anchor the cast with relaxed performances and strong chemistry. Monachino bores deep into Dave’s body-image issues, achieving startling tenderness in a late-night attempt to Saran-wrap his jungle pouch. Starlin lends an easy comedic rhythm to reformed slacker Jerry, and blends especially well with Monachino during “Big-Ass Rock.” Some upper-register intonation issues taxed Starlin’s performance last Sunday; the restrained “Breeze on the Water” was a better showcase for his gentle, expressive voice.
Kuykendall is easily the strongest dancer among the men, thrusting and grinding with show-pony polish. Matthew Leonard earns big laughs as an uncoordinated auditioner, and Jakob Wozniak is especially energetic as the well-endowed Ethan.
Though The Full Monty focuses on male confidence issues, McNally and the MET are just as attentive to the women who inspire them. Stasha Case is deliciously clueless as Vicki, Harold’s pampered trophy wife. Swank-Miller finds the necessary nuance in Pam, a nag in less capable hands. And Valerie Bracken-Dykes steals everything that isn’t nailed down as showbiz coach Jeanette, adopting the gait and pack-a-day bark of a much older woman.
The women also allow costume designer Erica Sword to brighten her palette. Sword’s costumes are the unmistakable design highlight, from the men’s rip-away ensembles to Jeanette’s outlandish color-block blouses and velvet vests.
The production as a whole, however, suffers from an uninspired set and uneven direction. Full-cast numbers such as “The Goods” show what artistic director Karen Paisley can create when she’s focused on the prize: energy, spectacle and well-composed stage pictures. But playing areas are rarely defined, and Paisley too often stretches scenes, regardless of length or locale, across the full width of the stage. As a result, scene changes eat far too much time and momentum, despite a herculean effort from the crew.
An angle-less set further hinders the cast. The program doesn’t credit a set designer, which may explain why the overall aesthetic suggests spring cleaning in the scene shop. Budget constraints deserve consideration but are little excuse for leaving the stage floor and mismatched flats unpainted. (The former is especially frustrating because the scuffs and streaks muddy the also-uncredited lighting design.)
The MET long ago earned my vote for some of this city’s best casting. Paisley and her team have a knack for finding strong local talent able to infuse classic scripts with fresh vigor. The Full Monty is no exception, full of spirited performers for whom you can’t help rooting.
But when distracting design choices undermine pro-caliber casts, it may be time to bring in some new technical blood — and to think about how to use the theater’s limited resources more imaginatively and effectively.
