The Full Monty – quite a serious play about depressed communities disguised as story about Sheffield strippers (Grand Opera House until Saturday 27 January)

Once you strip away the exuberant anticipation of the final scene, and once you move past the audience whipping themselves up into a frenzy anytime the mere whiff of a bum cheek might be proffered, there’s a serious piece of theatre lurking on the stage.

The Full Monty captures the hopelessness and depression that can wash over a community hit by mass redundancies as old industries contract and replacement work is nowhere to be found. Set in Sheffield as the steel industry collapses under the watch of Margaret Thatcher – whose portrait hangs in the local Conservative Club – the working class men are struggling.

Simon Beaufoy’s theatre script is a simplified version of his successful movie screenplay. Out of work Gaz (Danny Hatchard) can’t keep up with his maintenance payments and risks losing access to his son Nathan (played last night by Theo Hills, who nearly stole the show giving his Dad a piece of his mind before the finale). Dave (Neil Hurst) is gaining weight and losing libido. Gerard (Bill Ward) hasn’t had the courage to tell his wife that he’s been workless for the last six months. Horse (Ben Onwukwe) has all the moves but his body is seizing up with age. Guy (Jake Quickenden) wears a mask of confidence is inwardly devastated by the loss of the love of his live. And shy Lomper (Nicholas Prasad) is suicidal, at his wits end until he falls in with the Gaz and the get rich quick scheme to go out on a limb and better the thonged Chippendales and sell out the local pub for one night only of going ‘the full monty’.

Michael Gyngell’s direction actively keeps the saucepan of audience adulation gently simmering rather than allowing it to spill over prematurely before his story is fully cooked. He tempers scenes of hurt and loss with longer moments of silence than most touring productions would allow. Probably a shade too long and energy draining, but it certainly emphasises the bleak futility. Jasmine Swan’s versatile but very solid set consists of three two storey platforms full of doors and stairs that can be slowly pushed and shoved to spin them around to create a disused factory, Gaz’s ex’s house, the job club, a police station and the inside of the local pub.

Several gnomes suffer injury and disrespect during the performance. The costume team must have a large box of replacement rippable white vests at the ready. Other than the half buzzing half drooling audience, the main objectification comes from the men themselves rather than women. Dave’s wife Jean – played with visible empathy by Katy Dean – offers compassion and understanding when he finally dares to open up.

After two and a half hours of build-up, the main cast shed their mic packs (nowhere to hide the batteries in the final choreography!) and the audience get what they’ve been waiting for … though they may realise that it’s more a celebration of body-positivity than a raunchy performance. Along the way they’ll also have realised that Thatcher’s Britain isn’t so different from 2024. Heavy industry is still contracting, and some of the more tech-orientated firms can quickly shed jobs as they rebalance their books. Alimony and rights to see your children, poor health and aging, relationships, impotence, sexuality, weight, body image and poor mental health are still common today. Along with issues like addiction which haven’t been squeezed into the plot. The answer for most won’t be to strip off in the local club, so the relief directly offered by this play may be limited. Not my cup of tea, but the show might spark conversations when some of the audience members get home and see parallels under their own roofs.

The Full Monty continues its run in the Grand Opera House until Saturday 27 January. Spare a thought for the ushers who have to police the “no cameras, no phones” rule that is strictly enforced throughout the performance to “respect our actors”. A rule that seemed to be adhered to last night, though ring tones and audible text message notifications still underscored many serious moments of the play.

Photo credit: Ellie Kurttz

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