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The Sunday Times December 17, 2006
Gillian Bowditch: At Large: Fancy seeing their full Monty?
Male nudity on-stage is one of the last taboos. But a group of builders from Stirling are trying their best to break the public's deep-seated resistance to it
For the average Scottish male it is a nightmare of Freudian intensity. On stage, clad only in a Jimmy bunnet and a tiny G-string, one glance at the baying mob of women below should be the signal to wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. For John Ewing it is the cue to grab a Tom Jones medallion and mime along to Delilah.
It’s 11pm on Friday night in Stirling High School. Ewing, a 44-year-old married father of one, and a team of colleagues from Stirling Council’s building services department are climbing into their grey work overalls in preparation for their show. It is based on the 1997 hit film The Full Monty, in which a group of unemployed steelworkers decide to bare their bodies and end up baring their souls in the process.
The Stirling troupe, which goes under the name The Foolmonty, has performed regularly over the past four years and raised in excess of £75,000 for charity. It’s the only one of its kind in Scotland and comprises Ewing, 16st 10lb; 25-year-old Chris McFadden, 14st 4lb; Alan Morrison, 38, who weighs in at 17st; 24-year-old Andrew Wilson, 12st; and Jim Berry, 47, a bricklayer who tips the scales at a hefty 26st.
Out front, a crowd of 250 women fuelled by vodka, Pringles and the classic hits of Neil Diamond are waiting impatiently. As the first strains of You Can Leave Your Hat On blare from the amplifier, the men appear. Their dance movements are identical to those of Robert Carlyle and his fellow actors in the film.
First off are the belts. Then jackets, emblazoned with the local authority’s logo, are discarded to reveal fluorescent workmen’s vests. The men disappear and return with hard hats and the audience goes wild. Underneath the vests are white singlets, which they rip apart and toss into the crowd. Trousers, fastened with Velcro, are removed in a single flourish to reveal thongs, which, reassuringly, stay in place. On stage, the atmosphere is two parts adrenaline to one part bravado.
“It started as a dare,” says Ewing. “The women in the office were taking part in a concert for the Anthony Nolan Bone Marrow Trust and one of them suggested we do The Full Monty. At first I wasn’t too sure, but then I mentioned it to Jim and he said, ‘Aye, I’ll do that.’ I said, ‘Are you sure?’ Some of the others took a bit more persuading, but the idea just took off from there.”
Male nudity is one of society’s last taboos, particularly in Scotland, where a tradition of Presbyterianism, combined with the weather and natural reticence, has ensured that men — with the exception of the occasional fling in a kilt — keep their breeks on.
Zander Wedderburn, emeritus professor of psychology at Edinburgh’s Heriot-Watt University, who has studied society’s attitudes to nudity, points out that the naked rambler managed to traverse the length of England in 2003 with few impediments, but was arrested before he reached Edinburgh.
“When he came before the court, the people he was said to have offended were two police officers, whom I can’t imagine were so terribly offended,” Wedderburn says. “Different cultures have different taboos. I’m not sure male nudity is any different from female nudity. It’s just we are not used to seeing it. I’ve been to a nudist camp in France on two occasions with my wife and in that context male nudity is not intimidating. But there is a frisson in breaking any taboo.”
It is a taboo that appears to be disappearing fast. The Full Monty, which was made on a shoestring budget, became the biggest grossing British movie within months of its release. Its appeal was in its comedic, yet touching, depiction of working-class male vulnerability. It has since spawned a Broadway musical and an acceptance of male nudity unthinkable a decade ago.
The first male lap-dancing club aimed at women has just opened in Birmingham. The hit comic book this Christmas is a wordless cartoon called Roger, which depicts an office worker naked from the waist down. Sean Lamont, the Scotland rugby player, has become the first non-French player to pose in Dieux du Stade, the bestselling French male nude calendar produced each year by the Stade Français rugby club. Lamont, nicknamed “Lamonty” by fellow players, has attracted a cult gay following. It is a pose that would have been unthinkable in the macho world of Scottish rugby a decade ago.
Mark Cousins, a film writer, producer and director, says attitudes to male nudity are changing rapidly. “Take the latest Bond movie. You see much more of Daniel Craig’s body than you do of the women. It has become more acceptable to portray it on screen. The Full Monty is a life-affirming film which worked because people identified with the humiliation of the men and their immense courage. When they finally achieve their aim, the audience experiences a euphoric rush.”
The process of getting The Foolmonty’s act together bore an uncanny resemblance to the film. There were the clandestine rehearsals in a local school, squabbles over the dance moves, anxieties about body image, suspicious wives, male bonding and first-night nerves.
“We started going through the movements fully clothed,” says Ewing. “A friend of my wife’s choreographed the show and her mother adapted our overalls.
“We rehearsed three times a week for a month. We were very nervous the first time we performed it in public. The hall was incredibly busy and we were standing behind the curtains just petrified.”
The Sunday Times December 17, 2006
Gillian Bowditch: At Large: Fancy seeing their full Monty?
Male nudity on-stage is one of the last taboos. But a group of builders from Stirling are trying their best to break the public's deep-seated resistance to it
For the average Scottish male it is a nightmare of Freudian intensity. On stage, clad only in a Jimmy bunnet and a tiny G-string, one glance at the baying mob of women below should be the signal to wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. For John Ewing it is the cue to grab a Tom Jones medallion and mime along to Delilah.
It’s 11pm on Friday night in Stirling High School. Ewing, a 44-year-old married father of one, and a team of colleagues from Stirling Council’s building services department are climbing into their grey work overalls in preparation for their show. It is based on the 1997 hit film The Full Monty, in which a group of unemployed steelworkers decide to bare their bodies and end up baring their souls in the process.
The Stirling troupe, which goes under the name The Foolmonty, has performed regularly over the past four years and raised in excess of £75,000 for charity. It’s the only one of its kind in Scotland and comprises Ewing, 16st 10lb; 25-year-old Chris McFadden, 14st 4lb; Alan Morrison, 38, who weighs in at 17st; 24-year-old Andrew Wilson, 12st; and Jim Berry, 47, a bricklayer who tips the scales at a hefty 26st.
Out front, a crowd of 250 women fuelled by vodka, Pringles and the classic hits of Neil Diamond are waiting impatiently. As the first strains of You Can Leave Your Hat On blare from the amplifier, the men appear. Their dance movements are identical to those of Robert Carlyle and his fellow actors in the film.
First off are the belts. Then jackets, emblazoned with the local authority’s logo, are discarded to reveal fluorescent workmen’s vests. The men disappear and return with hard hats and the audience goes wild. Underneath the vests are white singlets, which they rip apart and toss into the crowd. Trousers, fastened with Velcro, are removed in a single flourish to reveal thongs, which, reassuringly, stay in place. On stage, the atmosphere is two parts adrenaline to one part bravado.
“It started as a dare,” says Ewing. “The women in the office were taking part in a concert for the Anthony Nolan Bone Marrow Trust and one of them suggested we do The Full Monty. At first I wasn’t too sure, but then I mentioned it to Jim and he said, ‘Aye, I’ll do that.’ I said, ‘Are you sure?’ Some of the others took a bit more persuading, but the idea just took off from there.”
Male nudity is one of society’s last taboos, particularly in Scotland, where a tradition of Presbyterianism, combined with the weather and natural reticence, has ensured that men — with the exception of the occasional fling in a kilt — keep their breeks on.
Zander Wedderburn, emeritus professor of psychology at Edinburgh’s Heriot-Watt University, who has studied society’s attitudes to nudity, points out that the naked rambler managed to traverse the length of England in 2003 with few impediments, but was arrested before he reached Edinburgh.
“When he came before the court, the people he was said to have offended were two police officers, whom I can’t imagine were so terribly offended,” Wedderburn says. “Different cultures have different taboos. I’m not sure male nudity is any different from female nudity. It’s just we are not used to seeing it. I’ve been to a nudist camp in France on two occasions with my wife and in that context male nudity is not intimidating. But there is a frisson in breaking any taboo.”
It is a taboo that appears to be disappearing fast. The Full Monty, which was made on a shoestring budget, became the biggest grossing British movie within months of its release. Its appeal was in its comedic, yet touching, depiction of working-class male vulnerability. It has since spawned a Broadway musical and an acceptance of male nudity unthinkable a decade ago.
The first male lap-dancing club aimed at women has just opened in Birmingham. The hit comic book this Christmas is a wordless cartoon called Roger, which depicts an office worker naked from the waist down. Sean Lamont, the Scotland rugby player, has become the first non-French player to pose in Dieux du Stade, the bestselling French male nude calendar produced each year by the Stade Français rugby club. Lamont, nicknamed “Lamonty” by fellow players, has attracted a cult gay following. It is a pose that would have been unthinkable in the macho world of Scottish rugby a decade ago.
Mark Cousins, a film writer, producer and director, says attitudes to male nudity are changing rapidly. “Take the latest Bond movie. You see much more of Daniel Craig’s body than you do of the women. It has become more acceptable to portray it on screen. The Full Monty is a life-affirming film which worked because people identified with the humiliation of the men and their immense courage. When they finally achieve their aim, the audience experiences a euphoric rush.”
The process of getting The Foolmonty’s act together bore an uncanny resemblance to the film. There were the clandestine rehearsals in a local school, squabbles over the dance moves, anxieties about body image, suspicious wives, male bonding and first-night nerves.
“We started going through the movements fully clothed,” says Ewing. “A friend of my wife’s choreographed the show and her mother adapted our overalls.
“We rehearsed three times a week for a month. We were very nervous the first time we performed it in public. The hall was incredibly busy and we were standing behind the curtains just petrified.”
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