Skylight Goes All the Way with "The Full Monty"

Photo by Mark Frohna.

Skylight Theatre has a message for patrons who may have some anxiety about coming back to the Broadway Theatre Center -- “Let it Go!” Long before Disney’s ice princess Elsa sang that refrain, a group of laid-off steelworkers turned exotic male dancers used it as their finale in The Full Monty. Skylight’s first production in 18 months and the first outing for new Artistic Director Michael Unger, The Full Monty features a large, talented cast with a mix of locals and Broadway veterans. Eschewing the mini production restrictions of the COVID period, the company fills the stage with men and women making the best of hard times in 1990s Buffalo, New York, amidst high unemployment due to the closure of the local steel mill. Based on the sleeper hit British film of the same name, The Full Monty is an entertaining look at a group of men pushed to their breaking point -- ready to do just about anything in order to pay their bills -- even perform as a homegrown version of the Chippendales. 

Like other musicals based on movies (I’m looking at you, Waitress), The Full Monty erases what was subtle and nuanced about the source material and replaces it with big, bold stereotypes and over-the-top conflict, leaning into broad comedy. That means the musical depends entirely on the audience’s sympathy for a bunch of frustrated guys who are down on their luck, and viewers need to root for them as they take a big risk to regain some financial stability, along with their self-esteem as providers for their families. 

Dan DeLuca as Jerry Lukowski. Photo by Mark Frohna.

Fortunately Dan DeLuca, who plays the main character Jerry Lukowski, has likeability in spades. A struggling, divorced father who is behind on his child support payments, Jerry is the mastermind behind the get-rich-quick striptease plan. DeLuca is a great everyman and a strong actor with a versatile musical theater voice that hits the high notes without sacrificing his rough around the edges cred. As his best friend Dave, Nathan Marinan also wins our hearts as a simple guy who is ashamed of his unemployment, his beer belly, and his inability to be a good husband to his firecracker wife Georgie (a spirited Karen Estrada). We all inwardly cheer when he regains his confidence and recommits to his relationship. 

Jan Neuberger as Jeanette. Photo by Mark Frohna.

In a show that feels long because it takes too many detours to get where it’s going, a host of supporting characters also get their moments to shine.  As a seen-it-all theater veteran with killer comic timing, Jan Neuberger is a gas. Part den mother and part therapist, she provides piano accompaniment to the uncoordinated band of misfits as they lurch toward their opening night. Neuberger’s solo that opens act two, simply called “Jeanette’s Showbiz Number,” doesn’t further the plot, but it does amusingly satisfy the obligatory “how will we ever be ready?” moment in every show about putting on a show. As Vicki, the materialistic, ultra pampered wife of the steel plant’s former CEO, Janet Metz also milks her few scenes for all they’re worth, proving she can still hold a note until it reaches the rafters, and can samba with the best of them.

The absolute highlight of the plot detours focuses on Malcom MacGregor (Joey Chelius), a young man who is struggling with the strip routine’s choreography, mourning the loss of his mother, and figuring out a way to express his sexuality. MacGregor’s burgeoning relationship with another cast member and his heart wrenching duet at the funeral (“You Walk with Me”) are the most authentic and moving parts of the show, thanks to Chelius’s extraordinary performance. Awkward, honest, and goofy by turns, his character discovers there is strength in vulnerability long before he takes the stage to take it all off. 

Another solid, ancillary star of the show is Abram Nelson, as Jerry’s son Nathan. The local high school freshman and First Stage alum is pitch perfect as the smart kid who is pulling for his screw-up dad to finally get his act together. As his parents fight over custody, money, and what’s best for young Nathan, the youngster’s love and faith in his dad shines through. 

Since the musical is set in relatively recent times (the ’90s), it’s sometimes hard to remember this is a period piece. And keeping that in mind is essential in order to stay on Jerry’s side throughout the show. Yes, he learns and grows as a human in the last few minutes of the 2.5 hour show, but where he starts his journey is sometimes jarring. To a 2021 crowd, Jerry is a portrait of white, straight, male fragility; homophobic, sexist, entitled, and racist. It is a credit to Dan DeLuca that his innate charm softens his character’s Neanderthal tendencies enough to keep us holding on for his rehabilitation at the eleventh hour. 

The music and lyrics, by David Yazbek, are hit and miss. The ballads and heartfelt duets easily outpace some truly cringeworthy numbers, such as a song about methods of suicide (“Big Ass Rock”) and the act one closer “Michael Jordan’s Ball,” which assures insecure guys that they can learn choreography without seeming effeminate if they imagine their dance moves as sports plays instead. But that’s nothing compared to Noah “Horse” T. Simmons’s breakout number, executed beautifully with a series of slick dance moves by Lee Palmer. The song “Big Black Man,” about a lewd racial stereotype, simply doesn’t belong on stage in 2021. 

When we finally get back to the main plot, the scrappy underdogs triumph; of course the striptease group’s performance is impressive and redemptive. And yes, for the record, the guys do go “the full monty” after learning a lot from the female characters, and letting them do all the emotional heavy lifting. At last they are reassured that their lives are still worthwhile, even if they don’t have uber-manly jobs at the steel mill. 

Well directed and choreographed by James Gray, and well performed by the majority of the cast, The Full Monty is a puzzling choice for Unger’s first production at the helm of the Skylight, but as a simplified throwback to a quaint set of male crises, it’s like the Chippendales — a (mostly) fun girl’s night out.