Cattaneo pumps up the film's comic muscle by flexing the versatile talents of Scottish actor Robert Carlyle (the riveting psychotic Begbie in Trainspotting). Here Carlyle infuses his coiled charisma into Gaz, a laid-off steelworker with a head for dodgy schemes. Desperate to keep up a relationship with his son (William Snape), Gaz needs some quick quid for child support. Inspiration, however, is just a G-string away. Oiled up like hot-buttered ears of corn, the Chippendale dancers bump and grind into town. The women go crazy, and Gaz gets thinking: what if he and his blokes put on their own strip show? Smart enough to recognize there's not an ab or pec among them, he announces what he believes to be a lucrative oneupmanship of "your average 10-bit stripper" -- his lads will take it all off. In other words, they'll go the "full monty."

The film tingles with the excitement of those chirpily earnest "Let's put on a show" cavalcades of the '30s. In fact, with his physique, Mickey Rooney just might have landed a part here. For that matter, Andy Rooney as well. Cattaneo has lined up a glorious spectrum of male bods so decidedly un-Chippendale, it's hard to buy that these guys fully believe women will pay to see them in the buff. In addition to the scraggy Gaz, there's Dave (Mark Addy), a sensitive lug whose gut is causing him sexual problems; Gerald (Tom Wilkinson), their 50ish pink-slipped supervisor; Lomper (Steve Huison), an unassuming depressive; Horse (Paul Barber), who, uh, isn't hung like one; and Guy (Hugo Speer), who is, to judge by the gape-mouthed expressions whenever he drops his drawers.

Naturally, the film denudes the metaphor of nakedness, revealing the contradictory feelings of fear and freedom that rise up beneath the skin. It also toys with the Swiftian conceit that the human anatomy is by design absurd, and thereby infinitely humorous. When the men first shed their clothes, some shyly covering their nipples, they're a fantastic mix of black and white, briefs and boxers, love handles and bow legs. "No looking and no laughing," warns Dave. But it's near impossible to do anything else.

Indeed, the film nicks the male ego with a post-feminist edge. Of course, imagine the same plot as an ode to cellulite, stretch marks, and tired breasts and the National Organization for Women would understandably be painting picket signs. Although Cattaneo ribs his gender by exposing their follies, their insecurities, and the aforementioned potbellies, he never stoops to a meanspirited jab. At one point, Dave chides his pals for dismissing a centerfold as too chesty. "You better pray that women are more understanding about us," he says. "Anti-wrinkle cream there is; anti-fat-bastard cream there is not."

Cattaneo and screenwriter Simon Beaufoy evince an incredible instinct for touching detail. With the steelworkers facing a future as foggy as the Sheffield skyline, the script can't always resist a good hard yank at the affections. But mostly the film cuts its pathos with humor, whether it's portraying the men gyrating to Donna Summer in a shuffling welfare line or critiquing Jennifer Beals's welding abilities in Flashdance.

By the time Tom Jones belts out "You Can Leave Your Hat On" in a finale as optimistic and thrilling as any Busby Berkeley production, there's something undeniably authentic, infectiously sweet, and, yes, even inexplicably sexy about these guys. The knock-knees, flabby girths, and wattly chins are suddenly cause for celebration. Yet in a summer that's already unfurled an unusual number of penises on screen, the film bares more of a three-quarters monty. Some things are still best left to the imagination.

"Do it just once and do it right," says one of the men before the curtain rises. Funny, liberating, and revealing in every sense of the word, The Full Monty has taken its own advice, proving once again that when it comes to little comedies, size doesn't matter.

Director Peter Cattaneo isn't exactly certain how the expression "the full monty" (meaning "everything") originated. The possibilities, however, are as colorful and charming as British lore should be. One version spins the tale of a clothier named Montague who offered soldiers an unbeatable deal after World War II. For their discharge or "demob" tokens, they could march into civilian life dapperly dressed in a "full monty" -- hat, tie, shirt, socks, and three-piece suit. Another story credits General Bernard Montgomery's hearty a.m. appetite. Each morning, the military man wolfed down a daunting English breakfast: sausage, beans, bacon, eggs -- a "full monty," as the cooks snickeringly dubbed it. Take your pick. Whoever the elusive Mr. M. might be, the 33-year-old director is sure of one thing, and that's the inspiration for his film.

"I think The Full Monty is a reaction to feminism," says Cattaneo, who was nominated for an Academy Award in 1990 for his short film "Dear Rosie." "The traditional Hollywood thing is to make sure you've got the car chase, you've got the guns, you've got the nice naked woman. But I think that has changed. I think that women have gotten more powerful. Often they're calling the shots about going to see a movie, and they're quite keen to see Brad Pitt's bum. It's great that there's equality. But The Full Monty turns it even a notch further. It's payback time really."

Long before Cattaneo took his place behind the camera, the director bandied with traditional male-female roles when he and casting director Susie Figgis sat down for auditions. "Women have been cast for years for their bodies," he points out, "but I was casting the actors for their bodies as well. I did ask some of them to take their shirts off and do a twirl, to make sure they were un-muscled or puny enough. Mostly I asked them if they could dance. If they said yes, then they didn't get a part."

Of Figgis's invaluable input he adds, "It was good to have a woman involved, just to be sure that they weren't in any way attractive."

This was not the only time Cattaneo slipped into the female point of view during filming. One evening he and several crew members sidled into ladies' night at a Sheffield pub. Their entertainment? A quartet of striplings billed as "The Centurions." Cattaneo recalls, "Women were coming up to us really drunk and saying, `What are you doing here? We'll have your trousers off next!!' It was absolutely terrifying! It was like a big soccer match."

Cattaneo, who admits the last time he went public in the full monty was a dip at a nude beach at age 18, muses about the increased demands on the male species to drop the spare tire and beef up their biceps. "Since the beginning of mass media, there's been a pressure, mostly for women, to look a certain stereotype, a perfect form. But I think men have kind of quietly looked at Clark Gable all along and thought, "Why don't I look like that?" Now, with more sexual liberation, there's whole racks of magazines on men's health and men's bodies. We're starting to think and worry about this as part of our journey toward equality. Perhaps it's one of the bad signs of it: we've got your problems as well now."

And some of the most unlikely ones at that. Of the comedy's finale, Cattaneo reveals, "I think that took about 12 takes. One of the guys would always get kind of caught up in his velcro leather thong, and their bums got very sore as well. It was funny for about three takes, and then it became a bit of a problem."