Call me old-fashioned, but I never thought I'd see the day when I went to a male strip show . . . and actually enjoyed it. Ladies (and gentlemen), do not miss this hilarious Broadway musical, "The Full Monty."

True, this is no ordinary strip show (not that I'd know what a normal strip show is like, of course). It stars six depressed, out-of-work and out-of-shape men, all with one problem or another. How to lift their spirits and raise some cash? Their solution: Do a one-night-only strip show.

Originally a British film (nominated for an Academy Award for Best Picture in 1998), "The Full Monty" was adapted for the American stage by writer Terrence McNally, composer and lyricist David Yazbek, director Jack O'Brien and choreographer Jerry Mitchell. Although the characters are broadly similar to those in the film (a few have been added), in order to create an all-American show the setting has been shifted from Sheffield, England, to Buffalo, N.Y.

This stripping of its original social context certainly takes something away from the story. The Sheffield of the film is a mining and steel-making city, that was beset with strikes and forced redundancies during the shift from state to private ownership in the mid '80s.

The musical puts the problems of unemployment in the background, instead highlighting the personalities of each of the six protagonists.

The central figure is Jerry Lukowski (Christian Anderson), a lovable but feckless 32-year-old divorce who dearly loves his son, Nathan (played alternately by Bret Fox and Brett Murray). With no job, though, he has no hope of getting joint custody of Nathan with his ex-wife. To come up with some money, he dreams up the idea of a strip show.

Jerry's best friend, Dave Bukatinsky (Michael J. Todaro), is an overweight guy with low self-esteem and no sex drive. This, naturally, puts a strain on his relationship with his wife, Georgie (Jennifer Naimo).

Malcolm Macgregor (Geoffrey Nauffts) is a gay man with no job and no friends, just a clingy, seriously ill mother. On the brink of suicide, he's rescued by Jerry and Dave, who convince him that stripping will solve all his problems.

Harold Nichols (Dale Hensley) is a ballroom-dance enthusiast as well as Jerry and Dave's former boss. Harold's private agony is that he hasn't told his beloved, extravagant wife Vicki (Heidi Blickenstaff) that he, too, was fired six months ago.

Noah "Horse" T. Simmons (Cleavant Derricks) is an older black man -- and the only one of the six who can actually dance. The source of his insecurities is his nickname, "Horse": He's convinced that once he strips off, what's on show won't meet the audience's expectations.

Ethan Girard (Christopher J. Hanke), on the other hand, has absolutely no talent whatsoever. He can't sing. He can't dance. So what can he contribute to the Hot Metal troupe, he's asked at audition? He drops his trousers and, well, let's just say that his contribution is the envy of every man -- and every woman's dream.

So there you have it. These six men, with nothing more than optimism to carry them through, spend days working on their moves.

And not getting anywhere.

That is, not until Jerry concludes that dancing is like basketball. The idea somehow works. Even if they can't dance, they can copy Michael Jordan -- fake, spin and shoot.

A significant alteration made for the stage version is the addition of Jeanette, a former pianist who urges Jerry and the gang on with unfailing enthusiasm. She's played by Carol Woods, a talented performer who shines in the song "Jeanette's Showbiz Number," cheering the guys up by singing in her deep gospel voice about about how her three divorces taught her to sing the "real blues."

In between the big song-and-dance acts are many scenes that reveal each character's inner life: Nathan's anxiety about his unstable dad and their bumpy father-and-son relationship; the misery of Dave and Georgie's lack of communication, both in and out of bed; the unlikely, blossoming sexual spark between Malcolm and Ethan; and so on.

This story is no fairy tale. These men don't lead perfect lives, nor do they have perfect bodies to flaunt -- yet they utterly win over the audience. Before you know it, you empathize with them -- you cheer them on to success in their daring, nerve-racking strip show. For all that "The Full Monty" is known for its risque finale, in which the men parade in red G-strings, the story itself is one with heart.

Nonetheless, there's one question I'm sure you're wondering about: Do they strip all the way?

"We go the full Monty," says Anderson, who plays Jerry, with a mischievous smile. And, yes, they certainly do . . .