La verità seminuda

The Half-Naked Truth is like a machine gun on steroids, a super-fast paced movie and a stage for Hollywood's greatest carnival barker, Lee Tracy. Tracy spends the entire 75 minutes racing at break-neck speed through miles of monologue - because his character never talks with, only at, those around him - and it's wonderfully exhausting to keep up with him.

Eugene Palette plays one of the funnier roles I have ever seen him in. He's supposed to be Tracy's assistant, but he's not above pulling his own shenanigans on the side, particularly with respect to giving "private" acting lessons to a rather reluctant hotel maid.

At least a couple of the other reviewers here, unfortunately, have got the running gag about Pallete's sexuality wrong: as per Tracy's publicity idea, Palette, complete with turban, is fresh out of a Turkish princess's harem. The idea is NOT that he is a woman, but that he is a EUNUCH. And the movie revisits this inside joke a few times, always to the understandable indignation of Mr. Palette himself!

The plot itself really stretches credibility, but it doesn't matter. It's a fun and quick ride, so just enjoy.

A carnival barker crashes onto Broadway, hoping to keep THE HALF NAKED TRUTH secret that both he and his ‘Turkish princess' are as phony as a three dollar bill...

RKO Studios produced this highly amusing, but rarely seen, comedy with flair, exuberance, and first-rate performances. Broadway is given a few lighthearted kicks in the shin by its cinematic cousin and a good time is had by all.

In the kind of role he could almost play in his sleep, Lee Tracy plays an over-the-top promoter who engages in wild escapades to get his ladies noticed by the press & public. He is conniving, untruthful & underhanded; he is also wonderfully funny. Tracy was the master at playing the anti-hero, the unromantic lover, the average-looking guy with the extra moxie it takes to get on top. Had his career not come crashing down around him due to a drunken indiscretion while filming in Mexico for MGM, he would probably today be remembered as one of Hollywood's top stars. As it is, he's lucky to be remembered at all.

Lupe Velez is a terrific foil for Tracy. The Tamale, as he calls her, is pungent, peppery & red hot. As a temperamental hootchy-kootchy dancer who makes it from a carny midway to the Great White Way, she is perfectly cast in what remains one of her best roles. It is sad, however, watching this lively lady, to remember that she would die despondent & alone in 1944, a suicide at 36.

Three top film comics help enliven the proceedings: gravely-voiced Eugene Pallette, who as Tracy's sidekick must impersonate eunuchs & nudists to further the scam; unctuous Franklin Pangborn as an officious hotel clerk; and blustery Frank Morgan as an imperious theatrical impresario who finds himself the target of Tracy's wild schemes.

Movie mavens will recognize celebrated movie composer Max Steiner appearing unbilled as the orchestra leader during Lupe's Broadway rendition of ‘Hey, Mr. Carpenter.'

Lee Tracy, too little known today, is one of the all-time great comic actors and a personal favorite of mine. He was the original Hildy Johnson in The Front Page on Broadway and although his major films are not numerous, each is a delight. Blessed Event with co-star Dick Powell and Bombshell with co-star Jean Harlow are gems long beloved by Thirties film buffs, but even they may not have seen The Half-Naked Truth, which is a pure jolt of the Lee Tracy magic. His physical and vocal presence are uniquely and unmistakably his: the lankily elastic body, the whirling-dervish energy, the sarcastic tone, the long fingers that always seem to be jabbing in someone's direction. There's not another screen actor I can think of who has quite the manic joie de vivre of the young Tracy. In The Half-Naked Truth, he plays a carnival barker and theatrical promoter who will go to any insane lengths to hog headlines (a very contemporary figure for us!). He's paired with Lupe "Mexican Spitfire" Velez, who proves to be an extremely apt partner for him; you believe in these two together, and that makes their final scene surprisingly emotional. (Tracy's magnetism definitely has its romantic aspect; watching Bombshell, an audience can be driven to heights of frustration waiting for Tracy and Harlow to realize that they are, in fact, perfect for one another.) The wonderful ending of The Half-Naked Truth also crystallizes the Tracy credo in a single line: "What good is life if you don't get some fun out of it?" You can have some of that fun by watching this film.

Fast-talking promoter Tracy moves carny dancer Velez from lowly tent act to high-class Broadway using nothing more than wiles and wits.

Too bad we can't hook up Tracy and Velez to a generator, because between them they could whip up enough sheer energy to light a city block plus a few darkened bedrooms. Tracy is in overdrive the entire time, while Velez appears stuck in a permanent hip swivel. Her shimmying version of O Mister Carpenter is a charming show-stopper and, in my book, the movie's highlight.

Tracy, of course, specialized in these machine-gun roles. Here he's totally convincing, but not very likable, as the high-powered con man never at a loss for words or an under- handed scheme. As an actor, his average looks and lack of leading-man charisma add up to an odd commodity for glamour-obsessed Hollywood. Still, he's such a whirlwind of activity, you hardly notice. As for Velez, if she's an example of Mexican womanhood, then I say let's open the borders.

Add such colorful supporting players as Palette, Pangborn, and Morgan, plus lots of pre- Code innuendo, all whipped into a crowd pleasing mix by ace director LaCava, and you've got an amusing dish, even 80 years later. And, oh yes, as to the movie's big mystery—is the rotund Palette actually a harem-guarding eunuch in disguise? Just check out that deep froggy voice for a pre-Code answer.

This wonderfully ribald pre-code comedy is slightly schizophrenic in style. The first half is a breakneck-paced, rollicking sequence of frantic melees and stinging one-liners, not unlike Lee Tracy's other triumphs of the time, The Front Page and Blessed Event. Once the cast settles in on Broadway, the pace slows and the humour is more characteristic of director LaCava -- absurd situational comedy set up with deliberate pace and milked for effect. Although quite funny in its own right, this section seems to drag in comparison with the opening reels -- it may have worked better in a packed cinema than on the tube.

In any case, this is a must-see for fans of pre-code antics -- there's no way it could have been made three years later. Tracy is terrific in his patented role as a fast-talking con artist, and Lupe Velez is a more lurid version of her Mexican Spitfire -- her minimal costumes rival those of a Busby Berkeley chorus girl. Frank Morgan is perfect as a libidinous Ziegfeld type, Franklin Pangborn is everyone's favourite fastidious concierge, and Eugene Pallette is victim to a hilarious running gag about his gender which alone is worth the price of admission -- he also has a unique method for tutoring fledgling Ophelias. There's an intriguing look at the 30s' conception of nudism, to boot.