Lee Tracy is a name few would remember today. However, for just a few years in the 1930s, he was a hot commodity--playing in some top films for top studios like RKO, Fox, Warner Brothers and MGM. So what happened to him? Well, he had two huge problems--he was typecast as the same sort of fast- talking sharpie (often a reporter or confidence man) AND he was an idiot. I really hate to be so blunt, but his off-camera behaviors severely alienated him and the studios apparently tired of working with him and apologizing for his actions.In "The Half Naked Truth", Tracy plays a very typical sort of role--the fast-talking showman who lies, tells half-truths and promotes his girlfriend, Lupe Valez, from a cheesy carnival sideshow act to the toast of Broadway. However ridiculous this was (as Valez' character had no discernible talent and the charisma of a case of the clap), the film is entertaining on a basic level. Don't think too much and you can enjoy it. So why did I give it only a 6? Well, it broke absolutely no new ground and Tracy's role is almost exactly like 1472343 others I've seen him do. In other words, it's fun but lacked originality to make it worthy of a higher score.

This sour ball comedy features the abrasive pairing of two early sound Hollywood figures Lupe Velez and Lee Tracy. It's one scuffed up film.Bates (Tracy) is a carnival barker pimping the hips of the fiery Teresita (Velez) when she bolts with him for the big time of Broadway along with Achilles (Eugene Palette). Bates in rapid time barges in on a Jed Harris type producer (Frank Morgan) and convinces him to put Teresita in a show who then dazzles. The pair split, they get back together and return to road. One can understand La Cava's urgency to complete this project having to deal with the mercurial talents of his leads by directing it like one of his silent shorts. Tracy looks and acts like he needs to catch a train and La Cava seems to just give him the green light until he tires. Velez had yet to put spit in fire and her dancing and timing barley flicker. Palette merely croaks.The Half Naked Truth is a sloppily slapped together piece of brass and crass void of pace and humor. The single redeeming factor of Naked is that I found great enjoyment in two large crowd scenes involving cast members stolen around 42nd Street and Grand Central. They explode with a celebrated naturalness, the film just recites in bad time.

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.