“I danced myself right out the womb
Is it strange to dance so soon …”
A 331/3 rpm of T.Rex’s “Cosmic Dancer” plays as 11-year-old Billy Elliot (Jamie Bell) pops up like the toast he is making. He can stretch like elastic and he has enough energy to power a lighthouse. For the audience, it is love at first sight. Long before we see him actually dance, we know he can.
Still jouncing, still bouncing, Billy wobbles boiled eggs into their egg cups, sets a breakfast tray and with a fierce frown, uses his forehead to push a door open. He stops short and gawks at the empty bed before him. Yes, his grandma has wandered off again. Time to search for her and gently bring her home from the open field fringed by policemen up against the striking coal miners of Durham. Raising fists and hurling stones and spitballs at the police are, among other aggrieved miners, Billy’s brash older brother, Tony (played convincingly by Jamie Draven) and his father (Gary Lewis, probably at his best). Billy’s father wants Billy to grow up tough – all grit and grime and guts – and he is ready to pay a precious weekly 50p for boxing lessons. But boxing isn’t for Billy. Incongruous to anyone who cares to hear him, Billy wants to learn ballet. Fortunately, he catches the eye of the “unfulfilled” Mrs Wilkinson, (played unforgettably by Julie Walters). Now the formulaic success story of a motherless but mentored kid is set in motion.
Scripted by Lee Hall, based on the true story of Philip Mosley and even closer to the childhood of Kenneth MacMillan, Stephen Daldry’s 2002 debut holds few surprises in terms of story. But the movie is fired by the performances of a vibrant cast and the soundtrack gives it a vigorous rhythm. You really never feel anyone is uncomfortable with what they are saying, whether it is foul-mouthed Tony or Billy’s father, whose understanding of his son’s passion for dance comes after much belligerence and befuddlement. After all the violence and resistance, there is a reassuringly happy moment when father and son lie wordlessly laughing in each other’s arms.
The greatest moments come with the dances – particularly Billy’s careen of frustration, superbly choreographed by Peter Darling to The Jam’s “A Town called Malice” (whose lyrics are a deft shorthand of the film itself). We see Billy hurling himself against everything in his way, struggling to shake off the shackles of convention and even wanting to tear himself out of his own skin. Equally engaging, though for different reasons, is Billy’s fun-filled dance with Julie Walters (T.Rex’s “I Love to Boogie”). This comes at a point after Billy shares his dead mother’s letter with Wilkinson. The film could have taken a sentimental dip, but, thanks to Mrs.Wilkinson, a woman worth her salt, it doesn’t.
Perhaps Billy Elliot makes its strongest mark in its treatment of characters. When Billy’s anguished father smashes his dead wife’s piano, it is to keep the fire burning, not to stop Billy’s tinkering at the keys. The brisk, brash, straight talk makes the audience value the honesty of the characters. They are who they are, and unapologetically so. Billy shows no specific interest in his classmate Debbie, Wilkinson’s daughter (Nicola Blackwell), even after she offers to show him her fanny. At the same time, although Billy is sure he is not a “pouf,” like his cross-dresser best friend Michael, he proffers Michael a goodbye kiss when it is time to leave. Grandma, obviously quite senile, repeats every so often, “I could have been a professional dancer,” but she is accepted and not ridiculed.
The humour and light touch on aspects of life add colour to Durham all around. Dodging the police, Tony tears through open doors and windows, grabbing a cup of someone’s tea on the way. In a more significant shot, Debbie, saunters along rattling a stick across the glass shields held by a row of policemen It is an unreal, amusing moment but one that underlines how children accept the world that adults create for them.
Sixteen years after Billy Elliot, Jamie Bell is a contender for the next James Bond and after a spellbinding 11 years at London’s West End, the musical Billy Elliot (with a score by Elton John and lyrics by Lee Hall) is off to perform in Wales, Edinburgh, Dublin and Manchester.
Was it strange to dance so soon?
