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Suffice to say that Billy Elliot is lodged firmly within the first camp, though Billy (Jamie Bell) himself might enjoy the latter. A young lad unfairly burdened by the whim of circumstance, Billy's days aren't exactly filled with joy. If he's not looking after his aged grandmother (Jean Heywood), Billy's being cold-shouldered by either his elder brother Tony (Jamie Draven) or his father Jackie (Gary Lewis). Both on strike and manning the picket line, they have little patience for any distraction. Billy only manages to get out by going down the boxing club (which he hates) or through messing around with his best mate Michael (Stuart Wells).
Now, the central premise of Billy Elliot is that there is a third way, a whole different path. All Billy needs is the raw courage to join the girls in their ramshackle, er, ballet lesson! You might feel that this is a rather unlikely scenario but being sensitive folk, you decide to give director Stephen Daldry the benefit of the doubt. Sadly he fails to reward your trust in him. Not only is his material utterly cliché-ridden and predictable, but Daldry proves unable to overcome such structural flaws. Thus, as Billy Elliot unfolds it remains dramatically flat, really quite unabsorbing. Since the theme of self-expression lends itself so well to audience involvement, a lost opportunity.
However, Lee Hall, the scriptwriter, can shoulder a great deal of the blame for this. Billy Elliot demands an extreme suspension of belief; that a skinny Northern lad is going to prefer ballet to football, that he's going to beat the odds stacked against him. If Hall had managed to create living, breathing characters then the story might have had a chance. Unfortunately he leans too heavily on the Strike, hoping that this pivotal time in history (for some) will provide the depth that he cannot. In reality, the conflict merely makes the family a bit poorer and ensures that there are lots of policemen standing around.
The film's troubles cannot be pinned on just the behind-the-screen staff though, for that would do them a disservice. No, the cast must also stand up and be counted. The quality of acting within Billy Elliot is at best erratic, occasionally touching but mostly the bystander to an indelicate mauling. The brightest spark within this firmament is the ever-watchable Julie Walters (as Mrs. Wilkinson), providing a performance of both depth and finesse. Her role is small and unchallenging, but even with this material she easily demonstrates the paucity of talent within her fellow actors.
That's not to say that Billy Elliot doesn't contain some very piquant fragments of emotion, such as when Billy reads out a letter from his dead mother or when he's nervously anticipating the result of his audition. Moments any warm-blooded human can identify with. It's just that Daldry's film is uneven, fumbling the in-between stretches, cutting them short and stunting their growth. Still, the soundtrack is pretty good (lots of T-Rex), its pieces slotting well into the general flow, and photographer Brian Tufano ensures that the feel is authentic. The late-70s wallpaper and somehow less-than-trendy outfits serve to generate sufficient atmosphere. Yet compared to, say, Strictly Ballroom, the contrasts developed here comprise a thoroughly weak gruel. Perhaps Billy Elliot is feel-good taken a dance-step too far.
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