Billy Elliot: A London Musical Hit on Broadway

Britain and America, to paraphrase the old saw, often seem like two countries divided by a common theater. Big hits on the London stage are just as likely to fizzle as they are to thrive when they immigrate to the U.S. On the one hand, the low-key Brits seem far more wowed than Americans by a certain brand of over-the-top, kitschy production — from Saturday Night Fever (hit in London, flop on Broadway) to We Will Rock You, the daft Queen musical from London that couldn't get any farther than Las Vegas in the States. At the same time, the specific social milieu and topical political references of so many current British plays frequently make them bad bets for any producer looking to cash in across the pond.

And so Billy Elliot: The Musical might seem to be one British blockbuster with a precarious future. Though a monstrous hit in London for the past 3 1/2 years, it is as intractably British as musicals come. Based on the 2000 movie about a boy from the coal country of northern England who discovers his talent for dance, the musical is rooted in a time and place that have little resonance for Americans: the coal miners' strike of 1984-85, provoked by the Conservative Thatcher government's efforts to dismantle the country's nationalized coal industry. For an American theatergoer in London, the accents are tough, the palette dark and the inspirational story grounded in a glum, and very English, working-class setting.

The version that just opened on Broadway — directed, as it was in London, by Stephen Daldry — has lost a little of the power it displayed on its home turf. But if Prime Minister Gordon Brown's bank-rescue plan can become the model for the rest of the world's finance ministers, there's no reason why Billy Elliot — the best musical to come out of Britain since Miss Saigon — can't bridge the cultural chasm too.

For American musicals these days, the path to success falls into one of three categories: camp (Hairspray), hip (Spring Awakening) or kid-friendly (Wicked). Billy Elliot takes the old-fashioned route and makes an honest, emotional connection. Billy's motherless household is a grubby, oppressive place, and when his father and brother join their fellow miners in walking off the job, it becomes a tension-filled one. The story unfolds at a carefully unhurried pace: after a disastrous boxing lesson, Billy accidentally finds himself in a girls' ballet class. The teacher recognizes his talent, begins tutoring him in private and persuades him to try out for the Royal Ballet — all of which he must hide from his family and neighbors, who are in any case more consumed by a strike that has grown violent and increasingly doomed.

Oh, and there are songs too — good ones by Elton John, with lyrics by Lee Hall, who wrote the original film — but they are so tightly woven into the action that you almost hate to single them out. There are anthem-like chorus numbers and vaudeville throwbacks, political drinking songs ("Merry Christmas, Maggie Thatcher") and those with simple, John Lennon–like lyricism. But all of them seem utterly fresh and inseparable from the story they enliven and enhance. The show's centerpiece, of course, is Billy's dancing, which ranges from tap numbers to classical ballet, as well as a striking Act I finale in which Billy, his chance at an audition thwarted, erupts into an emotional, free-form paroxysm of frustration and anger. But Peter Darling's choreography is perhaps most impressive in the intricately staged group numbers like "Solidarity," which brings together lines of cops, strikers and Billy's dance class for a pas de trois that both propels the story and stops the show.

In telling its uplifting tale, Billy Elliot does an amazing job of not pandering. Billy's road to self-discovery is hard fought, and it comes at a painful price. His father, once over the shock and the shame of learning his boy's ambitions, crosses the picket line to earn money for Billy's audition. Issues of sexuality and gender-stereotyping are faced head-on but not pressed. He's no "poof," Billy insists, but that doesn't stop him from a joyful number in which he dons women's dresses with his (less poof-averse) friend Michael. The big emotional moments are manfully underplayed. When Billy must say goodbye to his teacher and leave for London, there are no hugs or tears. "I'll miss you," says Billy, from across the room. "No, you won't," she replies. "You'll spend five years unlearning everything I taught you. It's all right. It's the way it is."

In truth, the British still got a little better of the deal in this transatlantic transaction. With mostly American actors taking a stab at northern England accents, the home scenes don't have the authenticity or grit they do in London. The dance-class ensemble includes a few too many mugging little girls trying out for Annie. The show is not quite as well sung as it was in London, and the Billy I saw (David Alvarez, one of three boys who are alternating in the role) turns out to be, unsurprisingly, a better dancer than actor. Still, Billy Elliot does almost everything a musical should do, and more. It's a diplomatic triumph.

See TIME's Pictures of the Week.

See the Cartoons of the Week.