Reporting from New York — "Billy Elliot: The Musical," the stage version of Stephen Daldry's heartwarming movie about an 11-year-old lad who dons a pair of ballet slippers in defiance of his coal-mining father's cramped notions of masculinity, confirms a truth that really didn't need confirming after "Mamma Mia!" -- there's a thin line between a mega-hit and a mega-mediocrity.
A smash in London ever since its West End premiere in 2005, "Billy Elliot" arrives at the Imperial Theatre with its parts intact but its spirit plasticized and pasted with glitter. This global theatrical phenomenon, which has already spawned a cash cow in Australia, might be considered a landmark in one unenviable respect: Broadway finally has in its over-hyped midst a major opening of road-show quality. (OK, provinces, cut the snickering.)
In London, "Billy Elliot" managed to capitalize on its stirring saga to overcome Elton John's insipid pop-rock score and Lee Hall's clunky book and shopworn lyrics. Daldry's direction may have been slick in all the usual ways of the modern-day musical machine, but it never shortchanged the story's emotional core. I left the theater dry-eyed yet secretly softened. And even as I shuddered on the Tube back to my hotel at different aspects of the faulty artistry (laugh lines that pleaded like a television audience warmup, musical numbers that were eerily reminiscent of Ethel Merman's disco album), the memory glowed with tender excitement.
'Billy Elliot': A review in Friday's Calendar section of "Billy Elliot" on Broadway misspelled the surname of the actress who plays Mrs. Wilkinson. It is Haydn Gwynne, not Gwynee.
Graceful dancer
David Alvarez, the Billy I caught (there are three), is an absolute marvel of balletic grace. The poise of his movement is mesmerizing, and the way his eyes blaze with desire to attain perfect physical form sheds light on his character's uphill quest. You can't help cheering for him, even as you wish his acting (on par with a dance double) was as confident as his arabesque.
