These days, the Elliot household is a loud, angry place. Everyone in it is screaming to be heard - above the din of dreams dashed, above the cacophony of social and economic upheaval, and above the deafening silence of loss. As performed by the current, and as it turns out, final, Broadway company, there are far fewer grey areas in the plot. You know very clearly who is on which side. No, it is a black and white world over at Billy Elliot. And while it makes the plight of the British miners somewhat easier to understand without some pre-show history review, it somewhat diminishes the emotional impact of the show in general, and of the journey of the whole Elliot clan specifically. And that is a real shame because it really rounds out the show. As it stands, it isn’t nearly as emotional as it could be, but it does make you feel much more for the dying hometown that young Billy leaves behind to pursue his dancing dreams.
All of that said, the cast is very good and the show is in pristine, opening night shape. With two exceptions, the principal cast does a decent job of gelling like a real family, albeit one lost without a mother/wife to anchor it. Daniel Jenkins does a nice job as the father who must choose between the survival of his family and the demands of his community. While he lacks the variety of Tony winner Gregory Jbara’s passive aggressive performance, he does choose a few key moments to lighten the mood and endear us to him. Similarly (like father like son?), Patrick Mulvey as Billy’s older brother is a seething mass of anger who does his best work when he is trying to keep his angst in check, rather than when he is screaming his lines or lashing out physically. And there are the mildly warm moments that color the performance of Katherine McGrath, who otherwise depends on the vulgarity written into her role as Grandma. Is she suffering from the early stages of dementia, or is she just a crude old lady? There are a few times you actually care - chiefly during her flashback/fantasy song, “Grandma’s Song.” Otherwise, she’s a sweet, crusty, nut job of an old gal. And, despite my seemingly negative tone, it actually works. Why? Because the family that yells, screams and hits each other and still somehow manages to make you feel for and root for them must be doing something right.
|Extreme! Billy Elliot's Daniel Jenkins and Patrick Mulvey|
But it is the work of the two actors who play the main characters that truly elevates this show. Tony nominee Emily Skinner is absolute perfection in the role of Mrs. Wilkinson, the harsh, chain-smoking dance teacher stuck in the sticks, her dreams of dancing long in the past. In spite of her litany of barbs, stinging retorts and downright rude public evaluations of her charges, you can see just enough of a glint in her eye that she cares about those little girls, wanting only that months down the road they can put a decent ballet for their hardworking parents. She loves what she does, but she wants more. The undercurrent of sadness that is part of every song in the score really comes to the fore under the skilled interpretation of Ms. Skinner. Perhaps the best part of her Tony-worthy performance, though, is the palpable and heartwarming chemistry between her and Myles Erlick as Billy Elliot. Their relationship starts out as a sparring match, and with these two it is a compelling and evenly matched fight. Slowly, they come to respect one another, and ultimately love each other. Although it goes unsaid, there are two moments that would bring even the stoniest patron to tears: first, when Billy shares his mum’s letter with his teacher (Ms. Skinner's reactions throughout will make you ache), and second, when he returns to thank her for getting him into the Royal Ballet School. Their eyes meet and you see the very best teacher-student respect and mother-son love. With Erlick and Skinner, you can see, and, more importantly, FEEL that the two complete each other.
|"Shine": Emily Skinner (center) as Mrs. Wilkinson|
|Myles Erlick as Billy Elliot|
For a show that is three years old, it is in remarkable shape, due in large part to the gifted supporting company that takes on multiple roles per actor, ranging from town constables to riot police, to common town folk. Their chemistry, including the heart-stopping finale, is the icing on this complex musical cake.
Still, there is one thing has kept this terrific musical from being a truly great musical: inconsistency.
The Book: Lee Hall's book, based upon his screenplay from the film, can't seem to decide what should be its focus. Is it the Thatcher-era politics and the miner's strike? Is it social commentary on the state of things in Britain? Or is it Billy's rise and departure from the dying town that has gathered its resources one last time to send him to school? It works best when there is a balance; scenes of poverty, despair and the town coming together, juxtaposed next to scenes of Billy growing and eventually outgrowing the same town. But then the book goes into fantasy mode - Grandma's past, Billy's future, Michael's present. It is these same sets of scenes and the fantasy sequences that are equally inconsistent in terms of staging.
|Myles Erlick and Company|
The Staging: Peter Darling and Stephen Daldry combine several times to stage absolutely brilliant, moving moments. The extended scene of Billy's progress from novice to accomplished dancer is an exercise in economy, focus and storytelling. The scene which includes "Solidarity" is an extended sequence of brilliance where the worlds of art and economy collide, come together, overlap and separate. The moments where the miners act as the "barre" for the ballet girls, and when the miners and police dance together, are some truly excellent examples of the fusion of story, theme and high concept. But then there are the jarring scenes that play like sit-com romps (the exchange between dad and the Ballet School secretary) and still others that remind me of those old after school specials (the fact that Mum exists as a character).
Lastly, and this opinion of mine has caused me more than one heated argument, those fantasy sequences thrill me, save one. I love the fantasy of all the different "Grandpas" drinking, harassing, loving and dancing with Grandma as she reflects on her past. And the Billy-meets-his-future-self dance/flying sequence is breathtaking. Both are dark, smoky, and profound. Then there is the fantasy of Michael, whose dream of fully expressing himself turns into a razzle-dazzle follies style number. It comes out of nowhere, and it matches not one other moment in the show. Sure, it makes Michael stick out, and the kid who plays him, Cameron Clifford, is a charmer, full of talent. But does it make him stick out in the right ways? Aren't we laughing AT it? Aren't we applauding the silver streamer curtain and the fake proscenium and not him? And why does he have to pander to the audience for applause? The only other time the fourth wall is broken is at the curtain call. It sticks out inappropriately. Even the song doesn't match the rest of the score, which is also inconsistent.
|Cameron Clifford with Michael's wardrobe|
Like everything about it, Billy Elliot is a study in dichotomy. What is good is truly superb. Brilliant, even. What doesn't work really doesn't work, ranging from forced to unnecessarily campy (the embarrassing confrontation between Dad and the adult ballet dancer. Really?). Even the potrayal of very clearly anti-Thatcher politics is uneven - the subtle, silent commentary of the men seated in those hard chairs at the town meeting hall, versus the too-much-by-a-mile "Merry Christmas, Maggie Thatcher." The social commentary, particularly with the children participating, is jarring in the very best ways, but the song, and the way too much mugging for attention by the adults, kills a ten minute sequence that should take less than five. Somehow, the children make the bitter point, while the adults add nothing but excess, which in turn diminishes the sharpness of the satire. Less can be so much more - just look at the sweet simplicity of Billy's goodbye with Michael. It is what isn't said or done that makes the scene so poignant.
Yes, less can be so much more.
(Photos by Joan Marcus.)
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