Stirring stuff: Liam Mower and Isaac James in Billy Elliot, Victoria Palace Theatre. Photograph: Tristram Kenton
Once you've got over the slightly unedifying matter of watching actors dressed as striking miners capering around the stage for the amusement of an audience of southern ponces, Billy Elliot: The Musical is a grand show - and a good one for all those people who hold up film as intrinsically superior to theatre.
I know Billy the movie falls into the "charming" category rather than than that of "landmarks of great cinema", but Billy the musical, for me, had miles more to it.
Take one example: Billy's angry dance when his father forbids him from auditioning for the Royal Ballet School. In the film, it's simply an amazing and beautiful dance. In the musical, it's a dance that's got huge metaphorical power - it's a kind of summation of the fury of the strike, the frustration of the miners, the trapped-in tragedy of the whole stupid situation.
The point is that this great setpiece of the musical doesn't have to abide by the simplistic rules of realism that the film does. And there's the whole extra dimension of actually being in the same room with this young kid playing Billy - who dances his socks off. You can't beat the power of the live spectacle.
