By Matt Soergel
Florida Times-Union

Billy Elliot is the inspirational tale of an English miner's son who dreams of becoming a ballet dancer against all odds.

Given that routine-sounding premise, it perhaps shouldn't be a surprise that the song that plays over the ending credits is one of those dreary ballads so popular in recent years: tinny, histrionic, meaningless.

It's called, I believe, I Believe. Ugh.

But it is a surprise, completely out of character with the music that's come before, music by T. Rex and The Clash and Paul Weller. Besides, Billy Elliot deserves a better ending-credits song because this English comedy-drama is a far better movie than that, a crowd-pleaser that fits that coveted title: the next Full Monty.

It's pretty familiar stuff: 11-year-old Billy, after discovering that he'd rather pirouette than box, has to battle prejudice -- that ballet is for "pooftahs," etc. -- if he's to follow his dream.

It's thornier, more interesting than it sounds, though. Rather than parcelling out its emotions in carefully calibrated doses throughout the movie, Billy Elliot is almost reckless. Passion, rage, boredom, laughter, ingratitude and sacrifice are tossed around in ways that are much like how humans actually behave.

Two things really make it work. The first is the performance of Jamie Bell in the title role. His face, a regular-boy face, neither movie-star handsome nor cute, has to be the battleground for his conflicting emotions, the confusion and joy Billy encounters as he discovers his true self in ballet slippers. Bell is gawky and graceful and altogether brilliant.

The movie's second chief strength is the inspired direction of Stephen Daldry, a veteran stage director who finds the soul of the movie in several scenes that show Billy dancing furiously down the grimy streets and alleys of his mining town. These scenes, which have the intensity of a feverish dream, are a clear tip of the top hat to the influence of dancers such as Fred Astaire, whose name comes up more than once.

Billy Elliot is set in 1984 during a violent miner's strike that has turned Billy's hometown into an armed camp of police in riot gear. His mother has just died, and Billy has to care for his grandmother, whose moments of lucidity come less and less often. Billy's proud dad (the remarkable Gary Lewis) is on strike, as is his rowdy older brother (Jamie Draven). His dad, though, scrapes together 50 pence every week for Billy's boxing lessons, but then Billy spots the tutu-wearing ballet dancers across the gym and finds himself drawn that way.

Soon the chain-smoking, burned-out ballet teacher (Julie Walters of Educating Rita) sees that she may have a star in the making -- and starts aiming Billy toward auditions for a famous ballet school. Trouble is, no one in his family knows he's traded gloves for slippers; the only person Billy can talk about it to is his best friend (Stuart Wells), who's lately started wearing dresses and lipstick.

Billy has a lot on his young shoulders, and the movie will make you care, passionately, about what happens to him. We trust he'll eventually make out fine: Keep your fingers crossed.