Saw Billy Elliot last night. Too stupid and too long. Billy's boxing coach gets socked in the groin. It features this exchange:

MAN: I've been thinking long and hard.

WOMAN: That must have been a shock to the system.

Coal miners in tutus: that's a sure-fire crowd-pleaser.

The odd sexuality isn't doing us any favors. The cross-dancing, Liza-imitating kid is gay too? Yeah, that's progress.

The show is like a cross between Death of a Salesman and Footloose. Three hours long. There are three -- count'em, three -- letters whose contents are sung to the crowd. After the second you're like, "Couldn't you just fax it to me?"

Bottom line is, you know, the kid's a good dancer, but it still looked like a kid dancing. Which can be fun for a little while, but if I'd been at home I'd have seen what else was on. The tourists were happy, but the gay couple in front of me left at intermission. Even I, the first person to defend a dude's right to dance, was thinking, "Christ, kid, why don't you pick up a fuckin' book for a change?"