It was quite a long time ago — maybe between 2008 and 2010 — when I saw Billy Elliot on Broadway. I wanted to squeeze in one more show before leaving New York, and the hotel concierge managed to get me a very good seat, though I no longer remember the exact details. The show's setting was grim. As a traveler with only a little prior knowledge, I gradually realized that the story revolved around a miners’ strike during Margaret Thatcher’s Britain.

At the time, I wasn’t accustomed to British accents and became absorbed in the diction. It was different from the American accent but equally beautiful — so much so that even the dialogue sounded like singing to me. A group of British ladies sitting next to me remarked, smiling, that the accents were “off.” Still, they laughed and cried throughout the performance, so clearly the story got through. All was good.

I loved the opening sequence, with a young boy sitting with his back to the audience as the strike unfolded. I also liked the depiction of Billy’s house, especially his room upstairs. That compact, movable set conveyed a strong sense of warmth — especially in scenes with his grandmother. The ballet girls brought comic relief. They must have been excellent dancers pretending to be mediocre, which made them all the more endearing.

I vividly remember Electricity. The Billy I saw had strong vocals, but his dancing still had room for improvement. The duet version of Swan Lake, with young Billy lifted into the air while the adult Billy danced below, was monumental. The final scene, ending with friendship, was a touching finish. At the time, I didn’t know the story, but I sensed that Billy’s dream — and that of his family and community — could become reality.

The storyline weaved themes of family love and sacrifice, friendship, and self-discovery — for both Billy and Michael. The miners’ sacrifice struck me deeply. Billy’s father, unable to fully grasp the world of dance, still recognized the sincerity and passion in his son and took him to the school entry exam himself. Being there for his son became everything.

Grandma’s song also stood out. Though blunt and seemingly eccentric, she stood as the household’s pillar while Billy’s father struggled to understand his son’s aspirations. Her song revealed a life once filled with dreams and dance, later overshadowed by hardship and regret.

Years later, in 2017, I attended the Korean licensed production of Billy Elliot. The Korean Billy danced remarkably well — no surprise in a country known for singer-dancers from the K-pop industry, including BTS, SEVENTEEN, and BLACKPINK. I resisted the urge to become a repeat attendee, wanting to preserve my Broadway memory — of the accent, the tender moments, and Billy’s trembling speech at the curtain call for Broadway Cares.

Later, I watched the film version. It struck me as typically British — a realistic drama without exaggeration. It didn’t spell out the message, but it resonated with quiet strength. In the final scene, the father’s red eyes gave me comfort. I never forgot that Billy — a small boy with big dreams, surrounded by people who cared. He never forgot where he came from. A beautiful ending.