Billy Elliot

Grandma.

Your eggs.

It's Billy.

Come on.

F*ck.

- You been playing my records, you twat?

- I never played naught.

Knobhead.

If Dad knew you smoked that stuff,

he'd go mental.

F*ck off, will ya!

Little twat.

Here we go, Dad. Come on, man.

Dad!

Hurry up, Dad, man. We'll be late.

I'm telling you, the whole world

will be on that picket line this morning.

Have you tidied our room? Dad!

There's not much coal left.

That's fine.

We'll be digging it up again next month.

Don't kid yourself.

I'm not waiting for you.

Tony!

See you down the picket line, Dad.

Leave it, Billy.

Mom would have let us.

Your 50 pence is on the fridge.

Scab, scab, scab!

- Are you sure you're not going to come?

- Am I f*ck.

- It's a right load of old bollocks.

- It's not.

It's a load of shite, kicking people in.

I don't know why you bother.

- I'm good at it.

- Are you shite.

- Look at them gloves. They're outdated.

- They're me dad's, these.

Exactly.

Right, lads. Listen up here.

Hold it. Right.

Here.

Now, because they're using downstairs...

...as a soup kitchen

for the striking miners...

...I'm gonna let Mrs. Wilkinson...

...use the bottom end of the boxing hall

for her ballet lessons.

So, no hanky-panky, understood?

Yes.

Elliot, you're late.

Get changed and get in here.

Right then, lads.

Give it all you got. Round one.

Don't just stand there, Elliot.

Not again. This is man-to-man combat,

not a bloody tea dance.

What are you doing, man? Hit him!

He's just pissing about.

Get stuck in and give him a belt.

He's like a fanny in a fit.

Billy, hit him!

Jesus Christ, Billy Elliot!

You're a disgrace to them gloves...

...your father,

and the traditions of this boxing hall.

You owe us 50 pence.

Ho! Liberace!

Will you give it a rest?

Billy, punch bag.

You're not going until you do it properly.

Shit.

Give these to Mrs. Wilkinson and her class

when you're done. I'll see you next week.

Okay, girls. Left hand on the bar.

Thank you, Mr. Braithwaite.

Pretty arms.

Bottoms in.

Where are you looking, Susan?

Lift. Feel the music. Feel it.

In time, Debbie, please.

And one, and two, and three, and four...

...and five, six, seven, eight.

And one, and two, and three, and four...

...five.

And hold.

Hold it.

Support yourselves.

Don't look at me. Look ahead.

Where's your confidence? Come on.

And down.

Connie.

Oh, God.

And Debbie, eyes front.

And five, and six, and seven, and stop.

For God's sake.

Thank you, Mr. Braithwaite.

Right, into the center, girls, please.

Miss?

- Miss, the keys.

- Not now.

Right, Mr. Braithwaite.

The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow.

Fat chance.

Ready, and...

Port de bras forward...

...and up.

Port de bras forward...

...and up.

Why don't you join in?

Port de bras forward...

...and up...

...and hold.

And three, and four,

and Debbie, straight leg...

...seven and eight.

And one, and two, and three, and four...

...and five... Boots off!

Seven and eight. What size are you?

- Miss, what about the keys?

- Into the center.

Go on, I dare you.

Prepare.

And one, and two, and three, and four...

...and five, and six, and...

And eight, and hold.

Hold it.

What have we got here, then?

Heel out.

Drop your hip.

Nice...

...straight leg.

Good arch.

Turn that leg out.

Right. Class dismissed.

Hometime.

Debbie, get the 50 pences.

- You owe me 50 pence.

- No, I don't!

You do.

Why don't you bring it along next week?

I can't. I'm going to boxing.

- But you're crap at boxing.

- No, I'm not!

Shut up.

I thought you enjoyed it.

Please yourself, darling.

"Dancing in my tails"

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