And Then We Danced, 2019.
Directed by Levan Akin.
Starring Levan Gelbakhiani, Bachi Valishvili, Ana Javakhishvili, Kakha Gogidze, Giorgi Tsereteli and Aleko Begalishvili.
SYNOPSIS:
A dancer struggles with the convergence of a huge professional opportunity and the rise of a desire that is not tolerated in his conservative homeland.
The nation of Georgia did not react well to And Then We Danced. Writer-director Levan Akin’s sensual, tortured drama about a male dancer dealing with a sexual awakening caused protests when it first screened in the country. Ultra-nationalist and conservative groups attempted to force through police lines to enter screenings of the movie and, reportedly, some used pyrotechnics outside cinemas. It was an ugly greeting for a movie that is quietly, simply, undeniably beautiful.
We meet young, ambitious dancer Merab (Levan Gelbakhiani) being criticised by his no-nonsense instructor Aleko (Kakha Gogidze) as “too soft” for Georgian dance. It’s a very specific, staccato style described by Aleko as stiff, masculine and entirely non-intimate – “there is no sex in Georgian dance,” he adds. Merab is earmarked for a major duet with long-term partner Mary (Ana Javakhishvili), but finds his place threatened by smug, talented new arrival Irakli (Bachi Valishvili). The promise of a potential place in the main ensemble adds professional pressure, just as long-buried desire seem to awaken.
The conservatism of this Georgian society is made abundantly clear early on, when whispers reveal that the main ensemble spot has been vacated by a dancer caught with another man and subsequently sent to a monastery in order to pray the gay away. So when Merab and Irakli’s relationship seems poised to move from friendship to something more intimate, it rocks both men to their core. Gelbakhiani and Valishvili – excellent dancers and nuanced actors – convey this with seismic, devastating subtlety.
Gelbakhiani, particularly, is a relevation in a performance that, if there’s any justice in the world, will be a star-making one. Akin’s script is relatively sparse when it comes to dialogue, trusting the cast to tell a story through physicality. Gelbakhiani is the maestro of this, whether it’s the way he shifts awkwardly and claws at himself while waiting to hear if he has made it to an audition, or his dance routine for Irakli in the filtering light of a sunset. He’s a young man entirely accustomed to repression, but not prepared for the way it is repeatedly forces itself through his body – by the end, he’s wearing his heart on his face – in the wake of powerful passion.
And Akin doesn’t shy away from the inherent passion of this storytelling. A shared cigarette effortlessly segues into something more, while the lovers’ first time is conveyed as a steamy tangle of legs, with nails raking across backs. Much like in Francis Lee’s God’s Own Country and Céline Sciamma’s recent Portrait of a Lady on Fire, this is a movie in which a secluded environment away from the city proves to incubate and ignite desire into a boiling pot of sexiness. But the question, always, is what happens when the city lights throw stark reality on the fantasy.
It’s here that Akin pulls a terrific directorial trick, replacing the intimacy and energy of the first half with a more sterile, detached style. One crucial interaction between the two stars is shot from an uncomfortable distance, with each of their faces reflected in different mirrors. Their bond is under intense strain and risks fracturing irreparably, leaving one or both of them in the dust. Akin’s script is intelligent enough to sketch this in a way that avoids cliché.
That nimble styling also manifests in the treatment of supporting characters, with many initially appearing to be thumbnail sketches before deepening into something utterly human. Ana Javakishvili’s Mary has a compelling and difficult story arc with an immensely satisfying conclusion, while Giorgi Tsereteli turns Merab’s bad boy brother David into someone who defies expectations with one of the film’s most tender, powerful scenes.
And Then We Danced thrives on subtlety and emotional intelligence, tracing a path through the difficult, stagnant world of Georgian social progress. Akin has a terrific eye for beauty, finding the light and the hope in grubby dance studios with crumbling walls, and cramped, dark homes. Above all else, the film is a triumph of finding the optimism and the defiance amid even the toughest of circumstances.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★ ★
Tom Beasley is a freelance film journalist and wrestling fan. Follow him on Twitter via @TomJBeasley for movie opinions, wrestling stuff and puns.
Originally published March 9, 2020. Updated March 8, 2020.
