Bachi Valishvili (left) and Levan Gelbakhiani in Levan Akin’s film And Then We Danced
My review for the April 2020 issue of Sight & Sound of the terrific new Georgian drama And Then We Danced, released in the UK on March 13. Review posted with permission.
“You should be like a nail, you’re too soft,” an instructor at the National Georgian Ensemble tells aspiring young dancer Merab (Levan Gelbakhiani). “Georgian dance is based on masculinity.” The enmeshed imperatives of gender performance, cultural expression and national belonging underpin And Then We Danced, a powerful and moving drama written and directed by Levan Akin, a Swedish filmmaker of Georgian descent. It’s centred around the evolution of Merab’s rivalry with a new dancer, Irakli (Bachi Valishvili), into an erotic connection and the related intensification of his struggle to accommodate his more fluid, emotive form of dance – and of living – with normative expectations. Akin based his script on interviews with dancers in Tibilisi. He also reports facing hostility from dance institutions for exploring homosexual desire within the sector.
In its outlines, the film’s Bildungsroman narrative and broadly realist tone align with a cycle of recent queer dramas such as Switzerland’s Mario (2017), which was set among aspiring footballers. And Then We Danced stands out, though, for its nuanced characterisation, powerful acting, rich attention to social context and sophisticated technique, whose subtle balance of fluidity and stillness aligns with Mareb’s sinuous style of performance. The dance sequences in particular are captivating and propulsive, showcasing the form’s almost geometric technique; they also dramatise the tension between conventional expectations of fixity and Mareb’s insistence on flow and give, and give magnetic form to the growing chemistry between Mareb and Irakli. Elsewhere, Akin choreographs lengthy, deceptively complex shots that immerse us in the intense milieu of the dance academy – part macho locker-room, part cultural hothouse, part youth club – or in the modest flat shared by Mareb, his brother David (Giorgi Tsereteli) and their mother and grandmother.
Such networks, often lubricated by heavy drinking, are thematically central to And Then We Danced. It’s a story about the invidious choice Mareb seems to face between powerful forms of collective living (the ensemble, the family, the neighbourhood), which offer belonging and meaning while abhorring queerness, and the possibility of a subjectively fulfilled life apparently dependent on solitude elsewhere. Scenes featuring just one character are few, and generally show Mareb in closeted distress. Yet while the film in no way sugarcoats Georgian homophobia, nor does it deny the value of normative bonds. There’s affecting nuance to Mareb’s relationships with Irakli, David and Mary (Ana Javakishvili), his dance partner since childhood. Gelbakhiani, a dancer making his acting debut, brings a moving balance of fragility and resolve to each exchange.
There’s nuance too in the story’s treatment of lineage and tradition. And Then We Danced recognises the layers of meaning, memory and hope that can be embedded in personal objects – an earring, a jacket – rendering them both cherished relics and engines of change. And it attends to the forces that mould traditions, the malleable contexts shaping supposedly ageless customs. Georgian dance, it notes, was not always as inflexible as some contemporary proponents would insist. This sense of contingency also applies to the kinds of collective life that are seen as so vital to Georgian society. When Mareb is told – in a spirit of concern rather than cruelty – that there’s no place for gay people in Georgia, it seems a credible assessment. Yet the film also suggests it’s more complex than that. Mareb’s erotic experiences with Irakli open him to new ways of seeing and being, including an introduction to Tibilisi’s queer night scene. Its own distinct forms of affection, support, aggravation, jeopardy and euphoria suggest at least the possibility of a life beyond the poles of conformity and atomisation, dancing to a different rhythm.
