Review: ‘And Then We Danced’ (2019)
Homophobia and conservatism in the ex-Soviet nation of Georgia are explored through the lens of traditional Georgian dance in this controversial 2019 film.
This is a spoiler-free review.
On November 8th, 2019, at a quickly-sold-out screening of the gay Swedish-Georgian film And Then We Danced at the Amirani Cinema in Tbilisi, Georgia, a crowd of nearly 500 protestors met the premiere event with intense verbal and physical assault. Police in riot gear were able to keep some amount of peace, but twenty-seven people were arrested, according to the BBC. Levan Vasadze, an anti-LGBTQ Georgian activist, exclaimed, “Shame on Georgia and on the government for allowing this historic shame on our dignity and Georgian traditions.” This is the real world And Then We Danced takes place in, explored through the context of Georgian dance’s uncompromising environment, deeply woven in masculinity and antiquated gender roles. Much like Georgian dance, the ex-Soviet nation of Georgia is heavily-rooted in the conservative tradition. This is primarily due to the overwhelming societal influence of the Orthodox Church, a religion that condemns homosexuality as an absolute sin. According to a Pew Research Centre survey in 2015 and 2016, 93% of Georgian adults polled reject homosexuality. And although homosexuality was legalized in Georgia in 2000 and several anti-discrimination laws have been passed in the new millennium, the Georgian public sustains its overall strict conservativeness.
And Then We Danced (written and directed by Levan Akin) opens on two young dancers, one male, the other female, in a rehearsal for the Georgian National Ensemble, dressed in black, moving triumphantly around each other with unique, magnificent precision. With spines straight, chins up, arms stretched, fingers extended, they smile at one another with dignified grace and familiar teenage confidence. An older man bellows at them to stop — their dance instructor, Aleko (Kakha Godize), snaps at our redheaded protagonist Merab (Levan Gelbakhiani) and his pseudo-girlfriend Miriam (Ana Javakishvili), telling Merab he “should be like a nail”. “You are too soft”, he says. “You should be more like a monument. Your eyes are too playful, your gaze should be [toward the ground] and must convey purity and virginal innocence”, for “there is no sex in Georgian dance.” Enter Irakli (Bachi Valishvili), a handsome new classmate who joins the rehearsal, and is ordered almost immediately to remove the earring in his left ear. In the boy’s locker room, the male dancers tease each other, instigate fights, objectify each other’s girlfriends, and measure their masculinity. In the girl’s locker room, we overhear gossip that the main Georgian National Ensemble needs a replacement male dancer after a boy named Zaza is kicked out for being gay and sent to a monastery. Auditions will be held to fill the position, and Merab sets his sights on being chosen. Irakli, the charming and personable new face of the company, is projected as Merab’s competition. “How long have you been dancing?” Irakli asks. Merab replies, “Since I could walk.”
Merab is played by non-professional actor Levan Gelbakhiani (whom the director found on Instagram), and he performs this role with controlled, skillful subtlety. He’s subtle, yet he expresses an impeccable focus necessary for his disciplined athletic character, while also being a convincingly realistic naïve teenager on the cusp of fully realizing his sexuality. These qualities would be challenging for any young actor to juggle, but Gelbakhiani conveys all of this eloquently and quietly. There are scenes where Merab has hardly any dialogue at all, and it’s okay because Levan Gelbakhiani communicates all the teen angst and character dynamics with his wide, expressive gaze without having to say a word.
One morning, Merab’s older brother (also a dancer) stumbles home with Irakli, after a full night of enduring Georgia’s drinking culture. Merab and Irakli take the bus to rehearsal together, and a hung-over Irakli sleeps on Merab’s shoulder as Merab smiles to himself. Perhaps we don’t know everything that goes on in his head after all. Aleko instructs Merab and Irakli to dance a duet together, and their chemistry does not feel like a nail or a monument rooted in old-fashioned values — their movements are controlled, but not without joy. They supportively smile at one another as they land each motion with pride in their eyes. Merab opens himself up to a new kind of connection, as the world radiates with warm autumnal reds, cerulean blues, yellow ochres, and bright oranges that pop like in a Cézanne painting.
The film as a whole is visually stunning, but Levan Akin’s practical and well-executed direction feels concerned with telling a compelling story first. Once the audience is invested, Akin then allows for the piece’s more conventional cinematic beauty to build organically. The cinematography, the color palette, and the film’s more obviously beautiful moments present themselves in tandem with Merab’s emotional journey. Later in the story, a gorgeously well-blocked wedding reception sequence is shot in two several-minute-long takes without cutting away, and emotionally, the film earns it. The camera follows Merab slowly walking from room to room throughout the magnificent set. In the background, elegantly-dressed family members dance with one another and clap along to lively traditional Georgian music as the young men fist-fight. It’s breathtakingly lovely.
And Then We Danced succeeds in telling an original, timely story set in an environment not known to many people worldwide. Levan Akin uses the lens of Georgian dance to tell a bigger story about the conservative and homophobic tension held throughout Georgian culture, and it is fascinating to be shown this sector of civilization, about which I knew nothing. This is a gay film that also does not drown itself in sorrow or tragedy. Sure, the film is about what it’s like to be homosexual in a primarily orthodox atmosphere, but the screenplay knows better than to simply say, “being gay is a sad, lonely life, and you will constantly be facing adversity”. The message is more forward-thinking than this. What’s a gay boy to do in a suffocatingly conservative world? Be yourself, don’t apologize for it, and lay groundwork for what the world can be, rather than how it has been. And Then We Danced is a spirited, captivating film that fundamentally works on every level, and is a much-needed LGBTQ film that honorably breaks its ground.
And Then We Danced is available to stream on Amazon Prime.
