And Then We Danced

And Then We Danced

Dance is a personal expression of freedom and an oppressive enclosure in “And Then We Danced,” Swedish-born Levan Akin’s passionate coming-of-age tale set in contemporary Tbilisi. The time honored folkloric dance, the Church and traditional polyphonic singing are the three most important pillars of the Georgian national character, according to the writer/director (of Georgian descent), who through his film examines this multi-pronged identity in intriguing ways following his protagonist, a gifted dancer in a revered ensemble, as he wrestles with newfound sexual feelings for a new male recruit. While Akin’s camera sometimes gets caught up in the nuts and bolts of the dance routines an aesthetic obsession that occasionally holds at bay the emotional story unfolding within the choreography he nonetheless puts forth his sympathy astutely, arriving at a hopeful, deeply heartfelt conclusion.

And Akin’s sense of hopefulness eventually blooms even though Merab (Levan Gelbakhiani, an astonishing newcomer) lives within such rigid confines: He spends his days among a hardworking collective who perfect every inch of their strides and body movements jumps and thumps that land like macho dares; small steps that appear to glide atop air.

“There is no sex in Georgian dance,” barks his severe instructor early on in the picture when he senses some playful chemistry between an elastic Merab and a female member of the company, Merab’s dance partner Mary (Ana Javakishvili). So it feels almost otherworldly when Irakli (Bachi Valishvili) shows up right then. There is instant chemistry between him and Merab, though neither seems to know what to do with it until one day they give into their desires during a romantic stolen moment away from their peers’ gaze.

Akin arrives at that beautifully shot sequence captured by cinematographer Lisabi Fridell’s fluid lens in all its private ecstasy through a number of bouncy, mischievous scenes between Merab and Irakli. The son of divorced parents, grandson of a strong-willed grandmother all three professional dancers in their time Merab works diligently, aiming to live up to an under-realized family legacy that never quite bloomed the way it should have.

But with Irakli’s arrival, his priorities become scrambled; Akin makes sure we see the young man’s internal struggle every time he dances flirtatiously with Irakli (one particularly memorable one deliciously unfolds against the backdrop of Robyn’s “Honey”) or within the dance group’s oblivious eyes. He heightens anticipation when the ensemble embarks on a brief getaway to Mary’s countryside home just to relax prior to upcoming auditions a constant source of anxiety for the troupe and delivers the duo’s first intimate scene, underscoring its liberating effect for both Merab and Irakli.

In other places, Akin does not balance his story well enough and avoid clichés found in many coming-of-age films. At first, Mary seems instrumental to Merab’s growth as an individual. However over time she becomes nothing more than a female friend who supports him and understands him without any real depth of character.

Similarly underdeveloped is Irakli; but elsewhere in his storytelling Akin succeeds there is a shockingly tender scene between Merab and his fiery married brother David (Giorgi Tsereteli), for instance, that arrives when you least expect it, underscoring the kind of hope for change that Akin can still find within a macho culture which never tolerates men like Merab. Yet beyond doubt the best thing about this film is Gelbakhiani himself with such an arresting screen presence and cutting edge moves on display (just wait until they come out at the end), he wears Akins’ optimism proudly, showing us that he finally knows exactly who he is.

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