Music in Movies: And Then We Danced

I’m a sucker for this lighting

Few films in recent memory have captured emotion through movement with as delicate and razor-sharp an edge as Levan Akin does in the Georgian film And Then We Danced. Starring Levan Gelbakhiani in a startling and captivating breakout role, the film follows his character Merab through his trials in trying to become a dancer in the National Georgian Ensemble. However, when a new dancer shows up, their rivalry-turned-relationship threatens his progress while simultaneously enlightening him on his style and posture as a dancer in a genre of dance that prioritizes performative masculinity to his looser, “feminine” movement. 

The last moments of the film are incendiary as he figuratively dances for his life, laying all of him, all of his flourishes, pain, and wants on a stage he’s battered himself on in a fierce, and bruising declaration of self. It’s the time of scene that makes you hold your breath as it’s playing out, so attuned to the character’s visceral emotions and the suffering they’re enduring for the sake of both their art but also their catharsis.

While it remains one of the more startling, and declarative moments in the film of recent years, so textured with the sinew and musculature of Merab as he bends and breaks to the beat of the banging drum, a visualization of the pains dancers simply live it, it’s not my favorite sequence of the film. That one comes much earlier, is much briefer, and speaks more to the joy of music rather than the inherent pain of dance. 

In a defiant display of naked flirtation, Merab saunters, sways, and dances to the beat of Robyn’s “Honey,” in a moment that captures Gelbakhiani's allure as a performer. So much of the film, up until this point, has seen Merab content with not being seen as enough of a masculine dancer, someone whose motions and soft gestures almost replicate voguing than the sturdy, refined lines of traditional Georgian dancing. 

Irakli, the object of Merab’s desire, the poster boy of what masculinity means in his dance troupe, his competition, then momentary lover — he watches on, taking in Merab’s coy routine, his seductive smirk as he hovers, cigarette dangling, his body hitting the beat of the bass in Robyn’s track. But even though this is, in part, an act of seduction, the strength of the moment derives from the joy of it all — it’s a moment where we bear witness to music’s greatest ability to transport us, offer us joy in our most intimate, soul-baring moments. 

What an astonishing example of the stories that can be told through motion and music alone — through shared glances that say as much as a line of dialogue. The tension between the two that’s undercut by Irakli’s languid posing, and Merab’s posturing, the flirtatious eye contact and smiles, sensual in their playfulness, it all culminates in two minutes of self-expression by way of dance. The camera is enraptured in the movement, acting as Irakli’s gaze once we filter into the room, becoming the specks of light and dust particles that inhabit the room with them — though with their held looks, they’d never notice anything else sharing space.

The sequence, admittedly brief, is a love letter to the power of performance, and the ability music has to evoke such natural, joyful responses. The framing and lighting highlight this, with soft yellow glows that make sure to define and capture the way his body moves in tandem with the beat, syncing up with the rythmic flow. This is Merab at his most comfortable, most at ease in his skin as a dancer, until the final performance, where his defiance refuses to yield in the face of oppressive conformity. “Honey” is but a preview of his full potential — and it’s beautiful. We, like Irakli, can’t take our eyes off of him. 

And Then We Danced is available to stream on Tubi, Amazon Prime, Apple TV, and more. 

thanks for reading <3