(Such proclivities in women were treated as a mental-health issue, which, according to one Soviet psychiatrist, could be cured with “pregnancy and child-bearing . . . In 1934, Joseph Stalin passed Article 154-a, which made “sexual relations between men” punishable by up to five years of hard labor. “There is no room for weakness.” Outside the dance studio, the first time we see Merab smile is on an early-morning bus ride to rehearsal, when his rival and crush, Irakli (Bachi Valishvili), falls asleep on his shoulder. “This life is not for everyone,” his trainer tells him in private. His entire future, it seems, rides on the upcoming audition, and on the appearance of normalcy the profession demands. He stays up studying grainy videos of Vakhtang Chabukiani, a legendary Georgian dancer, until the electricity cuts out. To survive, he waits tables, bringing leftovers home for his mother, grandmother, and feckless older brother. “This isn’t the lambada.” Offstage, Merab’s life is a grind. His oppressive trainer reproaches him for being too soft, too feminine. In truth, “And Then We Danced,” which was released this week on iTunes, centers around a fledgling member of the national dance ensemble, Merab (Levan Gelbakhiani), who is auditioning for a spot in the main troupe. If anyone asked, Akin resorted to lying about the plot: it was, he’d say, about a French tourist who comes to Georgia and falls in love with the culture. Securing locations was so challenging that some scenes had to be shot on the fly, with many roles filled by non-professional actors, lending the film a neorealist aspect. The casting manager received death threats, and the production company retained bodyguards for the crew. The rights holders to a number of old folk-song recordings refused to coöperate with the film Akin rerecorded the songs with new artists, many of whom, along with the lead choreographer, declined to be named in the credits. The Sukhishvili Georgian National Ballet, the country’s principal dance ensemble, wanted nothing to do with the project. So when the Swedish-Georgian director Levan Akin arrived in Tbilisi to shoot the country’s first explicitly queer feature film, a coming-of-age story about a traditional dancer, he was met with not a little hostility. Often accoutered with a double-edged dagger, he personifies the small, proud nation’s history and traditions. His movements are martial, virile they simulate war, hunting, and the courtship of his beloved. Tickets for the whole thing which takes place at the Ski Jam Tent are $23 after fees go to Get more on Snider (including details on a January 30 stop at the Boulder Theater) at Jan.The Georgian folk dancer is an image of masculine stereotype. at Ski Jam in Steamboat Springs, with Band of Heathens (6 p.m.) and mandolin virtuoso Sam Bush (9 p.m.). Expect to be duly entertained when Snider appears tonight at 7:30 p.m. Traditionally armed with little more than a guitar and a harmonica, he demands hoots, hollers and a healthy sense of humor. Fighting for peace? Thats like screaming for quiet.īut Sniders rowdy, often rambling live shows (clips from which are widely available on YouTube and his various personal sites) are his strong suit. Which hes not half bad at: The albums first cut, Mission Accomplished, features both drug euphemisms and the clever (though not entirely original) lines Im so turned around I could calm up a riot. Part satire, part serious, part song, part spoken word, Sniders newest album, Peace Queer, finds him abducted by an international league of peace queers and forced to write protest music. His ironic eccentricity, however, is his charm. Todd Snider, the Tennessee-based troubadour who has spent nearly fifteen years and more than twelve proper releases perfecting the humorous talking folk song, is, to put it simply, a strange guy who records and performs strange songs.