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At great risk, he continues to make queer films in a country he still loves

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At great risk, he continues to make queer films in a country he still loves

As a filmmaker with Swedish-Georgian roots, I’ve faced unique challenges in bringing queer stories to life in a country like Georgia. My experiences making “And Then We Dance” and “Crossing” have been nothing short of guerrilla endeavors. In the face of backlash and even death threats, I’ve learned to navigate this complex terrain with local Georgian production companies, first-time actors, and a society deeply entrenched in patriarchal norms.

In 2013, a group of young individuals in Georgia, located in the Caucasus region of the former Soviet Union, planned to stage a pro-LGBTQ+ rally on International Day Against Homophobia. However, their peaceful demonstration was disrupted by a large mob of Orthodox opponents numbering in the thousands. This crowd descended upon the group, assaulting them with rocks and eggs. Over a dozen people were left injured and required hospitalization as a result.

“Shocked and disturbed,” filmmaker Levan Akin, 44, expressed during a Zoom interview from England, leading him to the decision of traveling to Georgia to create a film on the issue at hand.

Akin’s second movie, “And Then We Danced” (2019), which gained international acclaim as a poignant gay romance set against the backdrop of Georgian folk dance, was the result of that initial inspiration. The film earned accolades worldwide and showcased Sweden, where the director grew up, in its pursuit of an Oscar nomination. However, the response in Tbilisi, Georgia’s capital city, couldn’t have contrasted more starkly.

In his remembrance, Akin mentions that there were necessities for the military to be summoned and policemen stationed at each movie theater. Viewers were exposed to potential dangers, creating a path of disgrace, reminiscent of “Game of Thrones,” where objects were hurled at the character Cersei as they passed by.

The film was shown in theaters for just three days, after which the government ordered its removal due to the high expense of stationing soldiers at each screening. Eventually, the movie gained a following in Georgia through unauthorized downloads.

From my own perspective as a film enthusiast, I ponder, “I’m gay, yet I adore Georgian dance. Somehow, these two aspects of myself seem incompatible.” I express, “Who has the authority to dictate that? Who are these traditionalists to decide what I can or cannot do? It’s my heritage too, even if I identify as LGBTQ+.”

At great risk, he continues to make queer films in a country he still loves

As a queer person myself, I am always on the lookout for movies that authentically represent and explore the experiences of individuals from the LGBTQ+ community, especially those from underrepresented regions of the world. Akin’s latest film, “Crossing,” which hits theaters this Friday, is one such movie that I am eagerly anticipating.

With a language difference between them — Achi knows only a few English words and no Turkish — the unexpected duo searches the streets for signs of Tekla’s location, encountering other trans women along the way.

As a film enthusiast, I found it intriguing how the experiences of queer individuals can influence women around us. They begin to reevaluate their own positions in this masculine-dominated society, leading me to ponder the profound impact of our struggles.

Akin has had a complicated relationship with Georgia throughout his life. Growing up as a child in Tumba, Sweden during the 1980s, he would frequently visit his relatives there every summer with his immigrant family. One particular year, his father, who worked as a travel agent, signed Akin and his sister up for a month-long camp – an equivalent to the Boy or Girl Scouts in the Soviet Union, according to him. During this camp, they would enthusiastically sing praises of communism.

Following the collapse of the Soviet Union, a civil war ensued, preventing Akin and his family from being reunited for several years. In the wake of this conflict, neoliberalism emerged as the dominant ideology. “Nowadays,” Akin remarks with a chuckle, “they’ve even erected a statue in his honor (Ronald Reagan) and there’s an avenue named after George W. Bush.”

Sadly, Georgia currently leans more towards Russia in its political stance. According to him, the country is ever-changing, making it challenging to stay informed, and each visit necessitates a fresh understanding of its circumstances.

At great risk, he continues to make queer films in a country he still loves

Despite the challenges of reconnecting and filming on location, which could lead to controversy and censorship, this is what drives him. Having worked in Swedish television and filmmaking for several years, Akin reached a point where he questioned his role as an artist. Seizing the opportunities available to him as an outsider from a more accepting nation, he decided to produce films in Georgia.

“After dedicating several years to creating such films, Akin expresses a deep desire to add meaning from his personal experiences and find importance in the filmmaking process. He ponders frequently about his role in the country he cherishes deeply, an theme that resonates in his cinematic works.”

In Georgia, where creating queer-themed content is risky business, I found myself embarking on a clandestine journey. Akin referred to it as a “guerrilla endeavor.” For our production, “And Then We Dance,” we had to conceal the true plot to obtain locations and avoid unwanted attention. Despite our efforts to keep things under wraps, details leaked out, leading us to receive threats of violence.

Akin collaborates with Georgian production firms for logistical support. The majority of his cast is made up of newcomers. The production of “Crossing” was less complex as it involved just five days of filming in Georgia, with the remainder taking place in Turkey.

Following the controversy over “And Then We Danced,” Akin aimed to convey a message of forgiveness through the perspective of individuals not identifying as queer, yet their lives are impacted by inflexible gender expectations.

In “Crossing,” I chose to explore the struggles of each prominent character as they seek their individual paths within a rigidly patriarchal community. My aim was to create a movie that carries the message: Regardless of the era we hail from, love remains an unwavering and universal force.

Lia is a woman who hasn’t tied the knot or raised a family in a society where these roles are widely assumed for women. Achi endures a harmful and domineering living situation under his brother’s control. As for Evrim (Deniz Dumanli), they bravely confront challenges in their professional role at a nonprofit, working to support marginalized queer individuals, amidst the complexities of a rigidly gendered Turkish bureaucracy.

During the Berlin International Film Festival in February, Akin encountered Georgian audience members who had bravely attended a screening of “And Then We Dance” in Tbilisi despite mob disturbances. For Akin, this encounter was deeply meaningful and allowed for long-awaited conversation between them.

Akin successfully produced “And Then We Danced” and “Crossing” in Georgia due to financial support from Sweden and France. However, a controversial “foreign agent” law has recently been enacted in Georgia, leading to extensive protests. This legislation classifies any organizations or media outlets with over 20% foreign funding as potential agents acting on behalf of foreign governments. Consequently, these entities face increased scrutiny and potential penalties.

As a moviegoer who’s passionate about social justice, I’d put it this way: “This is my take on how certain groups try to limit the work of organizations focusing on LGBTQI+ rights, women’s empowerment, and progressive causes. Akin clarifies that it’s much like the legislation in Russia.”

In “Crossing,” director Akin was taken aback by the intense criticism. Unlike his past films, this one didn’t delve into typical Georgian cultural elements. However, upon its Berlin premiere, unfavorable reviews emerged in local newspapers. Akin believes this reaction is connected to the upcoming parliamentary elections in October, with the right wing attempting to label his work as provocative.

He expressed his intention to postpone the screening of the film in Georgia, hoping for a more favorable situation following the elections. “We prefer not to get involved in the chaos,” he added.

Last month, the Georgian Dream party, now holding power in Georgia, proposed a law labeled by some as the “anti-LGBTQ+ propaganda bill.” This legislation includes restrictive measures, one of which would prohibit art similar to Akin’s creations. However, Akin issues a grave warning: The rights of queer individuals are similarly under threat in Western countries.

I regretfully mention that there’s a significant political group in Sweden, named the Sweden Democrats, who advocate banning Pride flags at present.

There’s another project that Akin is eager to shoot in Georgia, which he characterizes as filling a void in his identity as a Swedish-Georgian artist.

He explains that the topic involves the difference between wealth in the Western world and the Eastern world, as well as the sense of responsibility and guilt felt by some people from the West regarding Georgia.

Just like his unyielding protagonists, he speaks with undaunted spirit in the face of adversity.

“Sometimes the opposition is loudest,” Akin says, “but they’re not necessarily the largest.”

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2024-07-19 13:32

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