“There is no sex in Georgian dance!” the hard-nosed choreographer of the national folk ballet ensemble screams. “This isn’t the Lambada!” Merab (Levan Gelbakhiani) seems desperate to comply. He scrapes out a living as a waiter while rehearsing with the company, desexualizing his performance as much as possible, but he’s not all that successful. Merab has been destined to join the ensemble since birth, but he’s less interested in traditional dance — the “spirit of the nation” as he’s lectured — and more interested in the spirit of self-expression.

But when Irakli (Bachi Valishvili), an earring-wearing, rebellious dancer joins the troupe, Mereb feels threatened … but also intrigued. Irakli seems to do all the things Mereb dreams of, including standing up to authority. And he’s hot.

Not that Merab can act on those feelings, or even acknowledge them. One dancer has already been fired and sent to a gay deprogramming camp after being caught having sex with a man. (Famously, the Georgian government refused to assist in the making of the film by stating categorically, “homosexuality does not exist in Georgia.”) And Merab is so focused on dancing, he barely has time for any personal life, including his de facto girlfriend Mary, with whom he’s been paired for a decade. But when Irakli moves in with Merab and his family, the close quarters change the game.

Writer-director Levan Akin same-sex romance is groundbreaking in its cultural setting, but a common story in the West: A meet-cute story of sexual awakening in the face of repression. But even if it feels familiar, it’s also executed beautifully — an Eastern European take on Brokeback Mountain by way of Flashdance and Head On. Dance is a reliable medium for conveying physicality, longing and desire, and those scenes are full of chemistry. Maybe there didn’t used to be sex in Georgian dance, but there is now.

— Arnold Wayne Jones

Opens Friday at the Angelika Mockingbird Station.