‘Crossing’ Review: Levan Akin’s Intergenerational Journey Becomes a Stirring Affirmation of Trans Solidarity
In his 2019 breakout feature, And Then We Danced, Swedish writer-director Levan Akin examined gay self-discovery and defiant sexuality against the rigid gender codes of a traditional Georgian dance company. His warmly humanistic new film, Crossing, explores another story of queer identity in an unaccommodating environment, this time using an odd-couple journey to advocate for trans acceptance. Observed with granular detail and imbued with a pulsing sense of place, this novelistic drama takes time to connect its central triangle but does so with a suppleness and restraint that amplify the emotional rewards of its lovely open-ended conclusion.
That sense of place applies to two principal settings as well as the sprawling space in between. It opens in Batumi, on the rocky Black Sea coast of southwest Georgia, and then shifts to the teeming streets and crumbling apartment blocks of Istanbul’s high-density, low-income quarters, where the title expands beyond geographical borders to depict shifting perspectives that cross generational and cultural divides. Akin’s family has roots in both countries, where he spent childhood summers. He was born in Sweden of Georgian ancestry while his parents were born in Turkey.
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Following its premiere as the opening film in Berlin’s Panorama section, Crossing is being released in key territories by Mubi and should further elevate Akin’s reputation, particularly with queer audiences. While it’s unspoken in the film, the anti-LGBTQ agenda of the Erdogan government adds weight to the drama and its message of compassion.
The story opens on cocky young Achi (Lukas Kankava), discontentedly living with his overbearing married stepbrother Zaza (Levan Bochorishvili) in a hovel by the sea. When Zaza’s former high school history teacher, Lia (Mzia Arabuli), comes by looking for information about her missing niece, Achi recognizes the name, Tekla, as one of the trans sex workers who were living in another cottage further down the beach until they were kicked out. He thinks Tekla moved to Istanbul and when Lia says she’ll travel to the Turkish city to search for her niece, the restless 25-year-old wheedles his way into accompanying her.
A stern woman in her 70s who fortifies herself with occasional swigs from a bottle of the strong Georgian grappa known as “chacha,” Lia bluntly informs Achi that she won’t be mothering him. The medications and ambulatory equipment in her home, along with the sorrow discernible beneath her acerbic demeanor, indicate that her sister has died recently and perhaps that Lia made a promise to find her missing daughter. That quest gives purpose to a life the retiree otherwise regards as spent.
Remarkable veteran actress Arabuli’s riveting performance expertly maintains the gruff, all-business countenance while making it clear by subtle means that her trip to Istanbul is a journey of atonement. There’s a quietly shattering moment late in the action when Achi asks what she would say to Tekla if she found her. Lia responds with moving candor, confessing to the ways in which she and her sister failed the young trans woman by letting the villagers’ disapproval outweigh their love for her.
Cinematographer Lisabi Fridell underscores the physical contrast between the Georgian opening and the main body of the drama in Istanbul with every bustling image of the city, notably a striking long shot of a built-up section crisscrossed by two elevated freeways. The shift is felt also in the transition from Georgian to Turkish folk music.
Anyone who has been to Istanbul, or seen the gorgeous 2017 documentary Kedi, knows about Istanbul’s enormous population of street cats. But there’s a kind of poetic magic to the constant appearance here of wandering kitties, some of them getting scarcely a glance from Lia and Achi and others being tenderly petted.
That human-animal connection is echoed in Lia’s gradual softening toward her flaky young companion, despite doing her best to ditch him early on. But the deeper transformation occurs when they encounter Evrim (Deniz Dumanli), a 30ish trans former sex worker who has recently earned a law degree from Istanbul University and is volunteering with an NGO fighting for trans rights.
Akin elegantly tracks Evrim’s story alongside that of Lia and Achi for an extended period, placing them in close proximity multiple times before they actually meet. A moment when the camera pans up from Lia and Achi on a ferry to capture Evrim gazing out from the upper deck is especially beautiful. Some viewers may grow impatient waiting for the inevitable junction where their paths cross or wish for more scenes of them together. But Akin’s unhurried storytelling moves to its own pleasurable rhythms, effectively building three robust character studies and intertwining them in emotionally affecting ways.
We experience Evrim’s unwarranted faith in a user boyfriend (Soner Yalcin) and her sweet flirtation with pirate taxi driver Omer (Ziya Sudancikmaz), who offers a taste of reciprocal romance without shame. We witness the considerable red tape, expense and hostile attitude involved in her efforts to obtain female ID papers. And we observe her interactions within the close-knit trans sisterhood along with her intervention when police pick up Izzet (Bünyamin Deger), one of two young street kids seen busking or hustling for tips as an impromptu guide for Lia and Achi.
Evrim’s entry into the main action brings hope for Lia, along with heartbreaking frustrations as they find traces of the elusive Tekla. The film excels at sketching the ways the story’s human connections coax out a new tenderness in Lia, along with greater sensitivity and open-mindedness in Achi. Marking something of a connective tissue from Akin’s previous film, two dance scenes play a significant part in the steady softening of Lia’s outlook.
While Arabuli provides the rock-solid center of the narrative, all the performances feel lived-in and natural, including the trans sex workers who are mostly unable to offer much help locating Tekla but show courtesy to the older woman looking for her niece, serving her tea and at one point acknowledging that no family member ever came looking for them.
Istanbul is described as a place where people come to disappear. But Crossing uses delicate brushstrokes to depict the city also as a place where transformative encounters can bring change and greater self-knowledge.
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