Crossing 

Directed by Levan Akin (2024)

Review by Zebib K. Abraham

Crossing, the fourth feature film from writer-director Levan Akin, follows a Georgian retired schoolteacher, Lia, as she travels to Istanbul to search for her estranged, transgender niece. Akin, a Swedish filmmaker and a gay man, whose Georgian parents grew up in Turkey, explores his intersecting identities through Lia’s journey into the trans community in Istanbul.

As Lia (Mzia Arabuli) searches for Tekla, her niece, she encounters Achi (Lucas Kankava), a young, energetic man who claims he can help her find Tekla, as long as Lia helps him escape from his bleak prospects to establish a new life in Istanbul. With little money or information, they travel into the bustling metropolis, where, as Lia puts it, people come ‘to disappear’.  

Lia is a traditional, Georgian woman. Arabuli expresses Lia’s suppressed grief and longing through restrained body language, a stiff gait and muted emotional expression. This mask cracks in quiet, stolen moments, observed with startling intimacy in close-up shots; Lia crying in the shower, or drinking too much and sloppily applying lipstick in a public bathroom. Kankava portrays Achi with ease and energy as a reckless and somewhat selfish young man, barely out of adolescence. He imbues Achi with petulant arrogance and innocent hopefulness, as he explores Istanbul’s busy streets with wide-eyed wonder. His own needs unfurl as he bonds with a reluctant Lia. 

Cinematographer Lisabi Fridell often uses hand-held camera shots. In one extended sequence, the camera trails Lia and Achi onto a ferry before slowly diverging from them; the camera (and therefore the audience) splits off to become a third traveller. The camera wanders upstairs, through the boat, onto the deck where two poor children are singing for money. Stationary shots hold a tight focus on our characters then zoom out, until they are small figures in a labyrinth of concrete and busy streets. We observe Lia through windows or doorways as she talks to strangers, searching for clues. The poverty and sensory vibrancy of Istanbul is viewed with an observant, gentle gaze. Scenes meander, just as the characters do. Music blares out from the speakers of restaurants; a trans woman sings when she can’t communicate with Achi in his limited Turkish; music mirrors inner emotions and cultural memory. Lia and Achi break into dance, expressing moments of sadness or joy without words. 

Achi and Lia eventually connect with Evrim, a lawyer and trans woman working at an NGO that helps queer and trans people. A parallel strand of the film explores Evrim’s daily life in Istanbul, her advocacy for those in need, her joy, her femininity and sexuality in a world not yet caught up. Deniz Dumanli plays Evrim with naturalistic ease, balancing Evrim’s hurt with her optimistic confidence. The film offers an intimate view of trans people in Istanbul. We linger in cramped, vibrant interiors, conversations stilted by language barriers. The camera focuses on faces, with beautiful, bright makeup, expressions both defiant and melancholic. The women Lia encounters are specific, playful, angry, rebellious, sorrowful, vibrant. 

Crossing is a tender, nuanced, authentic exploration of familial loss and cultural displacement, of trans identity and life on the margins. What Crossing does best is to observe the tenderness between characters, the rhythms of their daily lives, their masked traumas and joyous longings, all within the humming chaos of Istanbul. Most importantly, trans people are humanized, without the film resorting to drama or exploitation or explicit trauma, and the intersection of trans identity and cultural identity is explored in all its complexity.