Jennie Livingston’s seminal Paris is Burning was probably the first hit film to show what LGBTQ+ people have always known: we make our own families. They’re often not biological but they are carefully chosen, proving that genetics is no determinant of unconditional love. Levan Akin’s follow-up to his terrific debut feature And Then We Danced has this in mind as it follows an older Georgian woman who travels to Istanbul in search of her trans niece, encountering communities she never imagined. While Crossing lacks the exhilaration of Akin’s first film, and character development is a little too easy, its foregrounding of collective affinities works the right amount of emotional payoff when needed, and the performers each have their own lure. Though the film could be classed with the ever-growing number of trans-themed films, Crossing can just as easily be pitched to broad left-leaning art house audiences, ideal for its US distributor MUBI.
Retired history teacher Lia (veteran actress Mzia Arabuli) heads to the seaside cottage of her former pupil Zaza (Levan Bochorishvili) in search of her sister’s long-estranged trans daughter Tekla, who was driven from home some time earlier by Lia’s brother-in-law. What she learns isn’t encouraging: Tekla had been working as a prostitute until she was evicted and left for Istanbul. Zaza’s younger half-brother Achi (Lucas Kankava) claims to have her address and offers to accompany Lia, mostly so he can escape his slovenly sibling’s oppressive presence.
Much of the film revolves around the tension between these two characters. Lia is buttoned up and tense, ultra-guarded with her emotions which seem to have fused into an iron core of world-weary determination. Achi on the other hand is an easy-going loquacious slacker with a ravenous appetite and no manners: one imagines Lia saw lots of this type just before she retired, and they probably spent most of their school years in detention. She agrees to let him accompany her on the bus journey because he claims to speak a little Turkish and English, whereas she can’t read any alphabet apart from Georgian (which seems odd for a history teacher in Batumi).
On an Istanbul ferry, Lisabi Fridell’s camera elegantly wanders the decks and alights on young Izzet (Bünyamin Deger), a sprightly urchin who sings and plays the long-necked lute and offers to take Lia and Achi to the address they have for Tekla. The building is one of several occupied by members of the trans community, but none of the residents recall ever seeing a Georgian woman in the neighborhood. Lia is discomfited by these brash trans women whose language she can’t understand, and dejected on hitting a dead-end, but she promised her sister on her deathbed to find Tekla, and she’s not ready to give up.
Running parallel to this plot line is Evrim (Deniz Dumanl), a trans woman who’s just shy of getting both her law degree and official papers registering her as a woman. She’s the film’s counterweight: toughened yet still fragile, unashamed yet wary of a heteronormative society that wants to either bash her or use her as a fetish object. While Lia is ultimately transformed by her search, it’s Evrim who’s the heroine of the story: clad in togs more appropriate for a streetwalker than a lawyer, she’s reached a stage in her life where she’s managed to work with a system designed to suppress and abuse her, and while she’s not come through unscathed, she can see a future for herself living the way she chooses. It’s through Evrim and similar trans women who’ve bonded together into self-created families that Lia understands Tekla could have a decent life despite hardships, which becomes the film’s most moving message.
Akin doesn’t sentimentalize and he avoids straying into camp – the trans women may be sassy but their roughness isn’t exaggerated. His construction of Lia’s character is a bit more problematic since she’s the one carrying the film; her no-nonsense hardness resists all attempts at chipping it away, to such a degree that the audience waits for it to be pierced with growing impatience. This in spite of Arabuli’s forceful presence, and it’s to newcomer Kankava’s credit that he’s able to hold his own while dancing around her. A further plus is Akin’s affectionate portrait of Istanbul’s multi-layered neighborhoods, where identities are malleable and everyone is able to find their kinships.
Director: Levan Akin
Screenplay: Levan Akin
Cast: Mzia Arabuli, Lucas Kankava, Deniz Dumanl, Bünyamin Deger, Sema Sultan Elekci, Nino Karchava, Levan Bochorishvili, Ziya Sudançikmaz, Tako Kurdovanidze
Producers: Mathilde Dedye
Co-producers: Katja Adomeit, Nadia Turincev, Omar El Kadi, Ersan Çongar, Nino Chichua, Anna Khazaradze, Anna Croneman, Charlotta Denward
Executive producers: Ludvig Andersson, Mattias Sandström, Levan Akin
Cinematography: Lisabi Fridell
Production designer: Roger Rosenberg
Costume designer: Linn Eklund
Editing: Levan Akin, Emma Lagrelius
Music supervisor: Özge Koç
Sound: Sigrid Dpa Jensen, Ane Gry Friis Kristensen
Production companies: French Quarter Film (Sweden), Adomeit Film (Denmark), Easy Riders Films (France), 1991 Productions (Georgia), Bir Film (Turkey)
World sales: Totem Films
Venue: Berlinale (Panorama)
In Georgian, Turkish, English
105 minutes
