Crossing (2024)
Crossing, directed by Levan Akin, is one of those films that sneaks up on you. It tells the story of Lia, a retired teacher from Georgia, who travels to Istanbul to find her missing trans niece. What sounds like a fairly straightforward plot turns out to be something a lot more tender, a lot more patient, and a lot more grounded in the messy, beautiful details of real life.
The film sits quietly in the spaces between cultures — Georgia and Turkey — and between generations too. Lia teams up with Achi, a young, slightly lost dreamer, and their odd partnership gives the story most of its heart. It’s not about big declarations or action-packed twists; it’s about small, awkward moments of connection between two people who, on paper, have very little in common. That slow build, full of hesitations and unspoken feelings, is where the real magic happens.
The acting is lovely across the board. Mzia Arabuli, as Lia, doesn’t need big speeches to break your heart — she does it with a glance, a heavy pause, or the way she folds her hands in her lap when she’s nervous. Lucas Kankava brings an open, slightly chaotic energy as Achi, offering little bursts of humour that stop the film from getting too heavy.
Akin’s direction feels careful and kind. There’s a real respect for the characters here — he never rushes them or tries to force their emotions into tidy arcs. The cinematography by Lisabi Fridell is beautiful in a quiet way: muted colours, soft light, lots of lingering shots that give you space to breathe. Istanbul is captured not as a postcard-perfect city, but as a place that’s bustling, worn, and very much alive.
The film’s use of colour says a lot without shouting — the muted palette mirrors the characters’ weariness, while the rare flashes of warmth hint at the stubborn hope that keeps them moving. Bridges pop up here and there, both literally and metaphorically, and without ever feeling forced, they become a subtle thread running through the story — about crossing over, risking something, maybe even becoming something new.
Production design is simple but spot-on. The settings feel real, a little rough around the edges, like the characters themselves. No flashy special effects needed here — the emotion is enough. Editing is unhurried, matching the slow, careful steps Lia takes through a strange city and through her own complicated feelings. There are a few patches, especially in the middle, where the film threatens to lose momentum, but if you stay with it, it rewards you.
Sound-wise, Crossing mostly leans on the world itself — the clatter of streets, the low hum of a crowded café. When music does appear, it’s gentle and melancholy, underlining the emotions without trying to steer them.
If you liked the emotional honesty of The Farewell or the delicate balancing act of A Fantastic Woman, you’ll probably find something to appreciate here too. That said, Crossing is even quieter, even more willing to let moments sit in silence — and that might not work for everyone.
All up, Crossing isn’t trying to dazzle you. It’s a soft, stubborn little film about love, loss, and finding unexpected companions along the way. It asks you to slow down, to watch carefully, and to listen to what’s not being said. If you’re in the mood for something gentle but genuine, and you don’t mind a film that takes its sweet time getting where it’s going, it’s worth giving it a chance.