The 2009 Jason Michael Carroll song “Hurry Home” concerns a father with a unique voicemail message. On this family’s answering machine, the dad croons a song to his daughter who’s left her family and home. “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done/I still love you” the father sings, urging his daughter to “hurry home.” Eventually, the song lands on the daughter lingering “outside a bar in New York City” rather than fly-over U.S.A. She calls up her family home and hears her dad’s melodic voicemail. “Dad, I’m on my way” she responds. This is how most global pop culture depicts younger family members racing away from their families.

The next generation abandoning their “roots” to pursue standalone lives typically means trouble in film, television, and music. This is especially true of young women. These figures should really just listen to their parents and never ever have sex, do drugs, or a distinct personality. Better yet, these yarns function as warnings to youngsters to steer clear of far-off lands dominated by diverse, er, “untrustworthy” souls. Whether it’s Hardcore or Taken, our culture loves stories of noble parents becoming saviors to wayward offspring who made the foolish decision to carve out their own identities. These rampant norms make Crossing, the latest feature film from director Levan Akin, an extra striking creation.

Lia (Mzia Arabuli) is on a hunt. As Crossing begins, this Georgian woman needs help navigating Istanbul to find her trans niece, Tekla. Reluctantly paired up with teenager Achi (Lucas Kankava), the duo travels to the cat-dominated streets of Istanbul. Trying to uncover Tekla here proves as tricky as uncovering a needle in a haystack. Other stories in this vein bend over backward to reaffirm the relentless adaptability of adult protaganists. In Crossing, Lia is totally lost. Every lead she has slips through her fingers. Sorrow so consumes her that she drinks whenever possible. No wonder this rescue mission quickly spirals out of control.

As this hunt transpires, Akin introduces viewers to Evrim (Deniz Dumanlı), a lawyer living in Istanbul. Before she shows up on-screen, the only physical trans representation we see is the hands of Tekla. This part of her body silently caresses Lia in a dream sequence. With Evrim’s introduction, the floodgates open. Consistent trans women representation peppers the rest of the Crossing, most of it squarely focuses on Evrim’s interior life. This material pleasantly appears nonchalantly on-screen. The sensationalism defining so much classic trans cinema representation, thankfully, never appears.

Mere seconds into her screentime, we see that Evrim has a buoyant best friend greeting her when she gets off a ferry. From there, the script reveals that she’s got a job she’s passionate about, a larger social circle, and even a complicated romantic life. Misery doesn’t solely define Evrim like so many other trans women in cinema. If anything, her more mundane daily life provides a steady contrast to Lia’s quietly devastating struggles.

Even depictions of Evrim engaging in sex quietly subvert cinematic norms for trans representation. Viewers only see Evrim from the waist-up in these interactions, while Akin and cinematographer Lisabi Fridell don’t linger on her body exploitatively. Boning dudes in the back of a car doesn’t allow the audience to gawk at Evrim’s physical form. Instead, it’s a chance to glimpse every facet of her day-to-day life. Of course she has sex. It’s depicted as naturally as her having a date or best friends.

Akin’s screenplay lends a relaxed pace to each of its parallel storylines. For Evrim, this approach results in a subversive look at everyday trans existence. This same aesthetic, meanwhile, means Lia’s hunt for Tekla is constantly quietly discouraging. Grand epiphanies elude this woman as she contends with the local language barrier and a strained dynamic with Achi. Because they’re not rushing to follow up on random clues, there’s time for quiet moments of vulnerability. This includes a critical sequence where Lia opens up to Achi about why Tekla left her family’s village in the first place.

Arabuli’s work in this scene is remarkable, especially since she’s portraying Lia lying in bed. She can’t rely on grasping for props or sudden bursts of over-the-top physicality to carry this moment’s emotional core. It’s all coming down to the subtlest nuances of her performance. To that end, Arabuli depicts Lia verbally opening up about the past reluctantly. You can feel the words emerging from her mouth like teeth plucked out by pliers. As a result, sentences come out like fragments or trail off with a proper resolution. It’s a hauntingly realistic depiction of recounting bottled-up trauma.

The delicately jagged nature of her line delivery doesn’t undercut the tangible regret informing each word of Lia’s recounting of Tekla’s father casting out his daughter. Especially haunting is Lia’s throwaway line about a neighboring child from another village supposedly “[shooting] himself in the head” after being revealed as trans or queer to their parents. Even a cis woman like Lia is becoming conscious of the violent realities of trans existence in oppressive social spaces. Crossing uses Arabuli’s tremendously detailed acting to reflect this reality while still keeping trans violence off-screen. This doesn’t just give more room for Arabuli’s command of dialogue to shine — it also allows Evrim’s mundane life to inform Crossing’s visual landscape. Explicit on-screen transphobic bloodshed exists solely in dialogue. It doesn’t define Crossing‘s imagery like so many other trans-centric films.

Speaking of Crossing’s visual language, if there is any grand disappointment with the feature, it’s in its imagery. Thankfully the feature does avoid regressive ways of framing trans sexuality or anguish on-screen. However, the default filmmaking style for Crossing is ultimately rudimentary. While competently shot, the blocking and camerawork angles don’t exude much personality.

The editing also leaves something to be desired. Certain quiet scenes, namely a dinner between Lia, Achi, and a rich Georgian stranger, hop between cramped close-up shots with abandon. Little room is afforded in these intimate sequences for space or truly imaginative staging. That early dream sequence involving Tekla’s hands on Lia’s body is a rare excitingly vibrant visual aberration. Otherwise, Crossing’s on-screen imagery is functional, but not especially distinctive…save for the welcome presence of stray cats littering the background of nearly every shot.

While it doesn’t break new ground visually, Crossing still registers as a perfectly agreeable watch. This is especially true in terms of its performance. Arabuli’s depiction of a woman grappling with bottled-up regret isn’t the only acting-based standout here. Deniz Dumanli also impresses with her work as Evrim. The quiet nature of this character’s sequences puts tons of pressure on Dumanli’s shoulders. She must captivate viewers in down-to-earth segments without aid from elements like explosive emotional displays. And yet, even when she’s chilling at a bus stop with friends or talking to a bureaucratic government servant Dumanli enthralls. This performer has an instantly engaging aura making it a thrill to watch Evrim in any scenario.

Meanwhile, there’s a welcome willingness in Crossing to let trans performers take center stage. These actors leave an impression even if they’re only on-screen for one scene. Most notably, Lia’s hunt for Tekla takes her to a location overseen by a trio of trans women. These three new figures don’t speak this Georgian woman’s language. Viewers witness much of this exchange through the trans women’s perspective, as they chat about how unprepared Lia is in her search. All three of the supporting performers here are remarkably compelling. This scene’s focus on Istanbul souls, meanwhile, reinforces how much depth Crossing gives to this location’s population.

Though described as a “place people go to disappear,” Istanbul isn’t depicted entirely as a hellscape just because it isn’t the place Tekla grew up in. The nonchalant air of Akin’s filmmaking gently guides viewers everywhere from sex worker havens to pristine cafes to police stations and everywhere in between. No yellow-tinted color grading suffocates every shot of Istanbul to reinforce its “otherness”. On the contrary, upon entering Turkey, Achi is surprised at the minimal visual differences between this place and Georgia. “Aren’t we supposed to be in a different country?” he loudly inquires.

This normalized approach to Istanbul immediately makes Crossing something different in the pantheon of movies concerning adults searching for younger loved ones. Qualities like Arabuli and Dumanli’s performances only hammer home that reality. If you’re tired of so much pop culture urging you to “hurry home” to suffocating societal norms, Levan Akin’s got just the motion picture for you. Plus, this director wields the good sense to realize trans women petting cats is a grand cinematic sight all movies should include!

Crossing is now playing in theatres.

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