Crossing is a film about a good-looking thug who likes to cross-dress. It's a pretty terrible movie, a jumble of bad edits and confused storytelling, but it's so tough to get a movie made in Canada that we don't want to dwell on just how putrid Crossing really is. Let's just say that given a choice between watching this film or taking a nail gun to your own spleen, you'd be wise to opt for the latter.
What's good about Crossing is the actors, even though they have an odd tale to inhabit. Sebastian Spence is the son of a gangster, and he promises his dying father he'll make the family legit. Fred Ewanuick (everybody loves Fred Ewanuick, right?
) plays his best friend and Crystal Buble plays a prostitute with whom gangster-boy falls in love. They all do their best through clunky plot developments and embarrassing sex scenes, but here's the weird thing: A huge part of the story hinges on the fact that gangster-boy is turned on by wearing women's clothes.He seems as surprised as everyone else by this newfound predilection.
Anyway, someone takes a few pictures, and now he's a blackmail victim. Blackmail? Over that?
In real life, people wear rubber bondage suits to work and not even on casual Friday and post family photos of themselves having sex with farm animals and this guy in Crossing is worried about a couple pictures of him in a teddy? Talk about the willing suspension of disbelief. The only real question about cross-dressing in the world of men is why any thinking person would willingly trade the simplicity of male clothes for all the hooks and eyes and finicky nonsense and ouchy shoes of women's wear.
Silk panties and a feather boa, sure, okay, but who can keep up with the latest "It" purse or the differing hem lines or the jean styles careering from circulation-stopping skinnies to sailor-cut flappers so huge you accommodate a three-ring circus up in there? Does any guy really want to show up in a peasant blouse that reveals his upper arm flab or a wrap-around dress guaranteed to shrink his bust and broaden his hips? Whose brilliant idea was to reinvent the shirtdress your Gran wore in 1961, anyway?
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