Writer-director Carmen Emmi’s Plainclothes is a deeply atmospheric and psychologically fraught drama that takes audiences back to a time when queerness was not only policed by society but by the law itself. Set in 1997, when public cruising carried the constant risk of entrapment, the film follows Lucas (Tom Blyth), a closeted second-generation cop who begins to question the morality of his work after developing feelings for one of his targets, Andrew (Russell Tovey).

Equal parts noir-tinged psychodrama and steamy slow-burn thriller, Plainclothes is a film that unspools with agonizing tension, capturing the paranoia, secrecy, and fleeting moments of connection that defined queer life in a less accepting era. Emmi’s direction is at once nostalgic and urgent, resurrecting a world of coded glances and hidden trysts while holding a mirror to the contemporary struggles that persist in policing, surveillance, and self-acceptance.

From the outset, Lucas seems at ease in his role as a plainclothes officer tasked with busting men for “lewd behavior” in public restrooms. It’s a job that operates on an unspoken system: lingering eye contact, suggestive movements, and the unspoken agreement that the final stall is where the line is crossed. The police, unable to explicitly solicit, wait for men to incriminate themselves before stepping in to make an arrest.

Lucas’ comfort with his job unravels when he meets Andrew, an attractive and confident man whose approach to cruising is direct, transactional, and seemingly devoid of shame. The moment Lucas locks eyes with him, something shifts. Instead of making an arrest, Lucas lets him go—setting off a chain reaction that challenges his beliefs, his loyalty to law enforcement, and his understanding of himself.

Blyth gives a nuanced performance, making Lucas’ repression palpable in every restrained glance and stifled impulse. His body language betrays his internal war—an officer who is supposed to be the enforcer of moral order but who, deep down, longs for the very thing he’s been taught to condemn.

As he and Andrew continue to meet under different pretenses, Lucas embarks on an emotionally volatile journey that takes him from curiosity to obsession. Emmi brilliantly captures this transition by using fragmented VHS footage and surveillance-style cinematography, visually immersing us in Lucas’ fractured psyche. The effect is disorienting, sometimes overwhelming, but always deliberate—a technique that keeps the audience as off-kilter as Lucas himself.

Andrew, played with magnetic charm by Russell Tovey, is a character who operates with clear rules: don’t ask too many questions, don’t expect anything more than the moment, and never get attached. He claims to be a husband and father with a high-profile job, but his backstory is intentionally ambiguous—fitting for a man who has spent years compartmentalizing his double life.

Where Lucas is hesitant and repressed, Andrew is sure of himself, embodying a kind of queer masculinity that is both intoxicating and dangerous. He is the person Lucas wants to be—unapologetic, experienced, and unbothered by the laws he skirts. However, as Lucas grows more attached, his attraction turns into fixation, leading him down a reckless path that could destroy them both.

What makes Plainclothes so striking is its deep engagement with the ways queer desire was (and still is) surveilled and criminalized. Lucas’ job is built upon a fundamental contradiction—he is meant to police behaviors he himself engages in, forcing him to live in a state of perpetual self-denial.

The film smartly draws connections between law enforcement’s historical treatment of queer men and the moral panic that fueled crackdowns on public cruising. Lucas’ commanding officer justifies the arrests by citing the case of a man who was caught engaging in public sex and later committed heinous crimes, as if to suggest that queerness itself is a gateway to criminality. The implication is chilling, highlighting the baseless fears that fueled decades of discrimination.

Yet, even within this oppressive system, Lucas is drawn to Andrew, breaking every rule he was trained to follow. His desire leads him to increasingly reckless decisions—stalking Andrew, running his license plate, and following him home. It’s a devastating portrayal of internalized shame, where Lucas’ longing is tainted by self-loathing, forcing him to navigate his sexuality through the only framework he knows: control.

While Plainclothes is set in the late ’90s, its themes remain strikingly relevant. Emmi meticulously recreates the textures of the era, from VHS grain to dimly lit public restrooms lined with mirrors designed to expose glances. The film understands that cruising is not just about sex—it’s about risk, loneliness, and the search for connection in a world that denies it.

For younger audiences accustomed to the ease of dating apps, the film offers a sobering reminder of how difficult—and dangerous—queer desire was to navigate in public spaces. It also critiques the idea that progress has made these issues obsolete, subtly gesturing toward the ways surveillance culture continues to target queer and marginalized communities.

As immersive and gripping as Plainclothes is, the film occasionally stumbles in its execution. The use of multiple formats and fragmented storytelling, while evocative, can sometimes feel excessive, pulling the viewer out of the moment rather than drawing them deeper into Lucas’ psyche.

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Additionally, the film’s climax—a tense family dinner where Lucas’ secret teeters on the brink of exposure—feels slightly rushed. There is an opportunity to further explore Lucas’ relationship with his mother (Maria Dizzia) and his internalized homophobia, but the scene instead prioritizes dramatic tension over emotional depth.

Despite these minor flaws, the film remains an impressive debut, marking Carmen Emmi as a director to watch. His ability to blend noir aesthetics with intimate character study results in a film that lingers long after the credits roll.

Plainclothes is a powerful film that interrogates the intersection of identity, repression, and law enforcement. Anchored by Tom Blyth’s haunting performance and Russell Tovey’s layered portrayal of a man caught between two worlds, the film captures the suffocating reality of being a closeted cop in an era where queerness was still criminalized.

With its striking visuals, immersive storytelling, and unsettling psychological depth, Plainclothes is both a time capsule and a warning, reminding us that while progress has been made, the echoes of the past still shape the present.

Rating: ★★★★½

Title: Plainclothes

Festival: Sundance (U.S. Dramatic Competition)

Director-Screenwriter: Carmen Emmi

Cast: Tom Blyth, Russell Tovey, Maria Dizzia, Amy Forsyth, John Bedford Lloyd

Sales Agent: TBD

Running Time: 1 hr 42 mins