Plainclothes: Identity Laid Bare
by Jasmine Edwards
Dealing in the language of subtlety and eye contact, Plainclothes (2025) is queer not simply in its content, but in its execution. The film lingers on a type of communication known only to those who, for their own safety, must find love—or at least alleviate their loneliness—through secrecy and subterfuge. Yet Carmen Emmi’s story emphasizes this concept in a rather overt way, its narrative peeling back the metaphor with an intrusive, all-seeing lens.
The film’s plot revolves around cruising in 1990s New York. An undercover cop named Lucas (Tom Blyth) and his newfound infatuation Andrew (Russell Tovey) meet when the plainclothes officer tries to lure and arrest the other gay man for indecent exposure. However, feelings soar, calling into question what honesty and integrity truly mean to both characters. Actually, Plainclothes feels more like a character study than anything else; it dissects Lucas and all of his anxiety, neuroses, family dynamics, and his uncertain, constructed identity until everything is laid bare for better or worse.
What is most striking about Plainclothes is its use of camcorders, grainy footage, home videos, and nonlinear narrative. Coupled with close ups of eyes and sound mixing of heavy breathing, the audience is caught up in Lucas’ disjointed mental space. He feels like an observer and an outsider. He is constantly watching people and assessing potential targets and threats. In doing so, he loses track of who he is. Emmi’s experimental style and innovative editing expertly illustrate Lucas’ rapidly deteriorating sense of self.
Like every project he is in, Blyth disappears completely into the character. He carries Plainclothes, bearing all of its weight and saving some otherwise stilted scenes. Blyth is absolutely magnetic onscreen, especially as a man as tortured, repressed, and lost as Lucas. His chemistry with his costars also rescues a few otherwise jumbled pieces of the overall film structure. When a scene feels like it was simply put in to establish some backstory or relationship, but not move the viewer in any particular direction (and certainly not forward), Blyth helps ground it and bring it back to Lucas’ overall fractured existence.
Of course, like with anything that takes risks, there are some big swings and small misses. At times Plainclothes can come across as experimental for the sake of it. While the filmmakers fully commit to their choices, a few of those choices seem to lack intent or don’t produce the desired effect. Plainclothes attempts to comment on and convey too many things while ultimately not saying much about any one thing in particular.
In the end, though, that feels like part of the point. Lucas’ journey through love and loss skips ahead, rewinds, pauses, and plays out in heartbreaking and happy scenes alike. True to life, grief, romance, shame, and desire are not limited to story beats. These are part of the human experience, and they evoke memories or explode at times that don’t simply suit a rigid plot structure. People are creatures of habit and mistakes. And closure doesn't come wrapped in a neat little bow before the fade to black.