In “Plainclothes,” queer desire doesn’t just simmer — it combusts through duty, shame and longing. This slow-burn drama eventually reaches its full heat as a dizzying rush of thoughts collides with mental flickers of a mother’s glare and hushed voices — all dragged to the surface by years of social repression. Lucas has just had sex with Andrew, the man he was supposed to arrest.
Lucas (Tom Blyth, in a searing portrayal) and Andrew (Russell Tovey, quietly affecting) first meet in a mall bathroom. The year is 1997. A sting operation is in effect in Syracuse, N.Y., part of a longstanding police practice of targeting gay men for cruising. But Lucas, the undercover cop sent to lure them, lets Andrew — seductive enough to tempt him — off the hook.
With cases of police entrapment still being reported, the story feels chillingly current. Viewed in 2025, it becomes an indictment of the systems that still criminalize desire and punish difference. The film’s sexual frankness would have been nearly unthinkable 30 years ago, and Blyth and Tovey’s chemistry smolders with danger and earned outrage.
That Lucas is a closeted cop adds some layers of complexity and tension to the pain of being bound by cultural expectations — a reality Andrew, as we learn in a climactic reveal, also shares. While the writer-director Carmen Emmi’s evocative debut relies on a nostalgically textured aesthetic that sometimes seems to mask its thin narrative, the heat builds in unexpected ways, ultimately igniting through the quiet agony of living as someone you’re not.
Plainclothes
Not rated. Running time: 1 hour 35 minutes. In theaters.
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