There is something to be said about the most dangerous people being those hiding in plain sight. These seemingly friendly strangers cross our paths randomly, but secretly have ulterior motives, which contributes to the belief that there are some people whose entire purpose is to cause trouble or expose those whom they view as being problems for society. This is something that Carmen Emmi focuses on in Plainclothes, his directorial debut in which he tells the story of Lucas, a mild-mannered police officer who has quite an unconventional duty – he and a partner dress in civilian clothing, patrolling the local mall for men that they suspect to be homosexual, luring them into a private space under the guise of an anonymous sexual encounter and subtly waiting for them to expose themselves before arresting them for indecent exposure. However, when a particularly beguiling stranger enters Lucas’ life, he begins to not only question his duties, but his entire identity, especially when it becomes clear that Andrew – a mysterious individual with an ambiguous past that we begin to see unravelling with each new encounter – has many secrets of his own, enough to lure Lucas (or “Gus” as he is known to his connections) out of his comfort zone, the dynamic between the two men gradually shifting as they become more involved in the other’s life. A challenging, complex character study that captures many fascinating details around sexuality, identity and the nature of unexpected connections, Plainclothes is a very effective psychological thriller that may seem simple on the surface, but has a surprising depth that can become difficult to embrace, a quality that Emmi uses to his advantage, placing the viewer in a peculiar position, where we become voyeurs into a sexual game of cat-and-mouse between two equals who realise that they possess so much power over the other, leading to a harrowing conclusion in which both of them reap the consequences and come to understand that there is no amount of manipulation can help one escape from the indelible spectre of the past.

Queerness is a subject that has continued to find its way into the conversation, no longer merely being seen as a novelty topic but instead the focus of works that extend beyond simple explorations of desire and romance within a community fighting against heteronormative standards. Plainclothes essentially consists of two major narrative prongs – the queer storyline in which we see Lucas begin to question his identity (or rather allows those long-dormant feelings to take hold for the first time) as he develops a sordid relationship with a man he sought to entrap, and the storyline centering around the daily routine of these plainclothes officers as they attempt to rid the streets of people of low moral fiber, even if it means manufacturing situations in which ordinary citizens are persuaded into committing criminal activity. The two interweave splendidly, turning Plainclothes into much more than a relatively conventional crime thriller – the layering of romance with more traditional elements related to criminal investigations and law enforcement creates a fascinating contrast, which Emmi uses to inform so much of this film. It gradually develops into something much more profound, but even at the surface, we find ourselves appreciating the film’s candour, particularly its willingness to have the difficult conversations, regardless of any associated risk that comes with looking at this particular subject, undoubtedly one controversial and polarising enough to stir up some spirited debate. The film is set in the 1990s, which gives it an increased sense of authenticity, almost as if the director was intent on weaving a yarn about a distant era in which homosexuality may have become more normalised, but was still an uncomfortable topic (particularly since the world was still at the peak of the HIV/AIDS crisis, where many gay men were villainised purely for their identity), which strips the film of any opportunity to be more lenient in how it defines this characters, allowing it to be as brutal as necessary when it comes to delivering the core message that ultimately defines the film as a whole.

There has been recent discussion about a supposed lack of new, exciting young actors who represent the next generation of the film industry – a couple of actors take the majority of the roles, leaving very few opportunities for those who may not have the most visibility to earn some credibility. This is obviously an exaggeration (there are many fantastic performances hidden in films that are not always on the radar of the mainstream), but it does make us pay attention to instances where we do encounter exciting new talents. Tom Blyth seems poised to become quite coveted, since he is undoubtedly talented and has a unique style of acting that makes him a perfect candidate for more challenging roles, especially since he is not afraid to take on more complex characters. Plainclothes is a fantastic showcase for him, and an opportunity to demonstrate his skills beyond being the dashing lead of projects that draw on his charm, but don’t always give him the chance to extend himself. His performance here is chilling – he’s a calculated, emotionless police officer who finds all of this changing once he falls under the spell of a particularly mysterious man who causes him to question everything he held to be true – and at no point in the film does it feel like Blyth is struggling, his work being extremely committed and endlessly compelling, even when a lot of it is very much internal. He’s contrasted brilliantly by Russell Tovey, another very talented actor who has not received his due, despite over a decade of exceptional performances that underline his inherent charm, as well as his tendency to play characters with a slight darkness behind them. The push-and-pull between the two leads as they navigate their passionate but secret romance is striking, and gives Plainclothes a sense of quiet danger that both leads use to their advantage, every decision made being in service of these characters and the compounding complexity that lurks around every corner of the film.

A film like Plainclothes needed to ensure that its execution was at least partially interesting, since the story itself was quite conventional, although we can consider this as being by design. Rather than attempting to reinvent the genre or create a new style of exploring queer content, Emmi chooses to focus on what is familiar, his direction being more about subversion than it is invention. The decision to set the film in a previous decade immediately allows him to create something more aesthetically interesting – he replicates the 1990s with precision, not only in terms of visual detail (the clothing worn by characters, the production design of the various locations that serve as the stage for the narrative), but also in the filmmaking itself. The gritty digital film stock gives the film a vintage appearance, particularly in relation to the intimacy we feel with these characters – the handheld camera often being placed slightly too close to the actors creates a sense of discomfort, almost as if the viewer is peering voyeuristically into their most private moments. All of this is tied together by the tonal elements, which is consistently tense and difficult to navigate (a peculiar choice for a film that is essentially a romance masquerading as a harrowing crime drama), and which plunge us into a state of panic, right alongside these characters, who represent a generation of men who felt it easier to just hide themselves rather than being honest with the world that surrounds them. It’s a peculiar tone, but one that works very well for this film – and it moves at a rapid enough pace that we never feel that it is overstaying its welcome, saying what was necessary before the progression of the plot, which gradually and methodically becomes much more profound the further we reflect on its themes and what they represent.

Plainclothes is a very simple film, but one with a lot of complexity lingering just beneath the surface, which is exactly what drives us towards the film. It’s very well-made, and while some of its aesthetic decisions may not be appealing at first, they serve a vital function and ultimately evoke a sense of genuine complexity that is truly difficult to overlook once we understand the direction in which the film seems to be heading. It doesn’t take too much effort to pick up those subtle cues, but it does prove to be a far more interesting affair if we look beyond the obvious themes and begin to look at them from a more critical angle, examining them from not only the perspective of a story of queer desire and how our emotions can sometimes spiral into increasingly dangerous situations, but also as a provocative deconstruction of masculinity, social order and the institutions that are put in place to protect, but can be just as harmful to those who it deems as not being worth the effort. It’s a fascinating film that is unfortunately very small and intimate, and therefore isn’t likely to be embraced in the same way as slightly bigger works that tackle similar topics – but its matter-of-fact approach to the subject matter, its complex understanding of unconventional dynamics, a pair of tremendous performances and some brilliant directorial decisions all come together to form the foundation for a film that gradually unravels into something truly intriguing, a worthy addition to a steadily growing canon of queer stories that go behind the romance and focus instead on different aspects of identity, providing some compelling insights in the process.