Plainclothes

Following the murder of two young girls who refused to give their killer oral sex, the authorities decide that this is a reasonable excuse to clamp down on cottaging in the gents toilets of a mall. That’s where officer “Lucas” (Tom Blyth) is put to work. He’s the handsome lure to attract gentlemen into unzipping when they probably wished they hadn’t, before they are led away in handcuffs for prosecution. Then one shift, he encounters the slightly less obvious “Andrew” (Russell Tovey) who doesn’t fall for the trap, and who slightly enthrals the young man. Indeed as the story goes on we realise that “Lucas” has a secret of his own and that what he wants from “Andrew” might fly in the face of his professional obligations. Of course, in his way “Andrew” is no different from “Lucas”. A man living a life under wraps, with his own secrets to keep - so what chance anything might come of anything? I thought Blyth held this together well as he juggled his professional, family and “private” lives together, especially as the latter element sees him become ever so slightly obsessive. The denouement is messy, but it does tie the threads together after a fashion and along the way auteur Carmen Emmi shines a light on what would appear to be an entirely disproportionate use of almost gleefully applied police resources provided based on quite a ridiculous underlying premise. Tovey’s role is maybe a little undercooked and does come across as borderline cruel at times, but the sum of the parts is a well presented critique on near-contemporaneously set homophobia, fear and forbidden love - and it is well worth a watch.

The opening of this film, of a young man cruising in a mall, quickly establishes the setting and decade and set me on edge whether or not I thought this film was going to "do something." The movie is shot on film and in a 4:3 ratio, interspersed with footage recorded on other kinds of film and cameras—the effect is disorienting. From the start, there is a sense of surveillance, communicated through both the main character's eyes—searching for marks, looking in mirrors, matching gazes—and that interspersed footage which *feels* like a recording in a way the "normal" footage of the film doesn't. This looking (between characters and the audience at other clips) quickly is shown to also be a fear of surveillance for the main character. The film is kind of a coming out film, so this surveilling and fear of surveillance has much to do with the main character both being found out and finding himself out. The intimacy in the scenes between Tom Blyth and Russell Tovey is pretty remarkable. There is an education in cruising here and a clear-sighted understanding of masculine intimacy in the 90s—in no way particularly *queer*, but just other. The relationship between the characters is marked by age as well. I wonder how this film would be received by a younger audience, but then again, I think the claims of the prudishness of the young 20-somethings is overblown on the internet. That thought, too, reminds me of the interspersed footage, mixes of memory and desire; the valences of the internet revealing and masking, in turn, desires—desiring and detesting something with culture over and through time. (But what culture on the internet?) Later in the film—which has been quiet throughout, very focused on silence and dialogue (and the dialogue is picked up wonderfully; there's a sense of distance as audience from the characters on the screen...perhaps it's a technical error, but it is nonetheless effective in the film)—there is a single song that creates a kind of music video moment, paired with the main character having a breakdown about potentially being outed. I don't think I have much to say about this, but it does push the film further into the the strange or estranged fantasy space created by the interspersed cuts of other footage. Certainly not a romanticization of life or memory.