By Jason Osiason

A tense, aching, and deeply intimate character study, Plainclothes plays out like a psychological noir wrapped in a self-exploration drama. Tom Blyth delivers a star-making performance as Lucas, an undercover cop assigned to lure and entrap gay men in mall restroom stings. The twist? Lucas himself is closeted, suffocating under the weight of a double life he’s barely holding together.

From the moment we meet him, there’s something off in the way he moves, the way he lingers just a second too long when locking eyes with his targets, the way his breath hitches when the job demands he get too close. He blends into the sterile glow of the shopping mall, his crisp, unremarkable clothing allowing him to disappear into the background. But internally, he’s spiraling. His repression isn’t just emotional: it’s visual, stitched into the fabric of the film itself.

The cinematography mirrors Lucas’ unsteady mental state, dreamily shot with retro flourishes that cast his world in a haze. The neon glow of the mall at night, the flickering reflections in bathroom mirrors, the way the camera lingers on moments that feel both intimate and intrusive. It all adds to the unease, trapping Lucas in a purgatory of his own making. He’s a man watching his own life unfold from a distance, terrified of what he might see if he looks too closely.

As he gets deeper into his assignments, he begins to form a quiet, complicated bond with one of his supposed targets someone who sees right through him, maybe even before he sees through himself. Their interactions are restrained but charged, small moments that carry the weight of everything Lucas refuses to acknowledge. But as the tension mounts, the film makes a sharp pivot in its final stretch, shifting into something more conventional than it needed to be. The last fifteen minutes play it safer than the raw, nervy setup deserves, rounding things out in a way that feels a little too neat for a story this jagged.

Still, Plainclothes is an audacious debut, a film that sits heavy in your chest and lingers long after the credits roll. It’s about the loneliness of living a life that isn’t yours, the quiet terror of being seen, and the inevitability of a truth that refuses to stay buried. Blyth is mesmerizing, capturing every flicker of self-denial and every fleeting moment of longing with a performance so contained yet deeply expressive. Even with its slightly softened ending, Plainclothes remains one of the most visually arresting and emotionally complex films of the festival. [B+]