Plainclothes

For most of the rest of this conflicted identity drama, Emmi and editor Erik Vogt-Nilsen construct fast-paced montages mixing formats (low-fi video footage and pristine digitally shot images) that mimic the turmoil inside Lucas’ mind as a closeted gay man. These deliberately choppy collages feature shots of his parents, his ex-girlfriend, his work colleagues, and even childhood memories, all rushing vertiginously through him, as manifestations of anxiety because he fears being outed and ostracized. Initially, the kinetic visual vitality of “Plainclothes” plunges one effectively into Lucas’ inner ordeal, but for as much as the form evokes how the character experiences the narrative, the relentless and repetitive fragmentation coated in in-your-face music overwhelms. And even if that feeling is the desired reaction, one wishes for a bit more discernment in its implementation.

Emmi pivots between mediums to externalise the disarray in Lucas’ head. A closeted young man during the time of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell, his only frame of reference for homosexuality is the deeply misunderstood one laid out by the law, one that links those feelings to deviance. And so, shaky VHS camcorder footage (similar to that used by spying officers) is spliced into more conventional camerawork, with cinematographer Ethan Palmer creating moments of forbidden intimacy through startlingly close zoom-work. When Lucas is overcome with anxiety, his surroundings shake violently, the sound design cranked up.