Bob Hunt, a dedicated social worker, is called to help a longtime client, Dr. Martha Louise Rogers, whose electricity has been cut off because she cannot pay the bill. With the help of neighbors and friends, the community rallies to keep her lights on, and the bill is settled entirely in coins. The clerk, overwhelmed by the unusual payment, is told that such a large sum cannot be accepted in coins, yet the good will behind the gesture remains clear.
A miscommunication at the utility company prevents the reconnection, and the vulnerable elderly woman is soon hospitalized after suffering hypothermia. This failure to restore power becomes a personal trigger for Hunt, who spirals into a calculated campaign of retaliation against the systems that support people in trouble. He begins to sabotage various safety nets and infrastructure, aiming to expose what he sees as a flawed, profit-driven public service network.
In one memorable moment of subterfuge and symbolism, Hunt evades detection at a site by pressing himself into a wall with wet paint, leaving behind a single raised finger impression. The newspaper and television portray this anonymous saboteur as “The Finger,” a name that captures the audacity and mystery of the act and fuels public curiosity and fear alike. The media coverage amplifies the mystique, turning Hunt’s seemingly small acts into a provocative statement about accountability and power.
When the phone company becomes a target, it issues a public denial that an overload of billing records could enable long-distance calls without charge. The film, set in 1981 when long-distance calls carry a hefty price tag, quickly shows the absurdity of the situation: a young woman makes a reckless overseas call and even lets a Styx album run on a loop, mocking the notion that costs should be so easily shrugged off.
The climactic courtroom sequence unfolds as a rate-hike proposal from Kenneth Knight and his utility, Eastern Gas & Electric, is put to a vote before a public commission. A crowd of protestors is invited to speak, and Hunt takes the floor to reveal his identity: “I am The Finger.” His confession ignites a larger revolt, as Spartacus-style, several others in the room claim to be the anonymous vigilante, echoing a collective demand for accountability and change.
As the commission edges toward approval of the rate increase, a new development shifts the balance. Police officer Marion Edwards bursts into the courtroom with news that shatters the expected narrative. Hunt anticipates arrest, but Edwards reveals a startling truth: Knight has been destroying his own substations to arouse public sympathy and sway opinion. In the blackout that follows, the city lights go out and the spectators in the courthouse respond with a mixture of relief, celebration, and uneasy triumph, underscoring the film’s meditation on justice, vulnerability, and the deep flaws within systems meant to protect the public.
