A popular tactic of the public information film is to lull you into a false sense of security by tricking you into thinking you're watching a promotion for something else entirely. That way, when calamity strikes, it does so with all the horrifying abruptness as in real life. If you happened to catch "Disco", an anti-pickpocketing filler from 1989, without context, you'd probably think you were watching an ad for some brand of trendy beverage. The blue, seductive nightclub ambience and melancholic soundtrack convey plaintive longing, not the manoeuvres of a predator sidling up to prospective prey. Heck, the first time I saw "Disco", I went into it knowing full well that it was a crime prevention PIF, and I still felt properly betrayed by its ending. Forget The Usual Suspects, this is the kind of twist that has you kicking yourself for days on end because you didn't it see it coming.
What's so diabolical about the twist in "Disco" is that it delivers its gut punch on two separate levels. Like his unwitting victim, we end up being suckered in by the sticky-fingered disco dancer because he does little from the outset to arouse suspicion. At the same time, we don't see the scenario play out from the perspective of the victim and, until the very end, she's not the figure with whom we're encouraged to identify. The villain of the piece is our protagonist, and we end up being implicated as accomplices in his underhanded ploy. Because basically, we willed him to do it.
Our mistake was in thinking we already knew the story. We're centred on a lonely attendee at a discotheque who, spurred on by the DJ's warning that the incoming dance will be the evening's last, takes an interest in a young woman hovering on the sidelines. He swigs his drink while attempting to summon his nerves, only to turn and see that she's with someone after all. Hopes dashed, his eyes quickly settle on another prospective target; steeling himself, he manages to approach her, only to keep walking right past her. At this, it's revealed where his real interests lay, as he discreetly pockets the purse she'd left on the counter behind her. The PIF closes with the victim none the wiser, as the thief slips away into the shadows. Naturally, it's an unsettling film to experience the second time round, because we can see how the protagonist's mind is really working. His original target had left her purse unguarded in exactly the same manner; he dismissed her as a potential victim simply because her partner was blocking his route to the purse (not to mention that having to bypass two sets of eyes would make it harder for him to pull off his theft unnoticed).
Obviously, the PIF works as a stark reminder of how you can't identify a ne'er do well just by looking at them, though its sting goes somewhat deeper than the revelation that this seemingly dapper gentleman actually had dishonorable intentions. It's not so much the protagonist's handsomeness that makes him ostensibly sympathetic as his apparent and possibly genuine vulnerability. The various small movements in his body language - the sip of his drink, the lick of his lips - suggest that he isn't overly confident about the advances he's gearing up to make. He's a nervous man who seems just a little out of his element on that love bird-packed dance floor, but the yearning in his eyes is salient enough that we're immediately rooting for him to overcome his self-doubt. It's just too bad that that yearning, and the reason for his nerves, turn out to be for something else entirely, resulting not in the tender moment of human connection we were expecting, but a nasty surprise as he takes advantage of the vulnerability of one of his fellow lonely dancers. Even the DJ's opening lines, the only diegetic dialogue discernable throughout the PIF, acquires a darker edge when we realise that the protagonist was effectively being warned that this was his last chance to make off with someone else's property before the evening was out. As noted, the victim hasn't even realised by the end that she's been robbed, and there's not a lot to say that she herself was overly invested in the prospective interaction - from her perspective, the approach was but a passing possibility that didn't go anywhere, and that smug smile the protagonist flashes on accomplishing his dirty deed has the "joke" feeling like it's predominantly at our expense. It's a sinister ending, with the protagonist becoming a silhouette, to reflect his dark intentions, and deftly vanishing into the crowd, no longer our dashing leading man but a malevolent shadow looking to evade detection.
Making "Disco" a particularly frosty concoction is that lingering emphasis on just how alone its subjects really are, alerting us not just to the devious practices of a few rogue individuals, but to the wider indifference of the world at large. All those eyes around you and ultimately no one's got your back. Deviancy goes unnoticed in this wilderness, as does your personal distress. "Together We'll Crack It", the campaign tagline promises, yet an overall sense of togetherness is the thing that's sorely lacking here.
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