Jaeger (William Rice) arrives at the government headquarters for another session of surveillance, walking its labyrinthine corridors and checking its spools of recordings until he reaches his office where his assistant (Ralf Richter) is waiting for him. This younger man tries to strike up conversation as Jaeger is distracted by the screen showing old, silent movies rather than the populace he is meant to be watching, but there's one individual he should be keeping close watch on... someone who knows a secret in music.
Or more precisely muzak, as there was a fascination with both the bland, soothing nature of that and how it was contrasted with the more aggressive and cold stylings of then-current electropop and industrial types of tune and sound experiments that were very much the cult thing of their day. The opening credits, which sprawled through about ten minutes of the wanderings of Rice, himself no stranger to cult media, proudly boasted the inclusion of the likes of Genesis P. Orridge and Soft Cell on its soundtrack, among other points in between.
So at least the music was interesting, even if the visuals were the sort of Cold War chilliness that wouldn't have been out of place in a spy movie of the non-James Bond variety, and rarely too attractive in a conventional sense. Our attentions were divided between Jaeger and F.M. who was played by musician and composer FM Einheit with a very floppy fringe (short at the sides, of course); it was this chap who found out something crucial about sound and muzak. In one scene we see him in his studio making a couple of passersby move about on the pavement outside with bleeps, a technological breakthrough.
That being, he can control people with sound, and if he can do it then someone else may be doing it as well. Someone like the authorities, for example, because in the burger bars the filmmakers took a possibly anti-imperialist grudge against that muzak is heard all day and night, and appears to be leaving the customers, and by extension the citizens, docile and psychologically malleable. So what would happen if F.M. decided to put his own, harsher tones onto the soundtrack? How about an actual riot, which by chance the filmmakers happened to capture (actually Berliners reacting to the visit of U.S. President Ronald Reagan), making a memorable ending for their movie?
If this is sounding reminiscent of something, then it could be you were familiar with the works of William S. Burroughs, whose themes and cut-up technique were employed by writer Klaus Maeck and director Muscha, even extending to an acting role by the man himself. In its way, Decoder was a better representation of Burroughs than David Cronenberg's Naked Lunch, looking now more authentic due to its age - yes, it was dated in the way that experimental film does tend to be, but that very unfriendliness in its gulf between the mainstream and what its aims were was to its advantage for adherents. What it really lacked was Burroughs' sense of humour, for if there was one here it was well hidden, grimness being the dominant quality to what we saw. That included truly horrible stock footage, the actual Christiane F. of notorious book and movie fame as a prostitute Jaeger visits, and Mr (Mrs?) P. Orridge as a cult leader, so its appeal to the avant garde was secure, even if it was a slog for non-initiates.
