March 19th, 2007
1. Homicide: Life On The Streets
Shattering the mold for TV credits, Homicide kicked off each show—at least in the early seasons—with a surreal, impressionistic montage showing extreme angles of Baltimore row houses, police-station desks, and one metaphorically vicious dog, all set to a soundtrack of electronic shredding and high, rapid percussion. By the time the cast list comes around, the image totally breaks down, reduced to blurry streaks of light, before ending on a picture of a homicide-department door. Has the world gone topsy-turvy? Is life flashing before some victim's eyes? Or is it all just another day of mayhem in Balmer? Whatever the credits mean, they get viewers hyped-up and nervous before the story even gets underway.
2. The Sopranos
A3's growling blues tune "Woke Up This Morning" plays while we ride with Tony Soprano from Manhattan (where the NYPD wears blue and the criminal-justice system has two separate yet equally important parts), to Jersey (where, the opening implies, the story behind the story unfolds). It's eye candy for fans of vérité location shooting. The Lincoln Tunnel and the New Jersey Turnpike give way to industrial smokestacks, pre-war housing, mom-and-pop stores, and finally, the Sopranos' gated mini-mansion. The Manhattan skyline, visible in Tony's rear-view mirror, featured the World Trade Center towers until season four—and then, an aching blank. This is the story of a commuter, a suburbanite heading back home from the city after a day of business. But it's also the story of an out-of-state haven for the powers behind those Manhattan skyscrapers—or at least the concrete in their foundations and the trash they generate.
3. Dexter
According to Showtime's engrossing series Dexter, being a serial killer—even a serial killer who preys on his fellow killers—is all about hiding. Hiding bodies, hiding slides of blood in the back of an air conditioner, and hiding a pronounced lack of human emotion. But mostly it's about hiding those pesky sociopathic tendencies that seethe just underneath the surface. Dexter's opening credits hint heavily at those tendencies, with a highly sensory sequence of Michael C. Hall going through the motions of his morning routine. Hall swats a buzzing mosquito on his arm in extreme close-up, then smiles. From there, the fine line between morning routine and homicide gets blurrier and blurrier. The most graphic scenes come when Hall prepares his breakfast. He slices ham with a sharp knife, butter sizzles in the pan, a blood orange is sawed in half—all shot in the heightened style often referred to as "food porn." Here, it's closer to "food snuff film."
4. Big Love ( http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_tdyISAylE )
The dreamlike opening to HBO's series about polygamy, set to The Beach Boys' "God Only Knows," garnered some criticism from cultural conservatives, who interpreted it as an uncomplicated endorsement of plural marriage. But the standard-issue true-love-forever imagery has too many people crowded in for comfort. Bill Paxton takes Jeanne Tripplehorn into his arms as they skate smoothly on a frozen pond. Then he finds himself holding Chloë Sevigny, then Ginnifer Goodwin. Hand in hand… in hand in hand. It's as though the usual soft-focus falling-in-love montage were taking place in a hall of mirrors. How can one man cleave to three women? The unbalanced composition of the final shot, where Paxton bows his head to say grace at the head of a table with two wives on one side, one wife on the other—along with a disturbing empty chair—tells the tale. A lot about this family just doesn't fit.
5. Freaks And Geeks /p>
The TV literati venerate Freaks And Geeks for many reasons, but one thing it absolutely nailed was characterization. Even its opening credits do the work of a lesser show's entire season, creating characters that feel lived-in before they've said a word of dialogue. The way each freak and/or geek responds to the forced rite of passage of school picture day speaks volumes: There's eternal nice guy John Francis Daley, all dressed up to please his mother; perpetually stoned Jason Segel, barely registering what's happening; Seth Rogen, impenetrable wall of cynical indifference. Hints of the internal conflict driving the show emerge in Linda Cardellini, who cops a standoffish freak attitude, but can't help flashing a smile. And the split-second of self-loathing that crosses Martin Starr's face after his shit-eating grin has faded is a heartbreaking moment, no matter how many times it gets replayed. All this, and the blood-pumping snarl of Joan Jett's "Bad Reputation." Damn, this was a good show.
6. The Love Boat
There are three parts to the typical Love Boat credits sequence. First, the introduction of the guest stars, all smiling and glamorous in their little circles. Then, the dynamic shots of a cruise ship cutting through the waves. Lastly, the relatively bland introduction of the cast. Frankly, the first and last can take a hike, but that second part's pure genius. Even if any given episode's cast isn't too exciting, we've always got that boat, offering a promise of luxury that any middle-class schmo with enough accrued vacation time can experience first-hand—or any latchkey kid in an low-rent apartment complex can take in by proxy. Let it flow, everybody. It floats back to you.
(Clip note: Check out this cast! Halston and Bob Mackie and Gloria Vanderbilt! Must be a two-hour special.)
7. The Andy Griffith Show
It isn't just the chipper whistling that makes this super-short opening so memorable. It's the image of Andy Griffith and Ronny Howard as father and son, ambling down a dirt trail to the perfect fishing spot, with nothing better to do that day and no concern that anyone will bother them. We start with the boys approaching us and end with them turning to walk away. Who wouldn't want to follow?
(Clip note: In this clip, the original opening is mixed with modern footage of someone walking the same path, which looks as inviting as ever.)
8. All In The Family
It would be wrong to discount the importance of All In The Family's opening credits to the show's immediate success. If all viewers ever saw of Carroll O'Connor's Archie Bunker was him griping at his wife and spewing bigotry at his son-in-law, he'd be impossible to like. But from the very beginning, we catch him a tender moment, singing a song about times past, with his braying wife right by his side. They still love each other, and still love the working-class neighborhood that we see in shaky tracking shots. They may be a couple out of time, but they aren't going anywhere.
(Clip note: This clip pairs the original AITF footage with audio from the still oddly touching Simpsons "update" of the theme.)
9. The Mary Tyler Moore Show
The money shot of Moore flinging her knit beret into a permanent freeze-frame—just as Sonny Curtis sings, "You're gonna make it after all"—has been seared into the pop consciousness as the ideal image of a happy, liberated woman in the thick of the '70s. But like its timeslot partner The Bob Newhart Show, The Mary Tyler Moore Show also uses its opening credits to establish a sense of place. Newhart walks through a bustling, somewhat overcrowded Chicago, while Moore's in a snowy, homey Minneapolis. Less neurosis, more neighborliness—just what a woman on her own for the first time needs.
10. Get Smart
Most of Get Smart's humor is derived from the idea that no matter how bumbling he is, or how many times he falls victim to his own beloved gadgets, Maxwell Smart is still convinced that he's a suave man of mystery. And he is—for the first 15 seconds of every episode. Don Adams' purposeful, self-assured strut through the secret doors that lead to CONTROL headquarters is the walk of a man with a mission, and the businesslike fold of his arms just before he's whisked away in the phone booth says that this is just another working day for the dogged Agent 86. (If only things always went so smoothly). We can only hope that the forthcoming Steve Carell remake finds a way to pay tribute to this sequence without dissolving into parody.
11. The Six Million Dollar Man
Sunday nights on ABC in the mid-'70s meant space-age computer readouts, stock footage of test flights, and the cocked eyebrow of Lee Majors. The Six Million Dollar Man reviewed its premise in the credit sequence, opening with deadpan astronaut radio communications leading to Steve Austin's tinny, desperate "I can't hold it! She's breaking up!" Medical boops, EKG readouts, and surprisingly sophisticated 3D armatures resurrect the Bionic Man with his superhero body parts, while Richard Anderson intones, "We can rebuild him… we have the technology… better… stronger… faster." The swirling minor-key theme by Oliver Nelson situates the opening firmly in the '70s tradition of lonely, laconic heroes forever separated from society by the barrier of their abilities and the burden of their missions. But the sequence's split screens and overlaid images—taken from the period's thriller-movie playbook—build to a pulse-pounding climax as Majors bursts out of the machines right into your shag-carpeted living room.
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