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Have you noticed that there\u2019s a lot of stuff on TV lately?<\/p>\n
I don\u2019t mean sitcoms and dramas. I mean stuff<\/em>. Matter. Material. Substances. Particularly in opening title sequences of TV series, where all manner of effluvia flows, wends and re-forms, though the magic of C.G.I., into shapes and symbols that echo the themes of the program.<\/p>\n In \u201cThe Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power<\/a><\/strong>,<\/a>\u201d the Tolkien prequel that concerns the forging of the titular enchanted jewelry, gold dust swirls into images of circles, tree branches and other symbols resonant of the saga:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n In \u201cThe Last of Us<\/a><\/strong>,\u201d it\u2019s the fungi responsible for turning humankind into zombies, which spreads across the screen, creating landscapes and images of the central characters:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n In \u201cThe Wheel of Time<\/a><\/strong>,\u201d it\u2019s threads, the medium through which magic is \u201cweaved\u201d in the fantasy series:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n In \u201cFoundation<\/a><\/strong>,\u201d more dust, or rather the grains of colored sand that are used to create artworks in the culture of its sci-fi empire:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Do you get it? You can hardly not. Whether they work in sand or spores, heavy-handed metaphor is the true material of choice for all these opening titles. The series are different in genres and tone. But all of them seem to have collectively decided that the best way to convey the sense of epic event TV is with an overture of shape-shifting, literal-minded screen-saver art.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n To understand how TV titles ended up in this pattern, it\u2019s useful to understand where they started out. They functioned, in the early days of TV, to welcome in viewers and keep them from changing the channel. They might set a mood, as did the let\u2019s-mosey-to-the-fishing-hole whistle of \u201cThe Andy Griffith Show<\/a><\/strong>\u201d \u2026<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n \u2026 or literally tell a story, establishing the premise of a series for newcomers, as did the twangy themes of \u201cThe Beverly Hillbillies\u201d and \u201cThe Dukes of Hazzard<\/a><\/strong>\u201d:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Over the decades, as commercial breaks on ad-supported TV got longer, network sitcom credits were often squeezed down into a few seconds of musical \u201cstings\u201d and title cards, as with the blink-and-you\u2019ll-miss-it intro of \u201cHappy Endings<\/a><\/strong>\u201d:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n But cable, especially ambitious channels like HBO, FX and AMC, went in the opposite direction. These were outlets that wanted to get attention for being, in the slogan of HBO, \u201cNot TV\u201d \u2014 at least not TV as usual. Their marquee dramas aimed at literary sweep and cinematic scale, and they announced themselves with grand, scene-setting opening titles that evoked this, like the gritty North Jersey journey of \u201cThe Sopranos<\/a><\/strong>\u201d:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Or the scene setter of \u201cMad Men<\/a><\/strong>,\u201d a sleek, period-appropriate design that imagined a protagonist\u2019s fall from the cold heights of a Midtown Manhattan skyscraper:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n This mode of opening sequence arguably reached its apex with \u201cGame of Thrones<\/a><\/strong>\u201d in 2011, whose titles were an ingenious joining of form and function. The series was adapted from a complex, multivolume saga of novels by George R.R. Martin, with action taking place among dozens of characters spread across myriad lands on multiple fictional continents.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n The sprawl of the series was a lot for viewers to hold in their heads. So the opening titles, like the front matter of a fantasy book, gave them a map. Westeros, its surrounding lands, and their various fortresses and citadels sprung up like the workings of a wondrous medieval machine:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n The images suggested the feel of this world, but they also served a practical purpose, telling the viewer: Here is where this location is, and this one, and here is how far these characters are away from those. (Cleverly, the titles changed with each episode to depict the specific places where that installment\u2019s action took place.)<\/p>\n When HBO followed \u201cThrones\u201d with the prequel \u201cHouse of the Dragon<\/a><\/strong>,\u201d it essentially spun off the credits as well. Look familiar?<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Here the form also has something of a meaning. A river of blood spills forth, connecting the symbols of various royal houses, echoing the series\u2019 focus on genealogies and bloodlines. But really \u2014 especially with the reuse of the \u201cThrones\u201d theme music \u2014 the primary message is: Here is another series from that world that you love, and there will be plenty more murdering.<\/p>\n This approach may have reached its ultimate travesty in the titles of \u201cThose About to Die<\/strong>,\u201d the gladiator serial that promises bloody good times by dumping an absolute tsunami of the red stuff on a collection of Roman artifacts:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n While you fetch yourself a towel, I should note that there is fortunately still plenty of creativity in modern TV titles, even some of those that follow this popular \u201cborrow an image from the series\u201d format.<\/p>\n The opening screenscape of Netflix\u2019s adaptation of \u201cThe Decameron<\/a><\/strong>,\u201d for instance, draws on the visual metaphor of the bubonic plague \u2014 specifically rats, the ink-drawn bodies of whom swarm across the credits forming a chalice, praying hands, a skull. Granted, it\u2019s not for rodentophobes, but it\u2019s a startlingly beautiful animation that puts across the dark-comic sensibility of the series:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n In the recently ended \u201cEvil<\/strong>,\u201d created by Michelle and Robert King, the titles follow the pattern of the amazing sequence from the Kings\u2019 \u201cThe Good Fight<\/a>.\u201d For \u201cEvil<\/a><\/strong>,\u201d a drama about a team of investigators for the Catholic Church who balanced belief and skepticism while investigating possessions and other phenomena, black and white objects (accessorized with tasteful splashes of red) collide in a ballet of Heaven and Hell:<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n Why does all this matter? (And why shouldn\u2019t you just skip the credits<\/a>?) Because an opening title sequence is more than a pretty picture. It\u2019s a vehicle for distilling and concentrating the spirit and ideas of a series.<\/p>\n The best titles, like the best series, tell you to expect original concepts, engaging turns and a distinctive voice. They can entice you with a sense of play, like the otherworldly visuals for \u201cSeverance<\/a><\/strong>\u201d (I will not spoil the new sequence for Season 2, which begins Friday on Apple TV+, but it\u2019s a humdinger.)<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n A good title sequence gets you ready to be entertained, but it is also a work of art in itself. It delights. It mesmerizes. Above all, it tells you that you are not just sitting down to watch more of the same stuff.<\/p>\n Videos via Prime Video (\u201cThe Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power\u201d); HBO (\u201cThe Last of Us,\u201d \u201cThe Sopranos,\u201d \u201cGame of Thrones\u201d and \u201cHouse of the Dragon\u201d); Amazon Studios (\u201cThe Wheel of Time\u201d); Apple TV + (\u201cFoundation\u201d and Severance\u201d); CBS (\u201cThe Andy Griffith Show\u201d and \u201cThe Dukes of Hazzard\u201d); ABC (\u201cHappy Endings\u201d); AMC (\u201cMad Men\u201d); Peacock (\u201cThose About to Die\u201d); Netflix (\u201cThe Decameron\u201d); Paramount+ (\u201cEvil\u201d).<\/p>\n Produced by Tala Safie and Jolie Ruben<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div>\n
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