I recently revisited Man of Steel on Blu-ray, and among my many quibbles, something about the movie that has irked me from the very beginning is that it sorely lacks something I was fully expecting—a slam-bang opening credits sequence in the style of Richard Donner’s Superman: The Movie.
I get it: Zack Snyder and Christopher Nolan went completely the other way, opting instead to drop viewers, Phantom Menace-style, immediately into the thick of the action and convoluted plot without so much as a title card announcing the name of the movie.
Pardon me for pining for the old-fashioned cinematic spectacle of a full-on symphonic overture, but the chaotic opening of Man of Steel might have been better served by starting with something…else.
It all reminds me of how crucial a great title sequence can be to a film that warrants one and how the best ones perfectly capture the heart and soul of the movie you’re about to experience.
Following are some of my favorite opening credits sequences, representing a few distinct styles.
The Greatest Superhero Movie Ever kicks off with a grand, old-style symphonic overture featuring simple text and motion graphics—bold, luminescent blue titles whoosh through the screen and fly away into the stars. I’ve always loved the particular visual flourish where the curtains on both sides of the square black-and-white Daily Planet prologue suddenly whip wide apart as the first credit zooms into focus. As a ten-year-old awestruck by the enormity of the theater and its massive screen, this introduction was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I was aware for the first time that a movie’s main title sequence could be an event. Paired with John Williams’ triumphant main title theme, this rousing sequence put me in the perfect mood for what was to follow, and has rarely been equaled since.
Halloween (1978)
As plain orange text appears over pitch black, we hear the first few notes of director John Carpenter’s bone-chilling piano theme. We fade in on a view of a crudely carved jack-o’-lantern eerily lit by a single candle as the camera—and the audience— creeps in ever so slowly and uncomfortably towards its flickering eye. Riffed to death in the subsequent sequels and other imitators, this minimalistic and thoroughly spooky opener remains one for the ages.
Charade (1963)
Artists like Saul Bass and Maurice Binder worked their magic with old-school optical and film-based techniques, conjuring a mélange of abstract shapes, warped images from the film, silhouettes, vibrant colors and telescoping irises. Favorites in this style include Hitchcock’s Vertigo and Psycho, the 1991 Martin Scorsese remake of Cape Fear, and first James Bond film Dr. No. One of the classiest examples of the abstract titles sequence is Maurice Binder’s opening graphics for this spry Hitchcockian caper, scored with typical bounce by Henry Mancini.
Flash Gordon (1980)
Receding yellow credits are interspersed throughout a colorful flip-book montage of classic comic book panels intercut with glowing neon line art. All of this is brilliantly scored to the infamous musical battle cry, courtesy of rock legends Queen, “Flash! Ahhhhhhhhh!” Savior of the universe, indeed.
Panic Room (2002)
It’s no secret that I’m a big fan of David Fincher, and since he typically uses a stylish intro sequence, I’ll make no apologies now that you’ll see another one of his films mentioned later in this piece. Simple and elegant, the giant letters of the opening credits float high above the avenues of Manhattan and reflect off a claustrophobic cluster of skyscrapers, an obvious nod towards Saul Bass’ snazzy intro for Hitchcock’s North by Northwest. Howard Shore’s foreboding music adds a proper dose of menace for this technically dazzling if formulaic suspense thriller. This particular titles sequence was aped almost immediately by every commercial maker on the planet.
The Shining (1980)
The first images of Stanley Kubrick’s film of Stephen King’s The Shining are spectacular panoramic views of what are intended to be the Colorado Rockies. As the camera soars high above the landscape, we focus on one particular yellow Volkswagon Beetle and swoop in on it, pass it mere inches over its roof, and continue gliding over the tall mountains and bottomless valleys. Bucking convention, the opening credits begin to roll up from below, and we reflexively feel unease because this somehow signifies the film is already over. The stunning vistas are underscored with the otherworldly whine and wail of Wendy Carlos’ synthesizer snaking through a few symphonic quotes of Berlioz’ Symphonie Fantastique. I love to hear stories of how perfectionist Kubrick frittered over minute details such as the exact color temperature of the ghostly blue used for the film’s titles.
To Live and Die in L.A. (1985)
William Friedkin’s gritty and bleak cops-and-counterfeiters tale remains one of the most influential studio pictures of the ’80s. It’s not only the cinematic forbearer to Michael Mann’s television series Miami Vice and Mann’s subsequent films Heat and Collateral, but it has remained the gold standard for what I like to consider the “Lethal Weapons in L.A.” genre (mismatched partners versus beguiling villain and, most importantly, the plot and scenery make critical use of the City of Angels). The arresting intro is a rapid-fire montage of seedy L.A. vistas, shady street deals, surveillance photographs and incongruent glimpses of the film’s supporting players, all of it scored to a racing tempo by pop group Wang Chung.
Goldfinger (1964)
From its earliest days, the James Bond franchise set a high bar for flashy opening credits sequences with Maurice Binder’s colorful kaleidoscopic titles for Dr. No and Thunderball, along with Robert Brownjohn’s slide-projector motif of rainbow text aimed at the undulating bodies of scantily clad belly dancers in From Russia With Love. Though all three are well regarded, they pale in comparison to the bawdy splendor of Robert Brownjohn’s monumental titles for Goldfinger. As Dame Shirley Bassey belts out the film’s gloriously campy signature theme, key images from the movie we’re about to watch (and a few snuck shots from the previous two 007 flicks) are projected onto the glittering curves of a woman painted in gold.
Se7en (1995)
When it comes to titles sequences using montage, I divide them into two categories: one for titles created in synchronicity with the accompanying music; the other for when the montage is used in tandem with an unrelated song that accidentally fits and forms a perfect marriage with the material. Kyle Cooper’s influential titles for David Fincher’s 1995 serial killer thriller Se7en represents the latter style, deploying a dubbed remix of Nine Inch Nails’ raw anthem of derangement Closer over a series of disturbing and jittery images accompanied by awkwardly scrawled titles. The thumping pulse of the unnamed menace beats like thunder as we take a brief but scary tour of his mind during the creation of one of his numerous souvenir notebooks. Full of double exposures, spatial flips and camera seizures, this mini-masterpiece of dementia jolted virgin audiences in 1995 out of their seats, effectively warning them: If you can’t stomach the despair and dread briefly glimpsed here, you’re clearly in the wrong theater.
Dawn of the Dead (2004)
The late, great Johnny Cash on hand to provide a ditty about the Zombie Apocalypse. I’m a fan of Zack Snyder’s remake of George Romero’s shopping mall zombie classic from 1978, but the brief title montage of zombie chaos, scored to the Man in Black’s The Man Comes Around, is more nerve-jangling than the entirety of the remainder of the movie.
Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997)
The opening production number for the first and best “Austin Powers” flick is styled after Richard Lester’s Beatles classic A Hard Day’s Night, and is essentially a stand-alone musical sequence for a movie that’s not technically a musical. Ridiculous and unflattering poses of Mike Myers held in freeze-frame are intercut with frantic shots of our hero running and hiding from a screaming mob of frenzied fans. Spiced up to perfection by Quincy Jones & His Orchestra performing Soul Bossa Nova, which immediately became the de facto Austin Powers theme.
A Hard Day’s Night (1964)
Since I just referenced it above. Simply Fab.
Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (1984)
The exuberant song-and-dance number that opens the second Indiana Jones adventure is the closest Steven Spielberg has ever gotten to making an all-out musical, something he keeps saying he wants to do. The chemistry between the director and his leading lady (and future wife) Kate Capshaw is evident from the first frame as she exits a smoking dragon’s mouth and strikes a pose in front of the main title. What follows is a Busby Berkeley-style dance routine set to Cole Porter’s “Anything Goes”, sung by Capshaw in Mandarin, and made all the more effervescent with meticulous frame-by-frame hand-scratched “glitter” effects. Great fun, random and seemingly irrelevant yet ultimately appropriate and segueing beautifully into the story’s first cliffhanging sequence.
Monty Python’s Life of Brian (1979)
The hounded life of a plain man mistaken for the Messiah is the basis for the Python gang’s second feature film, which mercilessly skewers organized religion and the fickle human nature of idolatry. Despite protests and cries of blasphemy from the Catholic Church upon the film’s release, the movie never actually ridicules Jesus Christ—the scenes just before and just after the animated credits sequence clearly portray the real Jesus with all the appropriate reverence, though the script deflates the pomposity of those moments by playing up the assorted buffoonery surrounding Him. Terry Gilliam’s animated title sequence is a classic bit of Python absurdity, encapsulating in two and a half minutes our main character’s life of toil and exasperation—most memorably summarized in the final bit where Brian’s spirit struggles to ascend to the heavens, only to be plucked back to earth by an unseen hand from above. With the film, the Pythons are seemingly saying to their offended critics, “We’re not mocking Jesus, we’re mocking YOU.”
Tune in next time for my take on the flip side to this topic: the Greatest Closers Ever. In the meantime, I award One Thousand Golden Nerd Points to the mischievous movie geeks who dreamt of this:
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