Why I Watch the Intro

I can see why some people might not find much value in the opening credits of television shows. Once you've seen an opening title sequence once, why watch it again for every subsequent episode? 

I watch title sequences because they serve as a transition from everyday reality to the world of the show. The music and visuals evoke specific emotions meant not only to introduce us to the cast and other creators, but to put us in the right frame of mind for the drama or comedy to come. For genre or so-called "high concept" shows, title sequences often include a narrative thesis for new viewers, welcoming them to landscapes that might be difficult to grasp without some kind of introductory exposition. This was especially important in the days before the Internet made finding information as easy as typing a question onto a screen. 

Imagine, for example, watching a random episode of Gilligan's Island sometime during 1965 without its famous title sequence: 
 

The jaunty theme song tells us the who, what, when, where, and how of the show in a way that invokes lighthearted hijinks. The new viewer knows exactly what to expect: seven people with disparate backgrounds and personalities are castaways on an uncharted island, and they're hoping for rescue. 

Then there's the brilliant opener for each episode of The Rockford Files: 

Before we even see James Garner as Jim Rockford, the camera pans across his desk as someone (a different person each week) leaves a message on his answering machine, usually leaving some kind of bad news. Images of the titular private eye flash across the screen; Rockford usually looks pensive, pained, or puzzled, in keeping with the cheerfully fast-paced, liltingly ironic theme music. We also see images of Rockford's environment, the urban Los Angeles of the 1970s, along with a couple of shots of his father, a key supporting character. The fast-paced editing--which includes many shots of Rockford's signature vehicle, a gold Pontiac Firebird--suggests plenty of action and adventure, serving as a nice contrast to the music; subliminally, we expect some laughs to accompany the car chases and fistfights. 

Finally, consider The Waltons: 

Jerry Goldsmith's magnificent theme plays over images of a tranquil forested mountainscape and a cozy two-story home nestled in its valley. Here live The Waltons, a large extended family whose members clearly love and support each other, expressed without words as Pa brings home what is clearly the family's first radio. The fashions and technology on display, combined with the score, create a sweetly nostalgic sense of time and place; we imagine a time that perhaps included more struggle, but perhaps, too, more innocence. (We know it's an illusion, but a comforting one.) 

A carefully crafted introduction is crucial to our understanding not just of a show's plot or characters, but its ethos. Would Law & Order feel the same without "In the criminal justice system . . .?" Would Star Trek be a cultural touchstone without "Space, the Final Frontier?" 

I don't think so. And that's why I watch the intro. Every time.