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. 

Music Made the Shows Go Round

In my estimation, anyway. 

The Rockford Files: "Sleight of Hand"

A little over midway through the first season of The Rockford Files comes a surprisingly poignant and moving story, "Sleight of Hand." Told in flashback - an unusual device for the series - the story finds Jim Rockford steeped in regret and loss for reasons that only become clear as the tale unfolds.

As the flashback opens, we find Rockford on a sailboat with a vivacious divorcee and her young daughter. Rockford's usual cynicism and hard shell are absent; it seems he really likes Diana and her little girl - maybe even enough to establish a permanent relationship. But seconds after Rockford drives them home, Diana vanishes - and when the police arrive, they find the dead body of her next door neighbour. Rockford, of course, becomes the number one suspect, and he must dodge the police as he searches for his missing girlfriend.

Given the structure of episodic television in the 20th century, it will come as no surprise that Diana winds up dead, since in those days you couldn't give a romantic lead a steady partner, as it would preclude romantic entanglements in future episodes. And yet despite that, James Garner's performance really convinces audiences that he is wracked by guilt and loss, that he hates himself for failing her.

Diana's disappearance is very cleverly structured, and the payoff really delivers. In the end, Rockford and Diana were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time for one crucial instant, and that tragic moment changed their lives forever. It really is a classic tragedy.

The episode guest-starred Jackie Cooper and Lane Smith, one playing a cop, the other a hoodlum. Both men, of course, played Daily Planet editor Perry White - Cooper in the Salkind Superman films of the late 70s and early 80s, and Smith in the 90s television series Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman. Cooper was, of course, an Emmy-award winning television director, and helmed at least one episode of The Rockford Files. 

The Rockford Theme

I belatedly realized that I wrote about The Rockford Files last night without mentioning Mike Post's masterful theme song, which perhaps like no other theme perfectly captures not only the whimsical tone of the show, but also, somehow its era; it plays almost gleefully mournfully, saying "This is the way the world is - messed up and broken - but what the hell can you do but get up each morning and smile in the face of the tragic and the absurd?" It's a wonderful work of art that makes me happy and sad all at once with every beat.

Here's a fun extended version of the theme:

The Rockford Files Files

A couple of months back I picked up all seasons of The Rockford Files for a song, and I just started watching the first season. I used to watch the show when I was a kid, and I'm happy to say it really holds up. James Garner makes a terrific world-weary private eye, the stories are tightly constructed, and there's a deep vein of sarcastic humour running throughout the show. The car chases and fight scenes are excellent too, though Garner's Rockford does his level best to solve problems with his wits rather than violence - perhaps because he often loses fistfights.

It's also a kick to see California of the 1970s - the cars, the architecture, the fashions, the home decor.

"This just hasn't been my day at all," Rockford quips after, on top of two arrests, two beatings and a betrayal, the bad guy sneaks up behind him with a loaded pistol right after he's figured out the case. Garner's exasperation neatly encapsulates the tone of the show, one of the best dark comedies of the 1970s. I look forward to seeing the whole series for the first time.