The 50 Greatest Opening Title Sequences of All Time

Giving some credit to the finest opening credits ever made.

30. “The Wild Bunch” (1969)
Directed by Sam Peckinpah

Director Sam Peckinpah turns his actors into icons in the first shots of “The Wild Bunch.” As William Holden and crew trot on their horses toward the camera, their pace is halted by freeze frame black & white images of their progress, bulleted by credits. These continue to interrupt them as they approach town, setting up the rapid-fire editing pace and the Bunch’s status as folk heroes, already written into history. Their principled violence is held up against the soulless world around them, represented famously by the children gleefully watching a scorpion get devoured by fire ants. As the men wend their way toward what passes for civilization, a temperance preacher’s hypocritical rants fade out and Ernest Borgnine helps an old lady cross the street. These are professional outlaws, unflappable and unstoppable. The sequence ends with Holden’s inimitable tenor instructing his willing compatriots, “If they move, kill ‘em.” –RES

29. “Delicatessen” (1991)
Directed by Jean-Pierre Jeunet

The prelude to Jean-Pierre Jeunet and Marc Caro’s 1991 post-apocalyptic fable ends with a mighty chop: One man’s attempt to escape a dilapidated building wrapped in butcher paper and stuffed into a garbage can is foiled by an errant cigarette, and in the next moment the fearsome butcher sharpening his instruments inside exacts the would-be defector’s punishment. “Delicatessen”’s title appears, as if slammed down with the butcher’s cleaver, and a golden pig swings briefly overhead. From there the title sequence proper begins: Orchestrated as one long, roving shot over a scrap heap, the camera begins on a severed hand and then pushes in on a list of producer credits, which are listed as if on a business ledger. Then we move on the screenwriters’ names, which are found on the page of an open book, the cinematographer, whose name is engraved on a junky camera, and so on, until all of the necessary crew credits (notably, none of the performers are credited) have made their clever match. The camera rests on what could be an old-fashioned cabaret flyer bearing the names of the directors. The sequence feels fantastical and yet marvelously hand-made; it’s a unique balance, and one that Jeunet and Caro maintain — against what would seem like high aesthetic (and budgetary) odds — across their darkly comic allegory of humanity’s blackest impulses and appetites. –MO

28. “Austin Powers: The Spy Who Shagged Me” (1999)
Directed by Jay Roach

Everything about the “Austin Powers” aesthetic got bigger in the 1999 sequel to Mike Myers’s spy-spoofing paisley juggernaut. References — known and private — drove the original film’s parodic humor: James Bond’s sober silliness, abysmal punning, cartoon villains, and pneumatic women are played against Benny Hill body humor and Myers’s antic, inventive mania. For Austin Powers’s theme, Myers chose a song familiar to many of his fellow Canadians: “Soul Bossa Nova,” a 1962 number by Quincy Jones that was also the theme song of “Definition,” a popular Canadian game show in the 1970s and ‘80s. The song accompanies the title sequences of all three “Austin Powers” movies, a reference within a reference that now refers chiefly to Austin Powers himself. “The Spy Who Shagged Me” begins with a prelude in which Dr. Evil plots to steal Austin’s mojo and Austin’s beloved Vanessa self-destructs in a tragic Fembot incident. He mourns for a moment, then realizes he’s single again: Cue the soundtrack! The elaborate visual joke of the opening sequence is actually an extension of one of the funniest bits in the first film. If you smirked twice during the previous sentence, you were probably also broken up by the scene in which Austin moves about an apartment stark naked, with various objects and implements ingeniously covering up his naughty bits. For the titles sequence of the sequel Austin is cavorting about a posh hotel in the raw, covered only by a vulgar thatch of chest hair. He flashes the lobby, meets and greets in the dining room, then dashes out to the pool for a little synchronized swimming, all by way of saying: Welcome back, baby! –MO

27. “Taxi Driver” (1976)
Directed by Martin Scorsese

There are only seven shots in the opening titles to “Taxi Driver.” Two of them are basically identical: Robert De Niro’s eyes in extreme close-up. The rest of the shots are things De Niro’s Travis Bickle sees out the windshield of his taxi. Dan Perri’s titles, and their emphasis on looks and looking, establish not only the mood of “Taxi Driver” but also its perspective. Whatever we’re going to see in the film to follow, we’re seeing through Travis’ eyes. And notice how he sees everything, too. The titles’ images of Manhattan are blurry or warped or slowed down, obscured by raindrops or tinted by color effects. The distorted imagery reflects the deranged mind observing it; he’s seeing things in a way that foreshadows his eventual mental breakdown. To us, it might look like an ordinary taxi passing through some sewer steam. To Travis, it’s a giant, lumbering beast passing through an enormous plume of Stygian vapors. This isn’t New York City; it’s Travis Bickle’s New York City. –MS

26. “The Player” (1992)
Directed by Robert Altman

Lasting nearly eight minutes without a single edit, “The Player”’s sprawling opening scene stylistically (and verbally) shouts out to the initial crane shot in “Touch of Evil,” a bit of homage in keeping with the film’s industry insider-baseball interests. Traversing an entire movie studio from backlot to offices, Altman’s sequence reveals the breadth of his story’s milieu, detailing the multifaceted components of his satire while calling direct attention to its own formal construction. This self-consciousness is, at heart, part of the point — the scene, like the film, is about the movies, and its meta design further energizes Altman’s staging. The director’s orchestration of this reel-long material is thrilling, not just for its technical proficiency and its ability to introduce its sizeable cast of characters and forthcoming narrative, but also for the way in which that dexterity conflicts with, and thus amplifies, the story’s underlying critique of the creatively barren, empty-headed Hollywood studio system. –NS

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