Named by The New York Times Magazine as “one of the most important innovations of the 1990s," the opening title sequence of Se7en (1995) presents, without any doubt, one major turning point in the history of title design.
Se7en is a psychological thriller directed by David Fincher. In an interview with Thunder Chunky, talking about title sequences, title designer Kyle Cooper states, “Each film is a different problem to solve, so each solution is different." For Se7en’s opening title sequence, Cooper shot some extremely close-up footage, which complements the type scratched directly onto film, a technique seen in early film animation done by people such as Len Lye, Stan Brakhage, and other experimental filmmakers. The edgy soundtrack by Nine Inch Nails perfectly complements, enhances, and interweaves with the imagery.
In these titles we see overhead extreme close-up shots of a diary, fingertips cutting and taping, pages filled with handwriting, erasing words and then writing new ones with thick and intense handwriting, collecting hair, erasing eyes from pictures, and sawing pages. The title sequence alternates cross-dissolves, hard cuts, flash frames, and distorted and handwritten type, complemented by one- to two-frame shots with borderline-subliminal imagery of a variety of words, letters, and numbers.
As an audience watching this for the first time, we definitely feel the intended emotions: what we are about to experience is a piercing, fast, dark movie. We see a lot in this engaging title sequence, but what we never see is a complete picture, a long or medium shot of the setting. The audience doesn’t get the privilege of understanding where they are, what’s going on, and most important, how this montage ties into the movie they are about to experience. In the perfect vein of a thriller, they will have to piece it together, especially after the first viewing of the movie.
In the very beginning, the audience is given an important clue about how the killer was able to get away with his actions. He removes the surface of his fingertips with a razor blade so that he won’t leave any fingerprints. “David Fincher wanted to set up the film’s relationship with evil in a very direct and uncomfortable way," Cooper notes in an interview with David Geffner. “I think we accomplished that. But in Se7en there’s also a structural concern going on. You don’t see the killer until nearly 40 minutes in, so the titles need to bridge that gap. You’re inside his head straight off, making the tension that much more intense when he does finally show up."
Because of the aesthetical qualities of the title sequence, its superb use of content in the appropriate context and moment, and the trust given to the audience that they will put the pieces together—rather than telegraphing what they are supposed to feel and understand—this title sequence is a successful and timeless piece.
“That sequence for Se7en is only good because it is the film, because it came out of the film," Cooper says. “I wanted to get across the idea of the killer, to make something that he would have made. That’s how you want it to be. The form should be born out of the content."
It’s not a surprise that the style of Se7en has been admired, looked up to, and especially mimicked by a variety of designers. As Cooper mentioned, what is important to understand, what is absolutely relevant, is the concept of a title sequence. How a title sequence articulates itself visually and aurally should be a consequence, dictated by the content. That is why Se7en is such a successful piece. It was created for the movie, and it would not work for any other movie other than Se7en.
This title sequence seems to have borrowed from an earlier concept of the 1968 title sequence for the movie Girl on a Motorcycle, but inevitably it develops into its own well-crafted, effective titles for this film.
Lost Highway’s opening title sequence, designed by Jay Johnson, consists of a driver’s point of view of a car speeding on a road in complete darkness. The only point of reference in the darkness is the middle broken yellow line that prevents the speeding car from crashing. The titles, as yellow and broken as the road’s middle line, are designed with a stencil-esque font reminiscent of the roadwork imagery. They emerge out of the darkness, they hold for a moment on-screen to allow them to be read, and then they move furiously forward as though they were crashing onto the windshield. The soundtrack of these opening titles consists of a song by David Bowie called “I’m Deranged," perfectly complementing the feeling of the scene and the emotional rollercoaster that the audience is about to experience watching this dark and surreal movie.
The title sequence for Monsoon Wedding (2001), directed by Mira Nair, was designed by Trollbäck+co. This opening title sequence features animated lines and circles over colorful backgrounds, while the title cards appear on-screen. The graphic elements are simple and effective, and they dance and animate in sync to the soundtrack of an upbeat Indian marching band. The lines and circles expand and contract in size, filling up the screen and transforming from a foreground element into a background one, creating seamless and effective transitions from one title card to the next. Right when we begin to expect the next abstract title card unfolding on-screen, we see two lines slowly curling around each other to create two intertwined faces that symbolize the arranged marriage that is at the fulcrum of the film.
Figure 2.2a Still frames from "Monsoon Wedding" title sequence, designed by Troll back+co.
Figure 2.2b
Figure 2.2c
Figure 2.2d
Figure 2.2e
Figure 2.2f
Figure 2.2g
Figure 2.2h
Figure 2.2i
Figure 2.2j
Figure 2.2k
Figure 2.2l
Figure 2.2m
Figure 2.2n
Figure 2.2o
In the provocative film Irreversible (Gaspar Noé, 2002), we see a distinctive title sequence. The film employs a nonlinear narrative: the story unfolds in reverse chronological order.
The titles literally reflect the structure of the film in that sense. At the beginning of the film—which, chronologically, is the end of the film—instead of seeing the opening titles, we see the end titles; at the end of the film—which, chronologically, is the beginning of the film—we see its opening titles.
The end titles themselves are stark and simple; first we see a justified block of text, scrolling downward, revealing the very last part of the end credit block and moving up to reveal the earlier credits. The text block begins to tilt slightly, as though the camera is losing balance. We get a glimpse of the main title as we reach the top of the credit block. As the camera starts to spin a bit faster, the credit block exits the screen and we see a quick rotating shot of one of the main characters. Immediately after, accompanied by a minimalist regular drumbeat, enormous typefaces alternate on-screen at a fast pace. Text on black background incessantly alternates onscreen, displaying the main talent’s last names in white, their credit roles in red, and the production companies in yellow. Some of the letters are flipped horizontally and vertically, as though to exaggerate and reflect the sense of irreversibility even onto the titles. The main title card appears on-screen in four different flipped-lettering variations; then, after a few title cards crediting the production and key crew roles, the movie begins—or more precisely, ends.
