The theater went dark and the credits began to roll. A tight, intense close-up of a hand-stitched notebook bulging with margin-to-margin scrawl appeared on the screen. Next came a police file, complete with gory photographs. Then razor blades slicing at dirty fingertips. All the while, a grating industrial soundtrack blared over schizophrenic, unfocused text flashing on the screen. We had entered the lair of a psychopath. Two minutes later, the credits finished and the film was ready to begin. That’s when the lights came up.
The terrifying opening credits to the 1995 thriller Se7en are a prime example of the work of Kyle Cooper, a man Details Magazine once described as “almost single-handedly revitalizing the main-title sequence as an art form.” His work, which can be seen in dozens of films ranging from Dawn of the Dead to Wimbledon to Mission: Impossible, is a fantastic blend of form and function. He captures the imagination and sets the tone of the film that follows.
On February 23, Cooper spoke to a sold out crowd of design students and film aficionados at the Penn Quarter Conference Center. The highfalutin discussion of design theory could have been stiff and abstract, but Cooper’s down-to-earth presentation and passion for his work kept the discussion exciting. He’s ready (and very willing) to quote Shakespeare’s Henry V at length, but also quick to remind you he got into the industry through his love of monster flicks.
These days, the engaging title sequences that Saul Bass pioneered with films like Psycho and Spartacus are fast becoming a lost art. Directors are increasingly opting for minimal title sequences, with long tracking shots and unobtrusive text. Cooper shuns this philosophy, and to great effect. Rather than viewing title sequences as the bit of information that comes before the film, he builds his sequences as films’ first scenes. The best title sequences, he argues, set the mood of the film and prepare the audience for what lies ahead. The media montage and gory text that opens Dawn of the Dead, for example, illustrate the dismembered world that the film inhabits.
Cooper’s dedication to his craft stems from his desire to enhance the film as a whole, which explains the high demand for his work of late. He is the kind of creator who understands that to achieve a truly great finished product, every element must work in harmony. No consummate filmmaker would skimp on score or sets, so why would he settle for the bland and the forgettable as a first impression? Cooper’s work is refreshing, innovative, and exciting because it reminds filmmakers that there’s opportunity in the oft overlooked. But the real testament to his talent—Cooper’s credits make the 1997 sci-fi horror atrocity Mimic look cool.
