you gotta watch your back.
Well I beg your pardon
walk the straight and narrow track."
—Tom Waits, "Way Down in the Hole"—
The Wire returned Sunday, September 10th after two years in limbo, a stretch equal to the last Sopranos hiatus. Yet while The Sopranos' production gap was seen as an affront to the show's fan base, The Wire languished in relative silence. Its largely non-white cast, tangled narrative, and bleak assessment of public institutions pretty much guaranteed a minuscule audience so it was unsurprising that HBO chairman Chris Albrecht shelved the drama after three seasons and then told TV columnists, "I have received a telegram from every viewer of The Wire—all 250 of them."
After lobbying by fans and pitches by Simon, Albrecht reconsidered and gave the show another year (and the love continues: the show was recently picked up for a fifth and final season). Having viewed Season Four in its entirety, it seems to me that two years away from Jimmy McNulty (Dominic West) and the gang may have actually been beneficial, giving the writers the necessary time to think about The Wire's vision of America and how each season progressively enlarges the scope of that vision.Over time, the show has evolved from cops versus gang-bangers into a look at the similarities between organizations on both sides of the law, and how their struggle affects individual citizens and failing public institutions. Each main plot and subplot affirms that every part of society is somehow connected to every other part—that we're all part of the same (to use a phrase that often crops up in discussions of Deadwood) "human organism."
Unfortunately, that organism is made up of people who are mainly interested in protecting their turf. They often don't know how their actions affect others and, if they do know, they cover their mistakes or pretend they didn't make any, then hope that things don't get too bad in the long run. Their behavior is akin to cutting the top off a weed and praying the root doesn't regrow the moment you turn your back. Think of the hasty wrap-up of the Barksdale case in Season One, which left Stringer Bell (Idris Elba) on the streets, or the fall of "Hamsterdam" in Season Three, where mayoral candidates used Major Howard "Bunny" Colvin's (Robert Wisdom) doomed social experiment to screw one another over for the benefit of the cameras. When Season Four begins, the major characters have all spent time living with the consequences of their choices, and because of this experience they've become different people. They've taken promotions or moved into completely different professions; they've sparked up new relationships and abandoned old ones that have run their course. Like its characters, The Wire evolves, moving beyond themes it has already explored and letting itself veer into new territory. Each season represents not just another case to be solved, but an enlargement of the show's pessimistic portrayal of America, a place where economic inequalities and institutional corruption reproduce themselves over time.
It is no surprise, then, that The Wire's opening credits are not an ordinary credits sequence, but a series of four short films that distill each season's themes, goals, and motifs. On most TV dramas the credits sequence is little more than a contractual pecking order with flashy graphics and catchy music -- examples of what job-hunting production houses would call a "sizzle reel." Even the credit sequences on HBO's other programming, which are always evocative and given a full minute to breathe, usually seem detached from the shows themselves, to the point where they work as stand-alone mood pieces. But The Wire's four credits sequences don't fit any of these descriptors; the images are taken out of context from the season's individual episodes and arranged in a pattern that only makes sense if you watch the show closely. The content changes significantly from season to season, yet each credits sequence adheres to the same basic editing rhythms and visual schemes. The theme music is always Tom Waits' "Way Down in the Hole," but each season it's performed by a different artist from a different genre. Working in concert, the audio and the visuals create a 90-second mini-narrative that alludes to each season's victims and assailants, its legal and political strategies, its criminal schemes, its surveillance devices, and its instruments of death. The entire assemblage is scored to a mournful biblical cautionary tale about the necessity and difficulty of resisting temptation and sin.
Taking a cue from Homicide: Life on the Street (another show sprung from the pen of former Baltimore Sun reporter David Simon), the Season One credits use police iconography and staged crime scene footage to convey the down and dirty feel of Baltimore's killing streets. But the images aren't suspenseful, glamorous, or even especially menacing. The compositions are often off-center or partly out-of-focus, conveying a world-weariness and a tedium on both sides of the divide. Accompanied by the octogenarian gospel act The Blind Boys of Alabama, the Season One credits sequence announces that The Wire is not a kicking-down-doors-and-busting-heads kind of cop show. There's a patient and persistent atmosphere to the sequence, exemplified by its protracted running time. Instead of armories or Kevlar vests the credits display affidavits, court orders, mug shots, antiquated surveillance equipment (as the show progresses the tools of the trade move ever so slowly into the 21st century), and people dragging on cigarettes to pass the time.
As in the show proper, the credits display as much insight and respect for the process of maintain- ing a criminal empire and eluding prosecution as they do for honest police work. With the fanfare of an industrial training video, we watch gel-caps being assembled, dealers positioning themselves in a driver's-side window, and the body language of a back alley hand-off. Just as the officers of the Baltimore police department are, in a manner of speaking, trained professionals, so too are the various dealers and enforcers under the employment of street kingpin Avon Barksdale (Wood Harris) and his formidable lieutenant, Stringer Bell. The sequence shows the series' fondness for counter-intelligence and misdirection while setting the stage for a battle of wills in which neither side is inclined to lay down and die. In the most memorable shot—and one of the few images to be integrated into every season's credits—we watch two dealers literally bring down a surveillance camera with a projectile. It's a bold display of defiance and a reminder that both sides are aware of the other's tactics.A dialogue is brokered through the alternating images of law enforcement and those seeking to undermine it; the cutting creates symmetry through juxtaposition. To wit: a pay phone call in which a dealer orders a re-up of drugs is followed by a shot of an officer listening in through an ear-piece. Though their heads are out of frame, the man using the pay phone is clearly facing screen left, while the man with the ear piece is facing screen right. Yet bisecting the frame in both shots is the titular wire, occupying roughly the same position within the frame. The cop needs the criminal and the criminal is only forced to employ cloak and dagger tactics because of the cop.
Or consider this sequence: a hand in close-up hits the pavement, dropping a handful of vials. An indifferent foot steps on the glass and, in a match on action, we cut to the feet of a uniformed officer on mop-up duty. Simon has often used the show as a forum to address his frustration with the war on drugs, and in this brief sequence we see just how cyclical it has become. Drugs are made illegal, leading to decreased supply and increased demand, leading to substandard product and violence, leading to increased policing and the further manipulation of supply.he's gonna save your soul.
You gotta keep the devil
way down in the hole."
Though I've been unable to determine who is primarily responsible for the look of The Wire's credits sequence, it's tempting to single out the great Geraldine Peroni. (In addition to an illustrious career as Robert Altman's regular editor—from 1990 until her death in 2004—Peroni also cut the first two episodes of The Wire.) Whomever the template can be attributed to, the decision to alter it can likely be credited to Simon. In an interview from 2003, the writer-producer is quoted as saying, "This is the same show [song], but this year the tale itself [singer, tonality] will be different." He goes on to say, "No one writing this show has any intention of telling the same story twice. That's not the point of this show."
With Avon and much of his crew behind bars at the end of Season One, and McNulty — the show's ostensible lead — shunted off to port detail, the scope of The Wire's second season was required to evolve. The writers recognized that bringing down another drug cartel so quickly after putting away the Barksdale crew would be tantamount to repeating themselves, so they wisely changed emphasis, shifting the Special Crimes Unit's watchful eye to the corrupt labor unions at the Baltimore docks.Operating less as procedural and more as tragedy (what Simon called "a meditation on the death of work and the betrayal of the American working class"), the second
season of The Wire creates a dilemma in the minds of the viewer. What happens when your antagonist is a hard - working family man who breaks the law to preserve a way of life for other hard-working family men? Are those who enable the infrastructure of the drug trade any less culpable than those who package and distribute it? And just as the corner boys are a creation of circumstance and their environment, we can't help but sympathize with Frank Sobotka's (Chris Bauer) fall from grace, as it is a by-product of a society that prizes economy and speed over honest labor and professional know-how.For this second season, the targets are now predominantly middle-aged Polish-Americans and shadowy Turks (amusingly enough, the head Turk, played by Bill Raymond, is referred to as "the Greek") with a decidedly different set of rituals and cultural norms. For a show where both the cops and dealers often take pride in being from Baltimore's west side, Season Two finds us across town on the east, never far removed from the Atlantic and the ports at Patapsco.
Embold- ened by the success of the first season, the credits begin with a graphic match right out of the gate, cutting between the digital frequency wave of a sound modulator and a large piece of rope securing a boat to a dock. In contrast to the darkened corners and night-time crime scenes—many of which are imported from the Season One credits—most of the shots in this sequence are in plain daylight. This is partly a concession to reality as stevedores don’t off-load ships at night. But the sunlit frankness of these images has a metaphoric aspect: it speaks to the impunity with which these men bend the law. Like the old joke about a television falling off a truck (an image that serves as a bedrock for criminal activity on The Sopranos), losing a few shipments among the stacks is an almost condoned form of larceny. It is only when a personal grudge forces the hand of the Special Crimes Unit to investigate that this ethical onion unpeels itself. To score the Season Two credits, the producers chose Waits' original recorded version of "Way Down In The Hole." This announces that Season Two will have different themes, a different feel, and a down-and-dirty sleaziness that can only be summoned via electric guitar and a voice which, to quote Gary Graff's Musichound Rock: The Essential Album Guide, sounds “like it was soaked in a vat of bourbon, left hanging in the smokehouse for a few months and then taken outside and run over with a car.”
The “sexiness” that was distinctly absent from Season One is introduced in literal form: a come- hither look from an attractive blonde; cherry-red polish being applied to a woman’s delicate nails; a man's hand unzipping a woman's jacket in a seductive downward motion; the faces of European prostitutes staring up from confiscated passports. The Wire has never played coy about sex, particularly McNulty and Bunk’s (Wendell Pierce) frequent games of one-upsmanship through sexual conquest. But Season Two, which revolves around a cargo container full of dead prostitutes, delves into more carnal matters. (In one memorable scene, McNulty goes undercover at a brothel, is forced to stall for time until reinforcements arrive, and ends up having to fill perhaps the most creative “wounded in the line of duty” form in history.)Look beyond the sequence's sexual imagery and you discover the overriding theme of Season Two: personal encumbrances that bring about downfall. The events of this
season are put into motion because of Major Stanislaus Valchek’s (Al Brown) unwaver- ing animosity towards Sobotka. Sobotka’s death is a direct result of his trying to save the life of his wayward son Ziggy (James Ransone). The come-hither blonde is the girlfriend of Sobotka’s nephew Nicky (Pablo Schreiber) who is desperate to start a new life and so becomes embroiled in lucrative criminal activities. The hand unzipping the jacket belongs to Stringer Bell. The jacket belongs to the girlfriend of Avon’s nephew, D’Angelo (Larry Gilliard, Jr.). Sweet-natured and loyal, D’Angelo rots in jail to protect his uncle. When his resolution waivers, Stringer orders the young man killed, unbeknownst to Avon. Stringer rationalizes his deceit as a move to protect Avon’s interests, but the fact that he’s secretly involved with D’Angelo’s woman certainly motivates him as well. (Incidentally, the image of Stringer unzipping the jacket will be repeated in the credits of Season Three, when the chickens come home to roost and Stringer pays the price for his actions.)
The opening sequence also draws a clear parallel between drug abuse and alco- holism, cutting from a recycled image of a drug hand-off to a shot being poured in a dank bar. Just as the crimes of the union are considered more socially acceptable than pushing drugs, the credits introduce the idea that getting hammered at the local pub is merely the condoned flip-side of pushing off in an abandoned building. Alchoholism is its own special form of societal ill, arguably destroying more lives than drug abuse ever will, yet while we look down our nose at Bubbles (Andre Royo) and his ilk, scrambling to score and drooling on themselves in a haze, The Wire repeatedly gives us supposed authority figures puking all over themselves in public, getting behind the wheel while under the influence, and abandoning their better judgement while soused. McNulty, in particular, finds himself a slave to his addiction, and is unable to come to terms with his life until he learns to put the bottle down.at his command.
Well you don't have to worry
if you hold on to Jesus hand."
Season Three of The Wire reminds us that there are people out there more formidable than Mediterranean smugglers and more duplicitious than West Baltimore drug dealers: bureaucrats.
An easy joke, granted; but this is, after all, the season where the mighty Stringer Bell gets scammed out of $250,000 by a plump huckster in an expensive suit, and all he can do is glower and pout. In this season, both cops and criminals angling for legitimacy butt heads with an institution (local government) and learn, in so many words, that you can’t fight City Hall. The Neville Brothers perform the theme song's third incarnation. It's a far more up-tempo rendition than the previous two, but it's also more boisterous and spiritual, employing a call and response technique that makes it seem as if the words are being sung between a church choir and its congregation.Season Three focuses on the idea of improving the community, with several creative variations on what exactly entails said community. Certainly mayoral candidate Tommy Carcetti (Aiden Gillen) thinks he can make Baltimore a better place, using a platform of improved crime statistics to siphon off voters from Mayor Clarence V. Royce’s (Glynn Turman) strong black voting base. Season Three gives us the
aforementioned “Hamsterdam,” a safe haven for competing corner boys to sell their wares, with the police merely serving as impartial referees. We also meet Deacon, a religious figure who genuinely wants to make a difference in the community, and starts by helping former convict Dennis “Cutty” Wise (Chad L. Coleman) open a boxing gym/community center (this plotline is made especially poignant by the casting of Melvin Williams, ex-drug dealer and the inspiration for Avon Barksdale, in the Deacon role). Even Stringer Bell becomes an advocate of civic behavior by creating “the co-op,” a regular gathering of Baltimore’s drug barons in a hotel conference room. With its polite discussions and written minutes, it resembles nothing so much as a sales convention—which, in a sense, it is.
Beginning with the destruc- tion of the housing towers early in Season Three, we can see change happening all around the characters, and it is represented in the credits as well via images of blueprints, construction sites, and ground-breaking ceremonies. Yet just as prevalent is the sight of money changing hands. Real estate and development, like drug dealing, is a lucrative business that often unfolds on the wrong side of the law. In Season Three, the cops go after targets that rank higher on the social pyramid than Avon and Stringer, and find it just as hard to make their case.Continuing a theme from Season Two’s opening is the inclusion of sex. While one could cynically see this as trying to once again make for provocative images (replacing explosions with strippers) I see it more as acknowledging the seduction that often precedes the fall. The strippers are hired out for parties; their sexual
favors are a form of currency meant to seduce susceptible would-be soldiers like “Cutty.” But Cutty’s not the only one letting himself be seduced; Stringer is entranced by the lucrative world of legitimate business, desperate to free himself from the same world that Avon violently clings to. Marlo Stanfield (Jaime Hector), the young and ambitious drug dealer who takes over the West Side in Avon’s absence, makes a rare tactical mistake when he allows himself to be seduced by a young woman working as an assassin. Even Tommy Carcetti (Aiden Gillen), a white man in a town that isn’t, is tantalized by an opportunity to unseat an acting mayor, a seemingly impossible political maneuver we later learn is only meant as a stepping stone to the governor's mansion. But as it turns out, Tommy can't keep it in his pants, either: as Henry Kissinger once observed, power is the ultimate aphrodisiac.
Carcetti attempts to usurp Mayor Royce by lowering crime numbers, but the Baltimore police department responds to his mandate not by making quality arrests, but by gaming the numbers, under-reporting more grievous crimes and prosecuting minor offenders more aggressively. While the brass bang the podium, demanding results, the rank and file are thrown into harm's way for the sake of imaginary numbers.A couple of moments in the Season Three credits confirm The Wire's disdainful attitude towards “the numbers.” We see Valcheck walking in silhouette against a Power Point presentation of crime trends, unable to raise an eye to the impossible marching orders laid down by COMSTAT. This is followed by the shot of a lonely binder of statistics and paperwork, its spine uncreased. The Wire clearly distinguishes between the meticulous, far-ranging work done by the Special Crimes Unit, who build quality cases against high-value targets, and the superficial, grab-and-cuff police work preferred by officials whose Q-ratings depend on flashy stats.
The credits also remind us of the narrow line The Wire often rides between real life and fiction. Simon worked as a reporter before moving to television. Producer/writer Ed Burns spent years working as both a police officer and a public school teacher. As such, the show often makes use of their ground-level knowledge of the city and its residents. Certainly shooting on location in Maryland adds to that verisimilitude, but even more helpful is the way the show fills out its roles by combing the ranks of former cops and criminals, lending realism and color wherever possible.Among the real-world ringers was Robert F. Colesberry who wore an inconceivable number of hats on the show, serving as one of The Wire’s original executive producers, an occasional director, and playing a supporting part as homicide detective Ray Cole. When Colesberry passed away a few months after the Second Season finale, "Port in a Storm" (an episode he incidentally directed), the show said goodbye with a most loving tribute in a Season Three episode where his fellow boys in blue gathered at a local pub and serenaded his corpse with a rousing rendition of The Pogues “Body of an American." While viewers may have grown restless at this rather bizarre and seemingly digressive send-off for a character they most likely didn’t even remember, it’s the greatest respect that the creators of a tightly-plotted show could pay, slowing things down to say goodbye to one of their own. To this day, a framed photograph of Cole remains in the show's credits sequence.
when the thunder rolls.
Just gotta help me keep the devil
way down in the hole."
It's still early in the fourth season's run of new episodes, but already it is apparent that we've entered unfamiliar territory, for both viewer and show. What was once a police procedural has expanded in scope yet again, now exploring the gestation of criminal behavior and the corruption of the most sacred of institutions: government, school, even the family unit and childhood itself are tainted by the trickle down effects of compromise, power struggle, and the seemingly unavoidable magnetism of the corners. Once again, the creators of The Wire have risen to the heady challenge of conveying all of this in the opening credits, taking the art form to an even higher level. It's filmmaking at its most concise and compelling.Season Four of The Wire finds us deeply entrenched within the public school system. With standardized testing forced into the curriculum at the expense of applied learning, the Leave No Child Behind Act has been pretty much guaranteed to do just that. With no positive reinforcement in the home and no real (legitimate) employment opportunities within the community, the neighborhood kids see school as no more than a lay-over on the road to working a corner and being a gang-banger.
While ostensibly still a “cop show,” the emphasis law enforcement will play this season is lessened somewhat as the goal here is exploring how criminals are created as opposed to how we incarcerate them. Accordingly, there’s a youthful exuberance to the credits, extending from the cutting style (which is really quite playful) to the shot selection to the unsurprising choice of musical performer.
The other theme that will come into play is a contin- uation of one started last season about how ineffectual politicians are at solving the problems that fall under their responsibility. Opening with the now-familiar images of flickering sound waves, bundles of audio wire, and other emblems of surveillance, we cut to a white man in a suit (possibly mayoral candidate Tommy Carcetti) holding a briefcase and crossing the frame in front of a government building. We then graphic match to a large red case, which we learn early on contains an industrial-grade nail gun purchased by Marlo’s enforcer, Snoop (Felicia Pearson), as part of a unique strategy to make Marlo’s dead bodies "disappear." These seemingly unrelated images are linked by the shape of the characters' carrying cases. The implication, borne out in Season Four, is that the politicians hide their failures (in this instance the troubled school system), using creative accounting and “juked” statistics to conjure the illusion of progress.
A biblical allusion permeates the whole credits sequence, the phrase "childish things" from the Book of Corinthians. From the youthful voices (Ivan Ashford, Markel Steele, Cameron Brown, Tariq Al-Sabir, and Avery Bargasse) who sing this season's version of "Way Down in the Hole" (arranged by Doreen Vail, Maurette Brown-Clark, and J.B. Wilkins), to images of children leaning against an ice cream truck or hands playing dice, this season promises to focus on street kids who risk death or jail on West Baltimore's corners. We even see Marlo—himself only a few years removed from the kids who will make up his ever-growing army of dealers—tuck a couple of his trademark lollipops into his pocket.
The sequence pushes forward the idea that today’s problem children are destined to become tomorrow’s assignment. We see young kids, no more than seven or eight years old, emulating gang signals with one another, a shot of children watching indifferently as a school bus zips past, a wall-mounted convex mirror (used to monitor students rounding a corner) placed alongside grainy surveillance footage, and a closeup of a standardized test matched with images of a defaced school desk and graffiti on an outdoor wall that boasts “Bodymore, Murdaland" (a play on the show's geographical setting and a glimpse of how children use gallows humor to cope with an unfathomable reality). Even an image as innocuous as a small boy carrying a book bag has been corrupted by the jittery effect of a camera’s iris snapping open and shut; the shot ends with the child handing off the bag to an older boy.
Finally, I want to discuss a procession of shots near the end of the credits that encap- sulates everything The Wire has worked to establish over four seasons. A local shop-keeper spins open a counter-top security window, sending through a pack of smokes. A hand (Marlo’s) spins a pair of expensive-looking designer rims. A piece of playground equipment spins anonymously at night. A child rolls a large tire around in an empty alley. Bundles of narcotics are packed alongside a spare tire in the back of a car, a piece of carpeting pulled up to conceal them. And then a similar cut of fabric, this time a body bag being carried from an abandoned row house.The same motions are repeated throughout and the eye is unavoidably drawn to how these shots flow seamlessly into one another—not so much a graphic match before as a graphic match on action, as though one image invariably leads to the next. The local shop-keeper with the cigarettes is unable to remain clear of criminal activities. The bodega is merely a front for something far more
nefarious. The rims represent wealth and status among street youth and are an incentive to enter this lifestyle. The play- ground equip- ment, an image of youthful innocence, is corrupted and contorted by the sight of an adult perched upon it, holding an alcoholic beverage as he spins aimlessly against a dark sky. The child with the tire, left unsupervised, is forced to amuse himself with whatever's available. The drugs are another form of self-amusement, the sort of “plaything” easily acquired in the poor communities depicted on The Wire. And of course there is the corpse, where all of this is destined to lead.This cycle is difficult to escape. It is a procession millions make every year; for many, it starts the day they are born. Time and again, those who view crime as the most direct route to power, wealth, or respect find themselves with their backs against the wall, unable to control their destinies. The success stories of The Wire (and there are a few) concern individuals who decided to forsake that which is easy for that which is true to themselves.
about Jesus' mighty sword.
And they'll shield you with their wings
and keep you close to the lord.
Don't pay heed to temptation
for his hands are so cold.
You gotta help me keep the devil
way down in the hole."
Simon has often referred to The Wire as “television for the hopeless.” While undeniably pessimistic and cynical about the role those in power play in alleviating society’s problems, the show—in posing the questions it does—nonetheless provides several glimmers of hope. Certainly The Wire recognizes the flaws of the system, but it also understands that there is no easy way to repair them. The best you can do, as the song goes, is try to keep the devil way down in the hole.
_______________________________________________
Andrew Dignan is a contributor to The House Next Door. His previous articles have included weekly recaps of Lost and an article comparing Deadwood and the Godfather movies. For more writing on the series, see "On the Wire" in the sidebar at right.
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37 comments:
Good stuff. One point: it's just Baltimore Sun not Baltimore Sun Times....
Amended. Thanks Richard.
Fine smart piece on a fine smart show (actually The Wire will resonate far longer and wider than a mere TV show)
James Hynes at Salon also has good insights , well said about the Wire
If anybody wants to watch the Season Four credits online in real time, they're up at YouTube. Click here.
I wish I'd thought of You Tube when I was writing the piece. I don't know if it's possible to have the videos embeded in the lay-out of the page, but imagine if you could have a clip of each sequence available within the article, so even people who've never seen even a second of the show can comment upon them. Not sure about the legality of all this You Tube stuff, but it's deffinitely got me thinking for some articles down the road.
Also, Keith Uhlich reviews the new season of The Wire at Slant Magazine.
Thanks for this exemplary piece of analysis. Despite the fast-forwarding power provided by sweet, glorious TiVo, The Wire's opening credits capture the show's style and substance so expertly that I wouldn't dream of skipping over them.
Nice post, but where do you get that the Greek is Turkish? They spoke greek, not turkish, at least to my ears.
Great stuff, thanks.s
As the Producer in charge of post-production, the title sequence falls under my bailiwick (happily). Your piece on the title sequence of The Wire is extremely thoughtful and while you make many points I'd like to comment upon I must first address your need to know who gets credit for the credits. The late great Geraldine Peroni did not edit any of our title sequences. She did mentor me on the title piece I assembled with Assistant Editor Carrie Puchkoff for the pilot episode. This is the episode that got the series the green light and eventually became The Wire, Episode 101 "The Target". The season one title sequence is not the same as the pilot sequence. However a few images from the pilot footage (mostly hand held video) made it through the process to dance under The Blind Boys From Alabama. We have kept a shot from that first bin of footage in the credit montage ever since.
The editor of the main title sequence for season one, two and three is Thom Zimny. Editor Kate Sanford cut the sequence for season four. No plan yet for season five except the usual intense collaboration between producers, editor, and musical artist.
I am very interested in the last photo-image of your essay: a trail of blood, shaped like an upside down wishbone, flickering in the rotation of the squad car lights. This is a favorite image and a work-horse as it accomplishes many things. It is connective due to it's shape and match cuts well to other wire-like silhouettes. It is concrete/real yet artistic and abstract. Electrified by a pulsing light, this shot, an emblem of death, is very much alive. The emotional duality does for images what Thinsulate does for down. So as I have said it is a very useful little picture when you only have 90 seconds to tell a story; it's a lot of Marmot.
The blood-on-the-tarmac shot resounds for yet another reason. You choose it as the last illustration in your article. I wonder if you are aware that this piece of 35 millimeter is the first image of the first episode of The Wire. It is The Wire's first visual step and a moment that constantly brings the series full circle wherever you are in the story.
Sarah Boxer in her New York Times article (April 22, 2000) about opening credits quotes design authority and writer Ken Coupland:
"The first few minutes of a film can be compared to the curious stage of consciousness that makes the transition between wakefulness and sleep." *
When I see the blood shot I jump back five years to Gerri Peroni in the cutting room on the pilot episode of The Wire. She chose to lead us into the episode with this powerful image. She keeps the flow of the image alive by blending to the tracking shot of the street then a body (one of the very few times The Wire employs the dissolve) underscoring motion even as she shifts to hard cuts between shots. We are always moving towards Mcnulty on the stoop. This makes a path for our conscious selves to the heart of the teaser, the tale of Snot Boogie and the American way. In the mean time our unconscious self is held under and guided by the rhythm of flashing blue lights on an actors face through the dead eye of child into a pattern of images that congeals into a main title sequence. The transition from teaser to titles is true to a dream including that restless scant second where you almost wake up as the action cuts swiftly from McNulty's gaze to Snot Boogie unblinking. Not bad Gerri, you were leading us there all along. Maybe you do get credit for the title sequence after all.
KLThorson
klthorson,
Let me just say, I'm honored you chose to comment on this piece and am especially grateful that you filled in some of the gaps that accumulated while I was doing my research, specifically that I'm now able to attribute some names to the people behind these incredible sequences. Now that the information is out there I can only hope the work done by you and the rest of the post production crew at "The Wire" receives even more recognition.
Your observations about the blood spill is a perfect example of why after watching nearly 50 episodes of the show (and often viewed more than once at that) I still find myself watching the credits even though, as it's been pointed out, the technology exists to skip right over them. Beyond the rhythm of the editing and the strength of the imagery or the haunting music there's always a sense that like the city of Baltimore itself I'm watching a living creature that, while it may be impossible to "solve," keeps offering up hints as though it were attempting to explain itself.
I wish I could take credit for the use of that last image but it, like the entire layout of the page should be credited to Jeffery, Matt and Keith (this piece had a lot of people pitching in to make it what it is). They really went out of their way with making this one look great.
Please keep up the fantastic work as season 5 can’t possibly come quick enough.
Ack! I just realized I mis-spelled Jeffrey's name. Sorry about that man.
It's true, you could skip over the title sequence with the current technology, but you would be depriving yourself of the your last trip to the fridge before the uninterrupted 50 minutes of serious story unfolds. Use your time wisely, let it play out.
holy cow! This is the best essay on opening credits I have ever read. In a previous thread I wondered who was singing Tom Waits' song, and this has answered that question and about ten more I did not even know I had. holy cow! Great essay!
Andrew D writes: "Beyond the rhythm of the editing and the strength of the imagery or the haunting music there's always a sense that like the city of Baltimore itself I'm watching a living creature that, while it may be impossible to "solve," keeps offering up hints as though it were attempting to explain itself."
This is a fine summation not just of the opening credits, but of the creative strategy that drives The Wire: give the audience just enough information to sketch in the general picture, and let them fill in the details based on their own understanding of human nature. Much more so than most series, it's a participatory experience, in that you cannot really understand the plot or fathom the complexity of the characters' motivations unless you are (a) paying close attention, (b) comparing and contrasting what's happening right now with what happened previously on the series, and (c) constantly checking the hard facts of onscreen events against your own experience, your judgment and your knowledge of human nature.
Given all this, it's no huge surprise that the series has a relatively small audience, and that the fourth season (and the fifth season) weren't candidates for automatic renewal by the network. Telling someone, "You ought to watch The Wire -- it's worth the time," is like telling them, "You know what game you'd really enjoy? Chess."
Going back to the credits themselves, though -- Andrew, my favorite part of this piece is the discussion of the Season Four credits, where you analyze the cutting patterns that link circular imagery. Seems to me that the circle is the shape that best illustrates the brand of drama presented by The Wire. So much of the series is about the systemic nature of mediocrity, self-interest, corruption and despair -- how institutions, like people, are mainly concerned with surviving day-to-day, rather than thinking long term, about improving and evolving through sacrifice and correct moral choices. These people, these institutions, this city, should be moving forward, yet too often they're content to go round and round.
I'm only midway through season 2, but I am already totally hooked. I'm watching it on DVD and I never skip the credits. Looking at all 4 opening credits in a row is like seeing a fish get eaten by a bigger fish, that in turn gets eaten by an even bigger fish, and so on. Great article, Andrew.
Karen Thorson has it going on, huh?
She starts thinking about the credits as soon as the first dailies come in and she makes the most out of that minute-thirty every season.
Thanks for taking so many aspects of the show seriously. As you can see for the people who work on The Wire -- we find this kind of deliberation on the part of viewers to be pretty wonderful.
Just when we start to believe that we're thinking about everything too much, we read something like that and get juiced all over again.
-- David Simon
I'm new to this blog and I now have it bookmarked. Excellent and thought-provoking stuff.
However, may I make a plea that the writers here be a little more rigorous about careless inferences? This is a problem I see in more and more critical writing: The critic takes a fact (in this case, for example, the long gap between the final episode of Season 3 and the first episode of Season 4) marries it to an opinion (the show is better than ever) and then assigns cause-and-effect (the show is better because the writers have had two years off from the characters.)
Except . . . they didn't, not even close. Simon got the pick-up for Season 3 in March 2005 and began meeting with writers in April. Because HBO waffled a bit about the pick-up, Simon and his writers had perhaps three extra months. But not two years, not anywhere close to two years.
Critics sometimes have to be reporters, too. And being a reporter sometimes means picking up a phone and checking out your critical hunches. The Wire's production office could have easily verified whether the writers had two years off. Or, for that matter, whether Geraldine Peroni edited the credit sequence.
Anon: I respectfully disagree with half of your comment.
Season Three of The Wire debuted in fall, 2004. Simon got the pickup the following March, and the new season debuted in September, 2006.
But just because filmmakers aren't physically sitting in a production office working with each other doesn't mean they're not thinking about what to do next, making notes and outlines, doing research, talking to their collaborators, etc. Stanley Kubrick never got a solid greenlight to shoot his pet project, a film about Napoleon, but his biographers said he had 20 years' worth of notes, sketches, outlines, reference material, etc., stored in his house. For guys like Simon, thinking is working, so it's not at all farfetched to presume he and his collaborators thought hard about what they wanted to do next even thought they did not yet have official permission to do it.
The Peroni thing is another matter. I'm grateful to Thorson for filling us in on the backstory, but you're right that we should have gotten an answer prior to publication.
Your larger point is well-taken, and moving forward, I won't forget it.
Anonymous:
I'll take my knuckle rapping for the Peroni half-assertion. I conceded that despite much due-diligence in searching it out, I did not have the specific information. I absolutely should have reached out to The Wire production office and gotten the info directly from the source. Now that I know the show's producers frequent this site, I like to think I'll be less enervated in the future.
As for whether or not it was the show had more time to develop because of a “two year” hiatus and whether that had a negligible effect on "quality," I feel you may be looking at the piece too literally. The amount of extra time allotted to the writers when they're on the clock in front of their computers may have simply been a matter of a few extra months. Obviously it's not two full years of production between the fall of '04 and now (like many of the writers who contributed articles about The Wire, I received season 4 over the summer so the show had been long done by its September season premiere). But as Matt pointed out, just because the network hadn't given the show an official green-light, doesn't mean the producers weren't already thinking about where to take the show. Simon has been quoted as saying that he saw the show running 5 years, so doesn't it stand to reason that he would have already been sketching things out rather than waiting idly?
Taking it a step further, network-mate Deadwood had about a year between the end of the second season and the beginning of the third. A network show like 24 has 7 months between seasons. Lost only has about 5. So I ask again, isn't it fair to state that the show has more time to develop itself and to work within its grand design than most?
Another excellent piece. Nice job, y'all.
Excellent work.
One of the main things I initially noticed with both Homicide:LOTS and The Wire was that the credits do not show the actors' faces while the names rolled past. Same with the wire.
Also, you can note how the show continues to respect Colesberry by listing him in the credits.
And amen on season 5! Hopefully, my site savethewire.com had something to do with it...though not likely.
On the other hand, Ashley, every iteration of the Homicide credits did feature a quick montage of smoky B&W close-ups of each actor.
Fantastic analysis. I have sent it to my "Wirehead" email list as well as to my english professor father. Also, kudos on the shout-outs from all those involved.
I must confess, since I am pulling up the episodes on-demand at about 12:15 on Monday mornings, I have been skipping the credits recently in an effort to get to bed. But what I've realized while passing out in bed struggling to stay awake and waiting for on-demand to post the episode, repeatedly hitting the button to refresh the menu like it's a morphine drip, is that I'M THE ADDICT...I'm the junkie. In any event, I will now make the effort to watch the credits each time...besides, it seems like watching the show with credits is like getting a taste of that pandemic!
One other question: what do you make of the closing credits? The same music each time, right? If we all believe that everything on the show is so deliberate, this must be too, eh? Is the choice to use the same music during the closing credits indicative of Simon's cynicism that institutions cannot be changed?
Last question: does anyone know whether The Wire is currently being taught in civics/literature/tv-writing courses?
This is a great post. The Wire is one of the most intelligent and well-made shows ever on tv, and it's fascinating to read about the thought process behind the carefully-constructed opening sequences. I make sure to watch the credits every week.
I do have one piece of constructive criticism, though. This may be just because I'm a graphic designer and am interested in things that many are not, but the typography used in the credit sequences is not at the same level as the rest of the elements (image, sound, etc).
Instead of using typography (and thus written language) to make another meaningful and beautiful choice, the "grungy" typeface calls up the cliches that The Wire avoids. The type also doesn't interact with the images, which is another lost opportunity.
Although it's more visually refined, the typography HBO uses for its promotion of The Wire is problematic for much the same reasons. But that's understandable, since those promos have to do the job of seducing people who may not yet have seen the show.
The Wire has its own style of storytelling that is both powerful and elegant. I just wish that its graphic design was also used to support that sensibility. If it did, the show would be (at least for me) even better. And that's saying a lot, since it's already just about perfect.
Actually, there are 3 different versions of the closing song. The differences in each are ever so subtle ("laid back and shit" -Shamrock), and which one is used depends on the mood of the closing scene. Can't find the link right now, but might post it later if I can.
It's true. There is no professional graphic designer on The Wire staff.(And if there is they never came forward at the critical moment).
KL Thorson
Part of what makes "The Wire and the Art of the Credit Sequence" an enjoyable read is its level of accuracy. I am sure that The Wire productions would freely help with fact checking as long as we were not giving away any significant plot points in the process. The seminal writer is a former reporter and fact checking and accuracy are part of The Reporter's Credo. I have never been directly asked to verify information on the show, but would gladly do so. There is every reason to conclude that Peroni had something to do with our credit sequence. And while Dignan plants the thought, he makes it clear that it is only his educated guess -which is proper.
Scott Stowel - I was wondering if anyone would every comment on the credit font. Since you have, I'll fill you in. We tried styles that resembled the keystroke of a typewriter. We tried styles that were graffiti-like. Both genres proved too derivitive, pat, and immature. What might look fantastic on one image, quickly becomes overwhelming when repeated. The gimmick in the style really shows itself through repetition. What we ended up with is a customized font. The original typeface had gothic drips from the letters. We shaved off the drips by hand and what we were left with is lettering that had a hand made feel but was even and not too pronounced in any particular style.
When the three volumes of standardized typefaces were put before me, I frankly developed virtigo. There are a million fonts to pick from so I was very glad when what became the final version was served up. It is also an efficient and practical choice. It is legible and holds up in all of our formats. (I always think it's funny when a filmmaker selects a font that looks great on the big screen yet holds poorly on home viewing devices).
As far as I know there is no professional graphic designer on The Wire staff. And if there is, they did not present themselves at the critical time. I have no doubt that there is a better typeface out there. Again, we are not graphic designers, nor are we professional credit sequence makers. And this I believe is the ticket. Our sequences work because they are constructed by the filmmakers. There is plenty to be said for fresh eyes when it comes to a trailer. A marketer may have a better read on how to attract a wider (maybe different) audience through their take on the imagery. Their goal is different because they are paid to cast the widest net possible. We only have to serve our story and ensure that what we make actually fits organically into the body of the show. There is no one that is going to be as familiar with the footage than the people who write, shoot,direct and edit it. And I think our team is varied enough too keep the view from becoming myopic. This is important because we have several threads to support each season - and I'm not sure an outsider would find it easy to strike the right balance without significant input from us. So it begs the question, "why don't we just do it ourselves".
Another ingredient to our credit sequence formula is the footage. The majority of the shots we choose for the title sequences are from dailies. The importance of this is simple. A shot taken from a day's work is already encoded with the defacto script. Therefore we can't go astray - no image is going to be incorrect or "not of The Wire". The work simply becomes finding the right balance and finding moments where the pictures, music, and timing are self enhancing. The hardest part is letting a favorite shot go for the greater effect.
Having the titles grow from the inside is also very Wire. Maybe we get it completely right. Maybe we're a little off as in the case of the font. But it's all organic, stemming from actual footage with the filmmakers' view - including our strengths and weaknesses.
The End Theme - The end theme actually feeds right back to the main titles. In it's original iteration the end them was the score over the temp titles on the pilot (I spoke about this in an earlier submission). I created a piece of music that was comprised of distorted opening musical effects from (4) different pulished songs. Later, Blake Leyh, Music Supervisor for the series, created an original piece of music to match this mood. This cue is the only piece of completely original music in the series.
When we found our way with David Simon's choice of the Waits tune for the title sequence, I started putting the old pilot theme at the end of the show. It worked on a few levels. The closing moment of each episode is always a pause for thought. Any song with a lyric would compete with this contemplative moment. The old pilot theme fit the bill as an instrumental, but it also worked because of its moodiness. And I think it gets its feel from the history that helped to create it.
Eventually Blake named the cue "The Fall". Becuase it is an original piece from one of the original staffers, we are able to tailor the piece to fit each unique ending. Out of this Blake has developed three variations of "The Fall". So yes, there are three versions of "The Fall". We have never had an open discussion about an alternative choice for the end credits. We have used this theme in all seasons partly because of its genesis, partly becuase it does offer consistency, and mostly because it feels right.
I must confess, that in all the time I spent pouring over the 4 sets of credits, the hours spent researching and the days writing the piece I never, not once thought about the font used for the credits. Perhaps that's not the best omission to admit to when you've taken a stab at writing a definitive look at a very specific topic, but reading Scott's objections and Karen's response (glad to see you're still visiting; I hope you continue to do so as the show gets a lot of love around here) got me thinking as to why that is. And then it hit me: the font of the credits received no attention from me because they refuse to call attention to themselves. They're functionary and simple, never distracting from the imagery or the music. Like the show itself, they’re unfussy, unassuming and professional. This mindset even carries over to the cast listing. With the exception of Dominic West's credit (which is likely a contractual thing) the "main" cast appears in alphabetical order, and anonymously as Ashley pointed out. If it wasn't for IMDB I would have no idea which performer was Lance Reddick or which was John Doman. The "just the facts ma'am" presentation runs counter to the subtle layering of ideas on top of one another through picture and sound, on one level lulling the viewer in with familiarities ("this is just another gritty cop/crime show...") while allowing perceptive viewers to figure out the truth over time ("it really only appears that way.")
I have no background in graphic design and am not especially inclined to think in those terms, but I can't find fault with that particular choice. They're all elements of a much larger piece working in harmony with one another.
Karen: thanks for your long and thoughtful response to my post, which I'm sure seemed annoying and unnecessary. It's interesting to learn about the process you went through, and I totally understand how you arrived at the current choice, given the options available to you and your team.
I agree that the other typographic directions you mentioned--typewriter fonts, graffiti lettering--would be inappropriate. And I can think of (too) many overdesigned credit sequences that some designer must have fallen in love with but are completely unreadable (or incomprehensible) to the viewer.
What I love about the opening sequence (and the whole show) is that it's clearly the result of an organic process, as you describe. My point was that the typeface used seems neither organic nor the result of the content--from an outsider's point of view it looks like any other distressed, "edgy" typeface.
Andrew mentioned that though the type is simple and direct, the "'just the facts ma'am' presentation runs counter to the subtle layering of ideas on top of one another through picture and sound." I think this paradox is what makes the type in the credits stick out for me.
The footage in the opening sequences is straightforward and evocative at the same time. The type sort of refers to the content and sort of reacts to the images--but not really. Would it be better to keep it more separate or integrate it more? It's an interesting question that might lead to interesting answers.
There's a long history of typography in film. But often it's the one part of the equation that gets lost in the shuffle--until some marketing people want a logo for their ads or promos. This is too bad, since design can be used to serve both filmmakers and viewers in powerful ways.
Most people don't consciously notice these things, of course, the same way most viewers aren't aware of the choices that a DP or an editor or a sound mixer might make (or what "Lake Trout" is, for that matter). But the fact that all these choices have been made helps make a rich experience for the viewer.
Believe me, I'd never have commented at all if The Wire wasn't already the best show on tv. No other show gets its opening credits analyzed like this (no one cares about the typeface on According to Jim, for instance). I'm still watching every week--and I look forward to seeing the Season Five opening too.
I for one have always admired the font in The Wire credit sequence - other than the lower-case "e" which seems slightly forlorn and inappropriate in the context of an urban drama masterpiece like this. Without wanting to belabor the point, the "e" seems somehow "too white", more like a letter which would appear in a rendering of mid-20th-century poetry. Granted, it's not easy to create typefaces which have true street credibility, but The Wire gets so much right that I would have thought they could do better than this.
We are just weeks away from the new season. Can we expect an update to this piece then? Thanks!
Very strong possibility of an appendix to the piece coming at some point. It’s contingent upon viewing the entire season though, which as of the moment I haven't done yet.
It's been a week and I'm still mourning the end of this show, so I'm checking old links. I would be interested to hear your take on season 5's credits.
This is a really good post, drawing attention to the care and quality in the credits while talking about the show itself. I'd like to see a follow up including Season 5's credits.
Andrew Dignan (September 22, 2006):
".... For this second season, the targets are now predominantly middle-aged Polish-Americans and shadowy Turks (amusingly enough, the head Turk, played by Bill Raymond, is referred to as "the Greek")..."
Anonymous (9/22/2006 3:55 PM)
"Nice post, but where do you get that the Greek is Turkish? They spoke greek, not turkish, at least to my ears."
These are from my observation:
In the second season,
1) "the Greek" himself says once, "I am not even Greek..."
2) when "the Greek" and Vandos were at the airport counter, fleeing with their fake passports, "the Greek" looks through his pockets for something that he has obviously left behind (in the hotel) and
we are shown Daniels, during that hotel room raid, finding and picking up a muslim prayer beads (Tespih? not sure what they are called)!
I think, he speaks in Turkish to the bad guy, who was the reason for the death of all the girls in the cargo container, after spotting his tatoos. The Greek also mentions (in English) something like, the Greek / Turkish differences are back in the old country and not here, before killing that guy.
So 'the Greek' is a Turk even though he is called 'the Greek'and texts in Greek.
Good work, Andrew Dignan! Thanks. Even brought Karen Thorsen and David Simon to post!
- another wire fiend, Indeed! ;-)
Bravo.
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