The “UnReal” Title Sequence Is Unsettling, Alarming, And Utterly Brilliant
Lifetime’s “UnReal” is easily one of the best TV shows of 2015 — but in case you slept on it (like I did), the concept is pretty simple: what takes place behind the scenes of a fictional “Bachelor” style reality show? How is the show really made, and how many lives are destroyed in the process?
The central performances by Constance Zimmer as the Walter White-esque Producer Quinn King, and Shiri Appleby as her Jesse Pinkman protégé/genius producer Rachel Goldberg are stunning on their own, but the whole cast and crew is great, too. Add in the fact that co-creator Sarah Gertrude Shapiro (she worked with veteran showrunner Marti Noxon to flesh out her short film concept “Sequin Raze”) held multiple production jobs on the actual “Bachelor” itself, and the insane ways the producers push the contestants on “UnReal” become less fictional, and more horrifyingly, well, real.
But in a show that features eating disorders, sexual assault, possible murder and some of the worst human behavior you could imagine, the most uncomfortable part of the show — and an encapsulation of everything Noxon and Shapiro are trying to say in “UnReal” without saying a single word — is the title sequence, or relative lack thereof… A title sequence different than anything we’ve seen in the past decade of television.
Even as the content and quality of the television title sequence has changed, there’s been a relative consistency to how it’s executed. Back in the day, you’d get a song, credits, and end with a sting that would either tee up a commercial, or provide a break between scenes, so we can pick up at a different point in the action (or just kick things off, as plenty of shows begin with their titles, not waiting for a cold open). Take “The Simpsons,” or “Full House,” or any number of shows, and you see what I mean. It sets up the concept of the show, lists the actors and producers, and then we’re back into the world.
“Lost” changed that. Rather than list every single credit, after a jaw-dropping opening scene we’d cut to the logo for the show accompanied by a simple sound effect (“composed” by show co-creator J.J. Abrams) as the logo flew towards screen, very slowly into and then out of focus. In a few short seconds, the “Lost” title “sequence” established the weirdness, the sense of uncertainty inherent in the show.
And other shows followed suit. We still have legit title sequences on everything from “Game of Thrones” to “The Walking Dead,” but “Lost” changed the game, allowing creators to spend less time on a sequence and more on the central action of the show. A good portion of programs still follow the “Lost” model, years later: see Shondaland shows “Scandal” and “How To Get Away With Murder,” or CW superhero shows “Arrow” and “The Flash” as examples. Since “Lost” first introed its title sequence in 2004, not much has changed.
“UnReal” has broken the mold. Technically you could argue that it, too, follows the “Lost” pattern: a jaw-dropping opening scene, rising music, and then cut to titles over a black screen. How “UnReal” shakes things up is that it holds on the title itself, and then cuts right back into the action — often to the exact same shot we just left, with no time having passed at all. After a moment, the title disappears, and then we go into the show, with credits displayed as normal in the corner of the screen as the action continues.
Look, I’m not a professional video editor, but I have logged hundreds of hours editing video, and the “UnReal” titles are wrong. They’re disquieting. Cutting to black, and then letting the titles hang over the next scene, let alone cutting in the middle of a shot feels like a mistake. But it happens every episode (with one or two exceptions where they continue the scene, but on a new shot), and it’s (of course) on purpose.
And that’s the point, I’d venture: the reason the “UnReal” titles are structured that way are to immediately throw you off balance. Even if you don’t know anything about film editing, you’ll inherently feel that sense of wrongness when you watch the show. This isn’t how a title works, and even though it’s two seconds long, the whole world is knocked off kilter the moment you see them.
There’s the font, too. It’s big, and blocky and plain — not a slick logo like for “Everlasting,” the reality dating show within the show. Outside the logo, everything is serene blackness, the ultimate depiction of nothing, a void. Inside the “Unreal” logo is a mosaic of (I’m guessing) roses, which are so close together it looks like the letters are breaking apart. Inside, things are in smithereens, just like with the inwardly broken, outwardly professional (mostly) characters in the show — and the show in a show, too. When that title logo cuts back into a preexisting scenes, it brings that sense that the disorder threatening to break the logo will enter the “real” world of “UnReal” at any moment, and it’s unlike anything else on television.
Like a lot of “Lost,” TV shows that have premiered since 2004 have picked up on its structure, but not expanded on the inherent ideas. Sprawling casts of characters that sometimes never connect for episodes at a time, mysteries that only unwrap other mysteries the further you go, and yes, the title sequence… These are all elements from “Lost” that spread out to the television landscape; but for the most part show creators haven’t really gotten why those elements worked in “Lost,” and how to push them forward. They’ve used them as tools without innovating.
“Lost” and “UnReal” couldn’t be more different, but the latter has finally figured out why the titles for the former worked — and pushed the fine art of title making to the next level.
If only it wasn’t all so damn unsettling.
