THE OPENING sequences of television shows do several jobs at once. They must pay tribute to the stars and set the tone for the episode to follow. Above all, they must entice the viewer to commit to the show for the next 30 minutes or more. For decades, networks thought the best way to do this was to create complex and costly sequences. But recently producers have opted for much shorter opening segments, sometimes a title card displayed for just a few seconds. Why?

Elaborate title sequences began in 1999, when Tony Soprano lit a cigar and drove through the Lincoln Tunnel in New Jersey. David Chase, the creator of “The Sopranos” (pictured), saw the 90-second clip at the beginning of each episode as “its own little movie”, something which gave the show gravitas. It made the existing conventions of opening credits—particularly the use of montages to introduce each actor—seem naff and tired. It delivered the viewer right into the heart of the story: “The Sopranos” was about Tony, and the sequence encouraged viewers to sit down beside him and breathe in his smoke.

“The Sopranos” was broadcast on HBO, a premium television network which does not run adverts during shows. This meant that the creators had a longer running time to work with, and so could devote more of it to an ambitious opening sequence. Shows on other channels started to follow suit. “Six Feet Under” (2001-2005), a black-comedy series about a family of funeral directors, and “Mad Men” (2007-2015), both copied the idea of credits-as-journey, showing a corpse being prepared for burial and an animated figure plunging from a high-rise building. “Dexter” (2006-2013) also chose an intimate approach, chronicling the protagonist’s morning routine.

A complex title sequence became a requirement for any high-end production. No one watching the ornate map unfolding at the start of each episode of “Game of Thrones” in 2011, for example, would have doubted that it was a lavish production. Even among programmes that were less stylish, opening credits tended to draw attention to themselves. In 2014 Monika Bednarek, a linguist, analysed 50 shows produced in the 2000s and found that 62% of them had title sequences that were longer than 20 seconds.

It was “Girls”, which had its premiere on HBO in April 2012, which took a radically different approach. Lena Dunham’s comedy of millennial manners thumbed its nose at the industry’s pretentions with a sequence that consisted of a single title card on screen for precisely seven seconds. Echoing the content of the show, it was bold and surprising. It also allowed for playfulness and flexibility: while the font remained the same every time, the colours, backdrop and music changed with each episode. It set a new mood or tempo each week.

The “Girls” title sequence—if indeed it can be called that—coincided with changing trends in how television itself was consumed. The idea of “binge-watching” was popularised in 2013 with the rise of streaming services, and as viewers started consuming several episodes back-to-back, the brevity of those seven seconds gained additional cachet. In 2017 Netflix launched its “skip intro” function, enabling viewers to dispense with opening credits and get straight to the drama.

The move was controversial. Purists saw it as an affront to the art and appreciation of television; others were happy they no longer had to press fast-forward. The function also seemed to represent a shift within Netflix itself. Its first major production, “House of Cards”, had a grandiose, 90-second title sequence, perhaps to position itself as the equal of HBO or Showtime. But more recent shows, such as “Ozark” or “Master of None”, sport quick title cards, with small variations in each episode. It is not just Netflix: shows as diverse as “The Handmaid’s Tale” (Hulu), “Killing Eve” (BBC), “Atlanta” (FX) and “Schitt’s Creek” (CBC) have all followed suit.

Netflix has never stated publicly its position on title sequences, but it is probably responding to its own data on user habits. Indeed, it may be that opening credits are no longer necessary. In the days of fixed programming, when viewers would have little prior knowledge of a show, an atmospheric introduction was a means of delivering clues about the show’s content. Today viewers are curating what they watch; they can readily access information about a drama’s plot and style. Thanks to social media and advertising, they are more likely to have a basic grasp of what the show entails before pressing play.

The period between the launch of “The Sopranos” and the end of “Game of Thrones” is likely to prove the anomaly—a two-decade flare of creativity and invention—in the long-term decline of title sequences. Short title cards have their benefits: “Girls” and “Killing Eve” manage to display wit and invention in a few seconds. But if elaborate sequences go for good, the desire for something more luxurious and mysterious may reappear. When they are done well, as Mr Chase recognised, they can be as compelling as short films.