Rashomon (1950)
During the opening sequences of Kurosawa's Rashomon an oppressive, slightly melancholic atmosphere is established in a scene that seems to teem with symbolism. The overpoweringly heavy rain strikes me as reflecting the lack of moral clarity in the film created by the subjectivity inherent in the film's unique narrative structure and the image of the dilapidated city gate seems a fitting representation of the tale of moral decay that follows, perhaps hinting at the ruinous state of society that Kurosawa perceives. Regardless of any of that cerebral rubbish though, the scene functions on a purely practical level, introducing us to the main characters and creating a cryptically dark mood that intrigues instantly.
Touch of Evil (1958)
Perhaps one of the most famous opening scenes in cinema history, Touch of Evil's brilliant three and a half minute long take works on so many levels. Firstly, it gives us a strong sense of the world in which the drama will unfold; we are shown a seedy border town, inhabited by both flashy american cars and the shabby handcarts of the Mexican locals. The scene is also laced with an irrepressible tension due to the first shot of the film, showing a man placing a bomb in the back of a car. As the camera glides this way and that - Welles plays with our expectations - delaying the bomb's explosion until the car finally leaves our field of view, releasing the tension when we least expect it. Not to be forgotten is Welles' typically innovative use of sound. As the focus shifts from one thing to another, we hear a myriad of different sounds, creating a bustling soundscape that reflects the diverse environment that is depicted.
La Dolce Vita (1960)
This brilliantly bold opening is one of the best examples of provocation in cinema. At the time of the film's it was a shockingly open challenge to catholic morality and the role it played in Italy, perhaps lost on me slightly as neither an Italian nor catholic. Straying far from the faithful depiction of everyday life of the neorealist tradition, this set piece is perfectly reflective of the more flamboyant outlandish approach taken by Fellini in La Dolce Vita. The uncompromisingly aggressive visual metaphor of a statue of Christ being flown over Rome, suspended from a helicopter, aptly symbolises the place of Catholicism in the mind of Italians, subverting its sanctity with a satirical flourish.
The Godfather (1972)
The Godfather opens with a scene that is all about atmosphere, establishing the character of Vito Corleone and some of the intricacies of their culture in broodingly cinematic fashion. Nino Rota's haunting score subtly sets the scene before we are confronted with an image of one man shrouded in darkness, pleading for Corleone's help. The camera pulls out slowly, emphasising the man's weakness as he seems to be engulfed by his surroundings. We then see Corleone for the first time, captured against the light and dark backdrop of the blinds. This classic noir technique hints towards the moral ambiguity that is central to Corleone's character and foreshadows the battle of principles that his youngest - still innocent - son Michael goes through.
Manhattan (1979)
Manhattan opens with a scene that is oddly transcendent, in one of those rare moments of alchemy, Allen finds a near perfect combination, creating something greater than the sum of its parts. George Gershwin's Rhapsody in Blue is exquisite, lending an otherworldly beauty to the sequence, Gordon Willis' black and white cinematography is glorious, reflecting the narrator's nostalgic idealised perspective of the city, and Woody Allen's narration is typically witty.
Raging Bull (1980)
This is in many ways the ideal introduction to the character of Jake La Motta. We see him in the only place that he feels truly comfortable - the boxing ring - captured in glorious slow motion, silhouetted against the flashing cameras of the onlookers. Despite what is a crowded scene, he is alone in the frame; a fitting reflection of the character's isolation from the rest of society. It sets the scene perfectly, painting La Motta as an outsider, showing the audience his loneliness before a word has even been said.
Blue Velvet (1986)
Everything about the imagery initially found in the opening scene to Lynch's Blue Velvet screams suburban idyll. A tongue-in-cheek parade of cliches - picket fences, manicured gardens and a lollipop lady - paint a picture of a tranquil utopia that is eroded as the scene progresses. The almost comically ideal world that was first portrayed is shattered to reveal a disquiet that bubbled beneath the surface. This tension is reflected in a series of shots of a hose - tangled and caught on branches - it strains as the pressure rises, struggling to contain the water.
Boogie Nights (1997)
Paul Thomas Anderson's ensemble piece begins with a three minute long tracking shot brimming with fittingly laid back flare. Reminiscent of Scorsese's Copacabana sequence from Goodfellas, Anderson plunges us into the centre of the action, introducing us to a majority of the cast and revealing much about the dynamics between them. The shot mainly tracks Burt Reynolds' character - a porn director - as he makes his way around a club; skipping the queue Henry Hill style, we are given an insight to the character's influence. Once we are inside, a great moment is shared between Reynolds and Wahlberg. The characters lock eyes, the camera slows down and the stars that Wahlberg is framed in front of aptly foreshadow his future.
Antichrist (2009)
Antichrist's opening features the Danish provocateur Lars Von Trier at his most gloriously provocative. The "prologue" depicts a couple making love as their child climbs out of their cot and falls out of a window to their death. We see this play out in gorgeous slow motion black and white that lends a cinematic grandeur to the tragic sequence. This is accompanied by a hauntingly beautiful baroque soundtrack whose lyrics - when translated - lament "Let me weep over my cruel fate, and that I long for freedom" in what seems fitting fashion. Though what happens is extreme, this scene is more than just a meaningless attempt to be controversial from Von Trier. It is not only vital in establishing the origin of the mother's profound depression but also works on a visceral level, playing on innate parental fears.
Whether you love, hate or are indifferent to Tarantino, the suspense which he crafts in this scene is undeniable; containing one of the all time great moments of creepy milk drinking (up there with A Clockwork Orange), this scene is irrepressible. Waltz's performance is excellent, I can think of few instances where a character's politeness has been so threatening; he turns every line of typically sharp Tarantino dialogue into a menacing threat, regardless of its seeming innocence. We also have a wonderfully comic contrast of pipe sizes that reflects the characters personalities perfectly and a shamelessly good The Searchers inspired landscape through a door shot.
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