The 15-Second Intro Is a Swizz: In Defence of Telly's Great Big Naff Theme Tunes

There is a special kind of silence in a British living room when the remote hovers over Skip Intro. It is the silence of a nation choosing efficiency over joy. The silence of people who once belted out "da-da-da-da-da-da" at the top of their lungs now reducing telly's grandest ritual to a thumb twitch. In 2026, the opening theme tune has been treated like a lingering houseguest: pleasant enough, but can you hurry it along?

I say no. I say bring back the big, bland, magnificent theme tune. Give us the saxophone. Give us the slow-motion shot of a canal. Give us a key change so shameless it could power the National Grid.

We Used to Get a Whole Mini-Musical

There was a time — and I appreciate this makes me sound about ninety-six — when turning on the telly felt like the start of an event. The opening credits were not a formality; they were the appetiser, the overture, the bit where you settled into the sofa and let the show tell you exactly what kind of ride you were in for.

Soap fans knew the drill. A swelling orchestral number, a montage of rooftops, a tram, a market stall, and at least one character staring broodily into the middle distance as if they'd just remembered they left the iron on. You didn't just watch Coronation Street or EastEnders; you were ushered into them. The theme tune was the velvet rope.

Sitcoms were even worse — or better, depending on your tolerance for jazz hands. A proper sitcom song told you the premise, introduced the cast, and gave you a lyric you could mumble incorrectly for the next thirty years. Somewhere in Britain, someone still thinks the Only Fools and Horses theme is about a market trader with a heart of gold, and they are absolutely right.

The Skip Intro Button Is Britain's Most Efficient Joy Remover

Then streaming arrived, and with it a strange new etiquette. Intros shrank. Title sequences became a logo, a swoosh, and — if you were lucky — a moody drone that sounded like a fridge having a crisis. Fifteen seconds, tops. Blink and you'd miss the bit where you were supposed to feel something.

I understand the logic. Binge-watching rewards momentum. When you're six episodes deep into a thriller at 1am, you do not need a ninety-second aria about the protagonist's tragic backstory. You need to know who's been pushed off the pier.

But here's the thing: weekly telly is not a binge. Strictly is not improved by a rushed logo. The Traitors does not benefit from a three-second sting. These are appointment-viewing shows — the kind you text your mates about, the kind that demand a bowl of something salty and a full-throated singalong. They deserve ceremony. They deserve a proper overture. They deserve a theme tune that makes the dog look up.

A Theme Tune Is Telly's Cheapest Time Machine

We bang on about nostalgia like it's a national industry, but the theme tune is the most efficient memory-maker telly has ever produced. You can forget plot twists. You can forget who married whom in a soap fifteen years ago. But play four bars of a classic intro and you're eleven again, sitting cross-legged on a carpet that was definitely orange, waiting for your mum to finish on the phone so you could watch the second half.

That's not just sentimentality; it's economics. A great theme tune is the cheapest branding known to broadcasting. It tells you where you are, what you're about to feel, and whether you're allowed to eat crisps on the sofa. It is the audio equivalent of a warm hug from a relative who may or may not have a favourite child.

And in 2026, we are starving for it. The streaming era has given us spectacular telly and then asked us to skip the bit where it says hello.

The 2026 Shows That Need a Proper Overture

Let's be specific. Strictly Come Dancing has a theme, obviously, but it could go bigger. I want a full orchestra, a dramatic key change, and at least one shot of the glitterball rotating like it's in a perfume advert. The Traitors could use a doom-laden folk wail over shots of the castle — something that says "betrayal" and "oatmeal" in equal measure. I'm a Celebrity deserves a bushtucker symphony: strings, brass, and a distant rumble of a trial that involves too many insects.

And the soaps? Give them their montages back. I want chip-shop steam, a taxi pulling up outside a pub, and a character looking shifty near a wheelie bin. It's not high art. It's better than high art. It's Corrie.

Even the quiz shows could get in on it. The 1% Club with a proper fanfare? Pointless with a mournful cello? Yes please.

The Rulebook for the Return of the Big Naff Intro

Because I am a reasonable person, I offer a modest proposal.

1. Minimum length: 45 seconds. No more blink-and-miss logos.
2. At least one key change. Ideally two. We are not cowards.
3. One gratuitous shot of a canal, a tram, or a market stall. This is non-negotiable.
4. Lyrics for sitcoms. If I can't mumble the wrong words by episode three, what are we even doing?
5. No cheating with "previously on". That's not a theme tune. That's a recap wearing a fancy hat.

The Counter-Argument (Because We're Fair)

In the interest of balance: short intros are useful. They keep a binge moving. They respect your time. They stop you from accidentally learning the words to a drama about a serial killer and singing them at a bus stop.

But telly is not just content. It's ritual. And ritual needs a soundtrack.

So here's my plea to the telly bosses of 2026: stop shrinking the credits. Stop treating the theme tune like an inconvenience. Give us the full orchestra. Give us the ridiculous montage. Give us a song so catchy it becomes a national earworm by Tuesday.

We promise to sing it badly. We promise to skip nothing. And we promise, hand on heart, to look up from our phones for the full ninety seconds.

You can keep your fifteen-second logo. I'll take the big, bland, glorious overture every single time.