Jaws

You probably know that 1975's JAWS forever changed Hollywood.  The era of "the inmates running the asylum", major studio films that took chances and dared to tell stories without happy endings, was about to fold.  B-films were becoming A-films. Director Steven Spielberg's film was an unprecedented smash.   Never before had such box office tallies been seen.  As if overnight the mantra would change, budgets now earmarked for the next potential blockbuster everyone was afraid of losing out on.  You might call it a plague that has completely overtaken the business to this day. 

I recall a strong desire to see this movie.  I was six when it opened at the Cinema 70 in West Palm Beach, FL.  My grandparents went to see it and felt it would be too much for me.  Perhaps.  When JAWS 2 opened three years later, my father had no qualms about taking me, and I don't recall any permanent damage to my psyche.  Or it keeping me from spending untold hours at Lake Worth beach and in the Atlantic.  I would see the original a year or two later, immediately recognizing it as an all-time favorite, something that likewise continues.

 

How spare it is! The mechanical shark - called "Bruce" by the filmmakers - suffered many breakdowns which necessitated fewer appearances.  A good thing.  We've all been disappointed when a movie tips its hand too early and showing the assailant too often.  JAWS could've easily become a forgettable programmer that died at drive-ins, a cheesy "creature feature".  Like many of its sequels and imitators.  Peter Benchley's novel is not high lit but compulsively readable.   His adaptation (co-written by Carl Gottlieb) eliminates unnecessary threads and melodrama to focus on lean thriller elements.  

Amity is suffering a rash of shark attacks.   Bad news for a town that lives and dies on tourism, but not bad enough for the the Mayor (Murray Hamilton) to close the beaches.  Chief Brody (Roy Scheider) will fight these stupidly doubtful politicians until they finally relent and approve the hiring of a caustic oceanographer named Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) and a crusty shark hunter named Quint (Robert Shaw). The trio will set out to find and eliminate the Great White, one far bigger than they expected.

Essentially an unambitious paperback epic, but as they say, it's all in the execution. JAWS is a reminder that films needn't jolt us every five minutes.  Audiences had not been conditioned to overstimulation just yet in the mid '70s.  Spielberg expertly builds the story through just enough exposition and well timed moments of shock.  The milking of suspense is exemplary.  Verna Fields' editing is likewise, and she also allowed the director to use her swimming pool for some post production insert shots. 

The third act is sheer brilliance, a perfectly orchestrated cat and mouse dance that scares the bejeezus out of us but not before some great characterization by the leads, who all have perfect chemistry.  Dreyfuss and Shaw have the flashier roles but Scheider is rock solid against them.  Perhaps everything takes a back seat to Quint's Indianapolis speech, some real lightning in a bottle there.