Jaws

Jaws is the grand-daddy of all modern blockbusters. Demolishing existing box-office records, Steven Spielberg's shark tale set new standards for popular cinema: neat special effects, slick storytelling and thrill-ride structure appealing to teens and young adults, a lucrative market previously tapped only by cheesy AIP flicks. Filmgoers devoured it, and made Spielberg the king of Hollywood, only to be topped by George Lucas two years later.

One could argue that Jaws's impact was ultimately negative, opening the door for thirty-five years of mindless, explosion-filled, special-effects laden bombs. It's hard to deny, though, that Jaws itself is a phenomenal film, turning Peter Benchley's potboiler into a perfect, well-oiled crowd-pleaser. It may not be not great art but it sure as hell is great entertainment.

The idyllic New England resort town of Amity is turned upside down when two people are killed by a great white shark. Police Chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) tries to close the beaches, only to be stonewalled by the Mayor (Murray Hamilton): it's the height of tourist season, and word of a shark would lose Amity valuable tourist money. A gaggle of dumb bounty hunters kills a shark but Brody and shark expert Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) are skeptical that it's the right one. It takes another round of carnage to convince the Mayor, and Brody and Hooper enlist crazy fisherman Quint (Robert Shaw) to bring the shark to heel.

Like all "movie brat" films, Jaws is replete with references to Spielberg favorites. Besides obvious Moby-Dick similarities, a "pull-away zoom" lifted from Vertigo and the obligatory homage to The Searchers, the biggest reference point is Them! Gordon Douglas's fine killer bug film clearly informs Jaws, from the collection of motley "specialist" heroes to the initially-unseen menace, the imperiled children and grieving Mother. Both films feature authorities covering up a danger to the community, but with decidedly different implications. Them's "let the government do it's job" attitude is replaced by post-Watergate cynicism: recalling Ibsen's An Enemy of the People, greedy officials lie and people suffer.

Spielberg and his writers (Benchley, Paul Gottlieb, Howard Sackler and John Milius) turn this melange of borrowed ideas into something special. The story is perfectly paced and structured, each scene fitting like a glove, and the film seemlessly transitions from horror to adventure. In the scenes between shark attacks we get wonderful bits of humor, character development and banality: Brody getting hectored by an irate old man, the banter between Brody and his wife (Lorraine Gary), the bumbling morons fishing with a pot roast, the Mayor's reaction to the final shark attack, Quint and Hooper's amusing rivalry. These wonderful slice-of-life vignettes raise Jaws miles above flicks like Transformers, where calling the protagonists "cardboard cutouts" is insulting to cardboard.

The smart script and Spielberg's humanism also skew standard horror crudity. The victims are mostly likeable and we don't get the tiresome trope of sleazy characters getting what they "deserve." Little Alex Kitner's death is obviously jolting, but more affecting is the quiet scene where his indignant mother (Lee Fierro) confronts Brody. There's ample gore but the real horror come from the primal terror at being eaten alive by a humungous shark. Of course, the biggest scare comes from an entirely different source, which I'll not spoil.

The film had a troubled production, with bad weather and a constantly-malfunctioning model shark delaying shooting, but few of the seams show. Spielberg keeps the shark hidden for most of the film; born out of necessity, this conceit enhances the film, ratcheting up the drama and suspense through fear of a lurking unknown. The shark does look fake but it doesn't matter: Quint's grisly demise is more agonizingly "real" than any besides Torn Curtain's murder scene. Brody's last stand is an impossibly intense, heart-stopping climax sure to make viewers stand up and cheer. Bill Butler's photography is superb, from the ominous attack scenes to the spirited seagoing sequences. John Williams's ominous, iconic score provides the perfect backdrop to the film.

Spielberg repeatedly returned to Jaws in his later films. Much of Jurassic Park is lifted wholesale, from the Quint-like Muldoon to the creepy severed limbs. The Lost World morphs Hooper into Vince Vaughn's Earth First vigilante; we're inexplicably expected to cheer for said dumbass as he singlehandedly endangers the whole cast. Whether or not this makes Spielberg an auteur, Jaws is clearly a career cornerstone, and even with his more "serious" work he's yet to top it.

Roy Scheider (Marathon Man) is the perfect Everyman hero and owns the film, even when his colorful co-stars step up to bat. Robert Shaw (A Man for All Seasons) gives perhaps a career-best performance: Quint could easily be a dime-store Ahab, but Shaw infuses him with a perfect mixture of self-effacing ham and tormented gravitas, culminating in the bone-chilling Indianapolis monologue. Richard Dreyfuss (Dillinger) is an amusing if obnoxious character. Murray Hamilton's (The Graduate) fine performance lifts the Mayor above the usual slimy politician. Lorraine Gary, Jeffrey Kramer and Lee Fierro have nice supporting roles.

Jaws is unquestionably Steven Spielberg's masterpiece. The endless parade of mindless blockbusters, not to mention three lackluster sequels and countless rip-offs, have tarnished its reputation. But it would be unfair not to give Spielberg his due: we would be lucky if even a fraction of Hollywood's output were as entertaining as Jaws.

PS: Please read this excellent, exhaustively in-depth analysis of the film by Jabootu. He had a lot more time and patience to analyze this film than me, and it's definitely worth any Jaws fan's time.