Jaws

“Sometimes the shark’d go away… sometimes he wouldn’t go away.**” (5OTH ANNIVERSARY SCREENING) At one point in my life, Jaws was unquestionably my favorite film. One of the first ones that I ever consciously latched onto and considered what it meant to me as art, and more than just something that I thought was cool. Watched it endlessly, sought out all the middling sequels, read the (far inferior) Benchley novel. Meticulously consumed every piece of the behind the scenes lore that has become quintessential movie making mythology. Couldn’t get enough of this behemoth of a work. So it sort of goes without saying that this is certainly not the first time that I’ve seen Jaws. Hell, it’s not even the first time I’ve seen Jaws in a movie theater. But, somehow, tonight was perhaps the most informative and revelatory watch. I try to space out the watches of the movies that really, really resonate with me so that it never really loses the juice. There’s something sacred about them. So this first watch was, somehow, like seeing it anew. Genuinely sort of breaks my brain to fathom a guy coming along and essentially defining what a Hollywood blockbuster was going to be for the rest of eternity and for him to not even be thirty years old and for him to have done it with exactly one film under his belt before this one. I mean, of course, New Hollywood was notable for all of these modern giants suddenly emerging right next to each other and it was choking full of these seismic debuts one after the other. Jaws was not his first film, really, but it may as well have been the moment he made his mark on the world and through that lens it’s genuinely almost inconceivable. By all accounts, it sounds like Steven Spielberg teetered on the verge of insanity while making this thing piece together through hell or high water. I’d say he succeeded in spite of every setback and then some. One might even accuse him of overachieving. Watching Jaws at this stage in my life does join Raiders and The Dark Knight in the ranks of these films that almost play like clips shows and highlight reels. All of those iconic moments. Ben Gardner’s head floating out of that hole in the boat still scares the ever living fuck out of me. My heart starts thundering whenever that destroyed dock turns around in the water and starts heading towards those poor slobs trying to catch a great white with a roast. The achingly tender moment between Brody and his son at the dinner table. And you always get so swept up in the absolute spectacle of all of it that, at least in my experience, you always sort of find yourself taken aback by how meticulously crafted of a character piece that it is. You’re always on high alert waiting for the monster to poke his head of the water, sure, but I am always so caught up in how fully realized the people at the center of the story are. The three core performances at the epicenter of all of it are each perfect, without a missed note among one of them. And they each get that moment to really show off how fully absorbed they are into their roles. Dreyfuss handling Hooper performing that autopsy on Chrissy’s chewed up corpse with this shaky, breathy, ecstatic and almost orgasmic sense of awe. Like it physically drains him to stand there and get his hands dirty in the filth of a killing machine’s handiwork. Roy Scheider (who is rapidly emerging as one of my very, very favorite actors) is exquisite as a man who isn't even a bad cop, he’s a good family man and a good husband but he’s not exactly a badass until an impossible situation drags it out of him. It gets said a lot and gets spoken about all the time but Robert Shaw really does pick the movie up and walk away with it in one armful. Quint’s the most eccentric character in the entire thing and he completely disappears into him. The USS Indianapolis monologue remains as haunting and as hypnotic as ever. Such a vivid evocation of impending death and agony and sustained terror, and with the lingering aftertaste of bureaucratic neglect. The pieces and bites of information we get about all three of these men throughout the film goes such long ways to fully characterize them without stopping the rollercoaster-like pacing to tell you their life story. Even such small gestures that really make the narrative feel lived in and calculated: Hooper and Quint, men of the sea, heartily drinking with empty plates while Brody, deathly afraid of the water, lingers to his own corner while his food remains completely untouched. It’s also an incredibly funny film. One forgets just how much of it once they get out on the water is just Brody, Hooper and Quint giving each other shit. A hundred little side characters emerging in and out of the story with some of the all time great line reads (“Tiger shark.” “A whaaaaat?”). Genuine moments of stifling suspense and terror. I’ve always been hesitant to outright call Jaws a horror film because so much of that Spielbergan spectacle and sense of adventure is peppered throughout the entire thing but when shit hits the fans, it’s white knuckle intense. You really, desperately want Roy Scheider to kill this damn thing. Also: feels a bit like a precursor to what modern standouts like the Safdies do to capture the chaos of a crowded room where everybody is shouting over each other. The Fordian influence is emphatic and there are a couple dozen moments where you can see that Ford’s tirade to a young Spielberg about finding the horizon is ringing in both of his ears. Because he captures the horizon. Over. And over. And over again. Shot of the film remains Roy Scheider holding on to his handgun with wild eyed terror while a shooting star darts across a fading, dark sky. Spielberg famously despised shooting out on the ocean to such a degree that he ditched set the second to last day of production. This makes the fact that it is all so masterfully executed all the more hilarious. Sometimes a talent comes along that is just so undeniable and raw and apparent that a work of art cannot help but just fall into place exactly like it should, even when the universe seems hellbent on making the process as impossible as it can muster. The epitome of a summer spectacle. A Mount Rushmore creature feature. A uniquely haunting, close to home viewing experience in a world that’s lived through a pandemic that also involved elected officials actively working to goad the public into breaking guidelines laid out to protect them. The kind of seismic work of art that defines a medium and keeps getting tributes laid at its throne for half a century. “Anyway... we delivered the bomb.“