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• JON on JAWS

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  We asked around to find out who everyone’s favorite bit player in JAWS. Respondes are here. 

KING OF THE BLOCKBUSTERS: 'JAWS' AT 50!

by Brett Gallman

When JAWS debuted in 1975, it so thoroughly revolutionized the movie industry that its effects continue to reverberate 50 years later. So much ink has been spilled about it that it hardly warrants rehashing, but it can’t be stated enough just how monumental this unassuming adaptation of a best-selling pulp novel was. It established the summer blockbuster season as prime real estate for studios to unleash their biggest, most popular productions; furthermore, it solidified the blockbuster model altogether with an unprecedented release strategy that saw the film open in hundreds of theaters across the nation, a standard that studios continue to exploit to rake in as much money as possible before word-of-mouth determines if a film sinks or swims. 

JAWS certainly swam, becoming an utter phenomenon during the summer of ‘75 and beyond, launching Steven Spielberg into stardom and charting the course for the next five decades. While it was produced in the thick of the fabled New Hollywood movement, JAWS marked the beginning of the end of that era, as it became increasingly apparent that the domain of B-movies — genre fare that appealed to more visceral thrills — was being co-opted for the mainstream. A decade earlier, it would have been unheard of for a studio to sink A-level money and talent into such a frivolous endeavor, but it would soon become the norm.

Just two years later, Spielberg’s buddy George Lucas would essentially finish the job with STAR WARS, and the rest is history — or is it? This writer would argue that this era will never simply be history, not when the blockbuster model has swelled to smother the entire calendar with studio tentpoles, many of them remakes, reboots, or sequels to decades-old properties spawned in the wake of JAWS and its three sequels. Universal has been remarkably restrained since the release of the ill-fated JAWS: THE REVENGE in 1987, but I fear it’s only a matter of time until someone gets bold enough to revisit it. Let’s just hope whoever does so is bolder than the suits that tried to hatch JAWS: RISING, a proposed direct-to-video sequel about 15 years ago.  

But I digress, because what I’m getting at here is that JAWS was and remains a big deal. Bolstered by the bravura filmmaking of a filmmaker who simply refused to wilt in the face of a disastrous production, it confirmed that the blockbuster era would be defined by huge, memorable moments. And there’s certainly no shortage of them in JAWS, a film where hardly a few minutes pass without something iconic unfolding on-screen: the frightening opening shark attack that claims the life of Chrissie Watkins (Susan Backlinie), the utterly haunting death of Alex Kitner (Jeffrey Voorhees), the mad scramble by local (and not so local) fishermen to claim a bounty on the shark, the explosive confrontations featuring Chief Brody (Roy Scheider), Matt Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) and Amity’s bullheaded mayor (Murray Hamilton), the incredible introduction of salty dog Quint (Robert Shaw), the climactic, thrilling hunt launched by a trio of unlikely heroes. They’re not only etched into the lore of the JAWS fandom — they’re a vital part of the DNA of blockbuster filmmaking because any film of this nature owes something to Spielberg. 

 Simply put, JAWS defined spectacle on the big screen and everyone’s been chasing the dragon (er, shark?) ever since. Technology has of course advanced to the point where the craftsmanship is technically more “impressive” now — modern-day Spielbergs certainly don’t have to worry about an uncooperative animatronic shark — but it’s those limitations that shaped JAWS into a masterpiece that has endured despite 50 years of advances in special effects wizardry. Much has also been written about how the lack of usable effects footage forced Spielberg to mold the film into a more Hitchcockian thriller by leaning into point-of-view shots and John Williams’ iconic theme to suggest the presence of the shark, an approach that certainly made the film more captivating and scary — there’s a reason JAWS made so many people terrified to tread into the ocean. 

But there has to be more to it than that, right? Sure, everyone loves a great killer animal movie, and JAWS delivers on that front, but so too did the scores of knock-offs that emerged in its wake, like GRIZZLY, CLAWS, ORCA, PIRANHA, or ALLIGATOR, just to name a few. I would never besmirch the good names of these films, or even the batshit insane Italian cash-ins like GREAT WHITE and CRUEL JAWS, but the fact remains that they sure aren’t JAWS, a once-in-a-lifetime miracle of a film that continues to enrapture audiences all these years later because it has something that only a few dozen other films can claim: the magic of Steven Spielberg. I know, I know — it’s a cliche at this point to speak of the man in such reverent tones, but there simply hasn’t been anyone like him, and I suspect there never will be. And it’s not simply because the man can thrillingly stage those big moments — it’s because he takes the time to linger on the smaller moments and give them the same weight as their more iconic counterparts. For every big moment in JAWS, there are scores of smaller ones that give the film its texture as both a staple of 70s Americana and a timeless tale of man confronting something larger and more primal. It’s not just the thrilling tale of a shark hunt—it’s the tale of a father protecting his family, a community besieged by terror and greed, an old fisherman confronting his greatest fear. It’s sketched out with quiet, subtle moments and shaded by a colorful cast of characters that appear fleetingly, many of them nameless but no less unforgettable. 

Through this lens, JAWS becomes even more iconic. Maybe it’s a byproduct of having seen this film probably a hundred times since it was gifted to me on VHS for my fifth birthday, but I truly believe every single scene features something crucial or interesting. From the opening, introductory banter between Chief Brody and his wife Ellen (Lorraine Gary) that establishes their outsider perspective on Amity Island to the various exchanges he has with the local denizens, we learn everything we need to know about our protagonist with a remarkable economy. The way he mistakenly picks up the wrong phone and clumsily fumbles the materials in the hardware store creates the impression of a vulnerable everyman — here’s just a guy who wanted a quieter life away from the chaos of New York City who suddenly finds himself thrust into an impossible situation he’s not equipped to deal with — mostly because the local authorities won’t let him. 

Brody’s desperate, dignified quest to bring peace to his new home is almost exclusively painted in small brush strokes: the way he’s told to sit with the rest of the authorities during the big town meeting, his resigned admission that Alex Kitner’s mother is right to blame him, his lovely exchange with his youngest son at the dinner table, his drunken musings during a night-time hunt with Hooper, his elation at figuring out how to tie a knot at sea, his self-consciousness about his lack of memorable scarring — the list goes on. Obviously, Scheider deserves his share of the credit with his magnificent performance, but it was Spielberg who had the vision to give his actor the moments and the spaces to craft one of the most quietly compelling characters in film history. He might not be larger-than-life than many of his blockbuster contemporaries, but Martin Brody is arguably the reason JAWS works at all because he elevates this man-vs-beast tale to the mythic proportions of a hero standing against impossible odds. “In Amity, one man can make a difference,” he insists, a notion that not only resonated with contemporary audiences facing a rising tide of '70s cynicism but has also remained unfortunately timeless (there’s a reason that folks couldn’t help but draw parallels between Mayor Vaughn’s reckless handling of his crisis and the government’s fumbling of the COVID-19 pandemic in 2020). 

Remarkably, JAWS accomplishes all of this despite surrounding Brody with an outrageously vivid menagerie of characters, most notably Hooper and Quint, his two mates aboard the Orca. 

The latter’s introduction is nothing short of incredible, with Shaw performing the first of two iconic monologues that establish the complexities of a grizzled shark hunter who represents one of the few people who realizes just how much trouble Amity is in. Hooper’s one of the others, and Dreyfuss is afforded so many quiet, unforgettable moments: his bemused reaction to the locals who are so insistent on collecting a bounty that they’ll resort to dynamite, his taking a plate of leftovers at the Brody dinner table, his sheer terror at diving into the shark cage to confront the great white in a last-ditch effort to slay the beast. Our trio has remarkable chemistry for men hailing from three distinct worlds: Brody’s a working-class cop, Hooper’s a filthy rich guy, Quint’s an old vet of the sea, yet it’s that dynamic that absolutely makes the film’s climatic stretch so captivating. 

These three shouldn't work together, yet they come together to form an alchemic blend that’s emblematic of JAWS as a whole, and it comes as no surprise that one of the film’s most magical moments is one of those quiet beats that has little bearing on the plot. After a long day at sea, our three heroes have taken a break to eat, drink, and compare wounds, which eventually leads to Quint’s revelation that his ordeal with the USS Indianapolis has left him literally scarred for life. Shaw is at his most remarkable here, drawing the audience in with a haunting, vivid description of a shark attack that claimed the lives of hundreds of his fellow soldiers before implying that none of it matters in the grand scheme of things: “Anyway, we delivered the bomb,” he intones with a wry smile, revealing this almost mythical figure to simply be a guy who’s been haunted his entire adult life. With all due respect to the tagline for JAWS: THE REVENGE, it was always personal for Quint, who isn’t one to dwell too much on this: before long, he’s joining Brody and Hooper in a rendition of “Show Me the Way to Go Home,” at least until it’s interrupted by the shark’s attack on the boat (Brody, naturally, is the last one to notice — another one of those nice, understated flourishes you can’t help but pick up on after watching JAWSa hundred times). It’s just three guys talking and singing, yet it’s everything: this is the moment where JAWS coalesces into an extraordinary film, because you realize it would be compelling to hang out with these guys if a shark weren’t involved at all. 

Likewise, the locals of Amity provide more texture and flavor throughout, many of them played by locals from Martha’s Vineyard. There’s the two guys who are so desperate for the bounty that they’re willing to sacrifice a holiday roast to lure it in, only to discover they’ve bitten off more than they can chew. There’s poor Mrs. Kintner, whose desperate cries for her lost son and later confrontation with Brody provide a sobering reminder of the human stakes of the story. There’s Ben Gardner (Craig Kingsbury), the local fisherman whose most memorable line of dialogue dissing the efforts of the reckless tourists  (“They’ll wish their fathers had never met their mothers!”) provides some levity amidst the chaos. There’s the guy whose confusing reaction to Hooper’s identification of the tiger shark (“A whaaaaaaaat?”) is proof that a throwaway line can live rent-free in my head for an entire lifetime. There’s Frank Silva (Donald Poole) and Quint’s unnamed assistant (Hershel), who bring even more local authentic flavor to the proceedings. Amity Island has a rich sense of place and history, so much of it stemming from these bit characters who pop up once or twice (quite literally in the case of poor Ben Gardner).

I could go on and on, just as I could list off all of the small moments that make JAWS truly sing. Brody’s oldest son Michael (Chris Rebello) asking to go swimming in the background just as the sheriff learns of the first shark attack. Brody’s exchange with Harry (Alfred Wilde) and his bad hat that reveals his growing stress and paranoia. His growing fascination with sharks as he flips through haunting, grisly images of attacks. Ellen’s quick change-of-tune when she spies an illustration of a shark attacking a boat eerily similar to the one her son is currently sitting in. Hooper and Brody’s half-assed autopsy on the tiger shark and the subsequent search on the ocean in the dead of night (for my money, the most eerie scene in the film). The staggering shot of Quint on the Orca’s bow as magic hour descends on the Atlantic. Again, I could go on and on — and I certainly have for 35 years of my life. I can’t even begin to describe how important JAWShas been for me — it was one of my first favorite movies, served as one of my gateways to horror, and has been a constant obsession ever since. I named the makeshift video store in my basement “Amity Video,” and my oldest child is named “Brody,” mostly because I felt like that would give me an easy answer to the eternally difficult question: “What’s your favorite movie?”

 As we celebrate 50 years of JAWS, I can emphatically say that it is indeed the answer to that question. There have been other contenders and certainly other obsessions, but this one is the nexus point: the movie that introduced me to the genre that shaped my life and fostered my appreciation for film in general. It resonates with me on a level few films ever reach: JAWS stirs a very specific strain of nostalgia within me that can’t be replicated, and I realize now that it’s because of all those small moments, those Spiebergian flourishes that made him one of the greatest filmmakers to ever take up a camera. While his film signaled one of the first death knells to the New Hollywood era, those subtle, quiet moments of humanity that connect it to its contemporaries — as Quentin Tarantino puts it in CINEMA SPECULATION, the '70s were full of movies about “some guy and his problems,” and, ultimately JAWS is no different. It just so happens that this guy’s problem is a 25-foot great white shark that has to be dealt with in rousing, crowd-pleasing fashion. That explosive climax represents a collision between two ships that were otherwise passing in the night: the compelling human dramas of New Hollywood and the rousing spectacle of the blockbuster era mingling for a brief, perfect moment that proves a killer shark movie can indeed be considered in a conversation about the greatest movies of all-time. Plenty of films have tried to imitate it — including Spielberg’s own JURASSIC PARK — but it remains the standard 50 years later, mostly because too many filmmakers took one of Brody’s most iconic lines to heart. Yes, you might need a bigger boat as you mount more elaborate blockbusters, but you also can’t forget to fill it with compelling drama, rich characters, and authentic texture. Even still, good luck trying to recapture the lightning in the bottle that is JAWS — after all, it’s  a perfect engine — a miracle of evolution.”  

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