IN AWE OF JAWS

Since it's the 50th anniversary of Jaws opening in cinemas this weekend, I feel it would be remiss of me not to say a few words in honour of this masterpiece of cinema — this popcorn extravaganza of celluloid that is essentially two films for the price of one: one on land, and one on water.

If the first half of the movie is about the victims being picked off one by one by the Great White that stalks the waters surrounding the seaside town of Amity, then the second half is about revenge and preventing the possibility of any further casualties — though in the case of briny sea dog Captain Quint, he seems to hold a historic grudge with sharks in general that predates the recent events in the town, one that harks back to his time aboard the USS Indianapolis in World War II, where many of his crewmen were torpedoed by the Japanese submarine I-58 and left to perish in shark-infested waters.

For me, I can identify at different times with the various representations of masculinity conveyed in the three central male characters — Brody, Hooper, and Quint — and see a reflection of myself in all of them. Sometimes I suffer from the anxious concern of Brody (Roy Scheider); other times, the pompous, know-it-all smugness of Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss); and finally, the whiskey-soaked, don't-give-a-damn nihilism of Quint (Robert Shaw). Of course, I could add the politically self-interested Mayor Larry Vaughn (played by Murray Hamilton) to make it a quartet here, but perhaps we shouldn't give him too much credit, given his obvious villainy.

The beauty of the film, rich with well-defined characters, lies in how their personalities reveal different approaches to dealing with a crisis — in this case, a 25-foot predator of the deep with a voracious appetite for Amity’s townsfolk. Jawsmay also serve as a reflection, for the three men, of their own masculinity — a test of how far they are willing to go to overcome fear and confront a monstrous manifestation of their collective id. Brody grapples with the pressure of doing a good job in unfamiliar surroundings (a fish out of water); Hooper aims to prove his brain over Quint's brawn; and Quint believes he can conquer and tame the forces of nature even though he has yet to tame himself and his ego.

I also see Jaws as an existential movie about our fear of death. If Ingmar Bergman had made the film, then perhaps the threat wouldn’t have been a shark, but an invisible and abstract enemy. But just because Spielberg’s film is a summer blockbuster doesn’t mean it isn’t as profound, in its own way, as The Virgin Spring.

Back when I first rented Jaws from Astrovision (my local video library) and watched it with my friend Robbie — feeling like I was late to a party that everyone but us had already attended — I sensed that I would be returning to this wonder of entertainment many times over. And so time has proved it to be the case. I'm pretty sure I could watch this film almost anytime and find something in it that brings me joy — not least the atmosphere of the sea, which infuses each frame so vividly you can almost taste the salt in your mouth.

Happy 50th Birthday, Jaws!