As ruthlessly simplistic, incessant and unforgettable as its antagonist - an unexpected cinematic triumph

Rating: 10/10 (13 May 2009)

In 1974, if anyone had been asked their predictions of what upcoming release would change the course of the industry, it is impossible to imagine there being a less likely candidate than Jaws. A pulpy novel adapted by a 28 year old near unknown director yielding one of the most infamously disastrous film shoots in the history of the medium (a duration of a projected 55 days exploding into 159, with a cantankerous cast, a mutinous crew and a barely functioning shark prop) - all things considered, the fact that the film was completed is a feat in itself. And yet, paradoxically for a film centering around a series of deaths, Jaws instead yielded a succession of figurative rebirths, being credited with singlehandedly pioneering the summer blockbuster and ancillary markets, terrifying and thrilling audiences worldwide and turning its amateur director into one of the most recognizable figures in the film industry - a certain Steven Spielberg. The combination of factors clicked, Jaws wormed its way into the collective unconscious with uncanny speed, and no viewer would ever look at deep water entirely devoid of fear again.
The film is a true rarity - a 'monster' film which spends most of the film avoiding showing its iconic antagonist, a horror thriller in which the characters emerge as the most memorable, and a film with the simplest of premises which has yielded countless theories on the "meaning" of the shark (alternatively declared as emblematic of womanhood attacking the film's smörgåsbord of masculinity, cold war nuclear destruction on a small American town, or the entire film as an extensive critique of American capitalism - particularly ironic for such an outrageously financially successful film). Yet Jaws also harbours a real pulsating life beyond being a mere collection of now iconic moments and lines. Scenes such as Brody's trading silly faces with his son at the dinner table and the three protagonists' drunken comparison of scars infuse the film with a genuine heart and emotional attachment, making the masterfully concealed yet still shoddy special effects all the more easy to swallow and the film all the more engrossing. As effective a directorial calling card as any, the film serves to showcase all the attributes which would serve to make Spielberg a cinematic legend: addressing familiar viewer expectations with a paradoxically refreshing immediacy, constructed yet honest emotion, sentiment trimmed of excess sap and credible optimism juxtaposed with real terror. A simple tale of men versus shark is evolved into a larger than life cinematic parable, and, crucially, remains enormously entertaining in spite of its countless other plaudits.
Yet what makes Spielberg's film the most intriguing is its ability to accomplish so much with so little. From the skeletal plot to John Williams' timeless yet almost entirely two note musical score to Bill Butler's legendary shark point-of-view cinematography to the script's impressive use of few lines to suggest a wealth of characterisation, the film thrives on minimalism. Spielberg distills conventional story complexity and nuance into emotional chords (fear of water, the unknown, etc.) as primal as the film's antagonist. And antagonist the shark unquestionably is, overblown far past notions of realistic shark size and behaviour into the definitive foe, beyond conventional notions of evil into an unflinching, incessant force of nature, and all the more terrifying because of it. And it is the shark's unpredictable tearing through the picture which chaotically deviates from its minimalism, punctuating its crisp efficiency with bursts of brutal excesses. While Spielberg amps the tension of the pending shark attacks up to near unbearable levels, their sheer ferocity and the camera's tenacious refusal to shy away from the gruesome spectacle still manages to make them shocking and horrifying despite the anticipation.
However, Spielberg is not afraid to take his time - after a while knuckled opening fright, the film slows down, allowing copious time for audiences to sit with and take to the down to earth honesty of the characters while slowly but surely moving its plot along, making the bursts of shark activity all the more surprising through having lured the audience into a false sense of security. And while such thrill driven films would normally pale in a contemporary context (and it is likely the film could prove too slow and comparatively bloodless to equally enthrall more gore-saturated modern viewers), Jaws defies such concerns through its sublimely creeping pacing and masterful technical work, making the film as superb an emotional assault currently as in 1975.
Roy Scheider's gruff charisma proves the perfect emotional heart for the film, making his aquaphobic Chief Brody not only innately likable but entirely credible, an unshowy yet impeccably realized triumph of a lead. Richard Dreyfus is also wonderfully memorable, his devilish sarcasm making marine biologist Matt Hooper eons away from the stereotypical ranting scientist. Robert Shaw is simply mesmerising as grizzled shark hunter Quint, toeing the perfect balance between being raucously likable and dangerously deranged, with his chilling Indianapolis monologue searing into the memory. Lorraine Gary is also an entirely human creation as Brody's wife, with each action suggesting years of familiarity and chemistry. And Murray Hamilton maintains a gleefully infuriating paradox of being an insidiously hateful character, yet too slickly charismatic and nearly sympathetic to outright dislike as Amity Island's struggling mayor, famously refusing to close the beaches despite the danger due to the income from busy season.
As unlikely as it may have been, Jaws proves a truly unforgettable triumph of a motion picture, proving that narrative simplicity and being geared to be enjoyable need not be mutually exclusive from quality film-making. Even years from its initial release the film remains uniformly superb enough to justify the exceptional burst of merchandising and publicity, proving one of those few films as unlikely to be fully shaken from the viewer's head as the collective unconscious. Never again will it be entirely safe to go back in the water.
-10/10