No, my initial exposure to the cinematic phenomenon then sweeping the country came in the form of an IDEAL Great White-shaped scavenger game and a deluge of rubber sharks flooding the toy aisles.
It wasn't until a quiet Sunday afternoon a few years later that I finally realized what all the fuss was about.
I was visiting my dad's place, flipping through TV channels, trying to find something to hold my interest. My old man was in the garage, washing the car or something, and I had the house to myself.
I came across one of the pay movie channels, HBO or ON-TV, and the scene where Brody's son gets attacked in the estuary was just getting started. You know the one where the guy in the skiff falls in and his gnawed-off leg slowly sinks to the bottom? I remember feeling a sudden horrific thrill at the sight of that indelible image, unlike any I'd ever seen, and for the next hour, right up through when Quint becomes a "hot lunch," I sat glued to the television, perpetually sneaking glances over my shoulder, afraid that at any second my dad would come in and bust me.
My dad never did come in and that secret, heart-pounding viewing inside a non-descript '70s-era townhome, one I kept to myself for many years after, remains one of my all-time favorite cinematic experiences.
Based on Peter Benchley's 1974 bestselling novel, Jaws appears on the surface (no pun attended) as just another thrilling man-versus-beast genre tale. I mean the set-up is pretty simple: a Great White shark begins terrorizing a small New England island and a trio of heroes must work together to destroy it. A perfect recipe for a Saturday matinee or a night at the drive-in. Two hours of fun, cheap thrills, easily forgotten by morning. At the time, that was the tried-and-true, paint-by-numbers formula for these types of pictures. Fortunately for us, the makers of Jaws never got that memo.
Director Steven Spielberg had already proven himself an adept filmmaker with the 1971 TV movie Duel. What had made that film work so well was the fact that you never completely saw the menacing tanker truck chasing Dennis Weaver across the desert. You were only afforded glimpses, long shots, tire close-ups, etc. You weren't sure what the hell was chasing him and that scared you even more.
Spielberg applied the same precept for Jaws. You never completely see the shark, only outlines, until the last half hour of the film. You know there's something big, something scary lurking under that inky water and while you dread the eventual reveal, you secretly can't wait.
And then there's John Williams' score. Talk about classing up a monster movie. Sure the now-iconic "duh-dunt..duh-dunt..duh-dunt" gets all the attention, but dig deeper and you find a wonderful adventure score, full of playful nautical references and tension-packed action cues. There's a reason it earned the composer his second Oscar.
But what really allows the film to break out of its genre mold and become something truly special is the relationship between the three main leads: Brody (Roy Scheider), Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss) and Quint (Robert Shaw). Each is as different as different can be. Brody's the water-fearing chief of police, Hooper the young, sardonic marine biologist and Quint the salty shark hunter. None would have any business being around one another if it wasn't for the shark. But they form a bond that plays off one another perfectly and the result is really the main reason the film still resonates so well today.
Jaws opened on June 20, 1975 and became an instant cultural phenomenon, playing to packed houses all summer long and becoming the first film in history to gross $100 million (The Godfather had held the previous record with $86 million).
Its success signified a radical change in Hollywood as studios could now make back their investments in days instead of months or years. Everyone wanted a summer blockbuster (20th Century Fox would get theirs two years later with Star Wars), not the gritty, anti-establishment auteur films that had so memorably defined the first half of the decade. For better of worse, the tentpole picture had been born.
40 years after its release, Jaws still holds a special place in my heart. I screen it every 4th of July and each time it's like visiting with an old friend. I admit, however, after countless viewings the film no longer provides the horrific thrill of that initial screening back in the '70s.
No, my admiration today extends to just about every aspect of the production itself - direction, acting, writing, music, editing, etc. Jaws is not just a masterwork of the genre, it's a masterwork of cinema, a textbook on how to tell a story in the dark.
Most call Jaws the perfect summer film. I just call it perfect, period.
Experience Jaws as audiences did 40 years ago when it returns to select theaters June 21 and 24.
