And to Think It Was All Started by a Fish

I was ten years old when Jaws hit movie theaters in 1975. There was no particular reason why my parents would take me and my siblings to see such a movie. Even after the movie became the hit of that summer, one that forever altered the summer movie-going experience, we still didn’t go. In general, the ‘rents didn’t like shelling out for theater runs, and they certainly didn’t relish the thought of dealing with the nightmares that would inevitably ensue among their three young sons after such a viewing.

How wise they were! A few summers later, when we visited a beloved aunt who lived at the Jersey Shore, she unhesitatingly took us to see the sequel at a drive-in. It’s generally acknowledged today that that movie (and all the sequels that followed) were terrible, but tell that to a kid who refused to enter the water for the rest of his so-called beach vacation.

Even today, I don’t really “do” horror. Don’t read or watch much of it, because, well, it scares me. The Jaws movie poster and the gigantic black-and-white ads that appeared in our local newspaper that year both mesmerized and scared me off. But this was also a transitional period for me, during which I routinely dipped in and out of grown-up books. And wherever I prowled garage sales, flea markets, and library sales, the Bantam paperback edition of Jaws was ubiquitous and dirt cheap. The going rate for used paperbacks then was ten cents. Who could resist?

The book scared the bejesus out of me, of course. It was coldly scientific, and occasionally salacious. The affair between Chief Brody’s wife and ichthyologist Hooper, for one thing, is something I can recall with a crazy amount of detail today, though I haven’t looked at the book in forty-plus years. Guess their sex scene was seared into my brain. For years after, I didn’t rush to read other books Peter Benchley wrote, but they were always on my radar. I read one of his later thrillers as a slightly older kid who was now interested in writing, and I remember mulling it over for days. How few characters he needed to create conflict, how the action of the book neatly shook down into three decent acts, and so on.

After college, a girlfriend dragged me to see Jaws: The Revenge, which I frankly found repellant on so many levels that I never dipped into the franchise again.

I had occasion to reconsider my Jaws experience sometime last year when my wife bought the first and arguably only watchable film, and started leaving it on while we cooked dinner. It’s crazy; this film was such a huge part of American culture, but I don’t think I had ever watched it all the way through until now.

Once, for work, I had traveled to Martha’s Vineyard—where the movie was shot—to interview a coppersmith for a home magazine. I spent an entire day with the (now departed) Travis Tuck, driving around the island to look at all the weathervanes he had designed and constructed for his high-end clients. But the very first weathervane he created, which launched his career, was a raging shark for the top of Quint’s shack. (The artisan firm Tuck started still sells replicas, and they’ve since created a velociraptor for one of Spielberg’s homes.)

T-shirt No. 1

I knew Tuck’s story. I had seen photos of the weathervane he created, but I still never watched the entire film. And when I did, finally, two things leaped out at me. One: Hollywood would never allow such normal-looking people in movies these days. The film looks like Spielberg went to Martha’s Vineyard and just started shooting ordinary people he saw walking around. Not even the movie stars—Shaw, Scheider, Dreyfuss, etc.—look like movie stars. Two: the film adheres to a nearly flawless story structure better than Benchley’s book.

Some people call it a horror movie, but most describe it as a thriller. Our own Fran Rizer called it a “howdunnit,” because the killer is known from the beginning. We watch, she said, to learn how our heroes will catch and kill it.

Most stories need a character in a setting with a problem. The character tries to solves the problem, and fails. Their try/fail cycle continues as the stakes rise. Things go south, leading to a moment when all is nearly lost. The character must do or die. And lo—he/she succeeds and triumphs. That’s police chief Brody in Jaws.

The biggest chunk of action happens when these three very different men hit the open sea to kill the shark. Their skills levels vary, but each has their own reasons for being there. In the end, the guy with the least shark experience defeats the monster. Holy crap—a great story.

I dug deep into the lore of my new favorite old movie a few weeks ago. When my wife returned from a trip to Martha’s Vineyard with a girlfriend, she presented me a couple of Jaws T-shirts that will I never wear for fear of coffee stains. And when she told me that Vineyarders are gearing up to celebrate the 50th Anniversary of the film next year, my mind was blown. The significance of the dates had escaped me.

Gee—time flies, huh, folks?

This April 1974 New York Times Magazine
cover story offered a comprehensive
behind-the-scenes look at the
book’s journey to publication.
(Link to story below.)

It’s actually a dual anniversary. The book pubbed in February 1974, which makes 2024 a 50^th anniversary suitable for a lesson in the changing world of book publishing. Imagine: a writer meets for lunch with a book editor, sketches out an idea for a book he thinks he might want to write, and the editor offers to pay him a $1,000 just to write the first three chapters, and see what they all think about the concept.

After the editor buys the full manuscript, he circulates a few chapters around the office daring his fellow staffers to read the first chapter only. They all know they have something potentially big, but they waffle on the title and cover art. I don’t think the book would have had the same punch if it had been called Leviathan Rising, or The Stillness in the Water, as originally proposed.

When the book launched, it was reviewed twice by the New York Times (something that still happens to this day), with both reviewers dismissing it snottily. Lord, what fools these mortals be! The hardcover parked itself on the Times Bestseller List for 45 weeks, and the paperback sold 9 million copies by the end of 1975, after the movie came out. (The book sales figure stands at an estimated 20 million today) Bantam’s paperback, which is the one I read and the edition we all know, is the first one to carry that indelible shark image that made the franchise. (You can read the story behind the book’s covers at a link below; apparently the original painting has been lost.)

T-shirt No. 2. Wish I knew who designed it.

The movie was Spielberg’s third. It was a big deal to entrust an $8 million movie to a neophyte director who was not yet 30. His decision to shoot on the open sea instead of a backlot tank was a choice that nearly bankrupted the production. Saltwater wreaked havoc with the pneumatic guts of “Bruce,” the three mechanical robots that brought the monster to life, causing the production to fall behind by about 100 days.

We, they, all of us laugh about this now. The finished film was the first to earn $100 million, and it taught Hollywood the wisdom of releasing summer “tentpole” or (must-see blockbusters) films. It also taught them that sequels could be a great thing for them, albeit only occasionally for us. The success transformed author Peter Benchley into a lifetime activist and advocate for marine life. A longtime lover of the sea, he was horrified to learn that the thing he created was now responsible for the wanton slaughter of sharks by macho idiots who believed that they were purging the seas of manhunters. Before he died in 2006 at age 65, he told interviewers that he regretted creating the impression that a great white would intentionally attack humans out of spite or malice.

Script is currently only available
from the licensors of the play.

It’s interesting to see how the book and film keep spawning new creations, and no, I’m not just talking about T-shirts, yellow drum earrings, and Jaws-themed etsy swag. Right before Covid, a small stage play called The Shark is Broken debuted in London, co-written by Ian Shaw, the son of actor Robert Shaw, who so masterfully portrayed the shark hunter Quint in the film. Poignantly, Ian Shaw played his father in both the London and New York productions.

The 90-minute comedy-drama is takes place during the filming of Jaws, when the three main actors—Scheider, Shaw, and Dreyfuss—are stuck aboard the set of their boat, the Orca, killing time, playing pub games, drinking heavily, and bickering while Spielberg’s team tries to fix their famously temperamental mechanical “co-star.”

I loved reading the playscript. I think it would make an engaging, funny movie in its own right, but I should probably mention that reviews have been mixed on both sides of the pond. The Shaw character struggles with his alcoholism throughout the play, and twice botches his famous USS Indianapolis scene. He despises the lines the scriptwriters have asked him to speak, and begs Spielberg’s indulgence to rewrite it. (The elder Shaw was an accomplished novelist and playwright.) The play culminates with his rendition of what is now regarded as one of the greatest monologues in cinema. It’s the scene that reveals Quint’s psychology and why he wants the shark dead.

Of course, the larger conceit of the play is that all three actors have no freaking clue how well this movie will do, and how it will forever change their lives. Well, I thought as I read, they were hardly alone, were they?

Thanks for reading. Some background material that you might enjoy:

A look back at the book phenomenon. (NYT)

An article on the making of the iconic cover design. (Print Mag)

The exhaustive 1974 article on the making of the bestseller. (NYT Mag)

Widow of Peter Benchley shares her recollections. (Marthas Vineyard Times)

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See you in three weeks!

Joe

josephdagnese.com