Jaws, Directed by Steven Spielberg

Universal Pictures, June 20, 1975 (US)

Screenplay: Peter Benchley and Carl Gottlieb, based on the novel by Peter Benchley

Starring: Roy Scheider, Robert Shaw, and Richard Dreyfuss

A day at the beach, snoozing away sun-drenched dreams on a warm and cozy bed of sand before coming to. An inevitable quick dip cool off is required. But enter at your own risk. Dun, dun. The music plays in your head, slow, ominous, building—dun dun, dun dun. The sudsy wake feels oh-so-right splashing over sand-crusted toes and feet that edge gingerly out into the cool but inviting sea. What can possibly be wrong here?

Dun dun, dun dun. A red flag above the lifeguard station signifies a strong undertow today that has the power to pull you under, drag you out, never to return. And don’t forget to do the Sanibel Shuffle: wear water shoes and shuffle through the murky ocean bottom instead of picking your feet up and stepping. The shuffle provides sufficient warning to stingrays. If nudged, they will most likely push off peacefully, along on their merry way. If stepped on … well, that won’t end pretty.

Avoid swimming in darkness or twilight hours. For that is the time … (more on that later).

Snorkeling in an alcove in Maui, your eyes are focused on the kaleidoscope of breathtaking iridescence that surrounds you as you swim with the fishes and coral—all shapes, colors, and sizes. There is no chance at all to see what’s coming, directly up ahead. Dun dun, dun dun. Holy…! Your shoulder torn off! The pain! The horror! It takes a few moments before you realize it was a jellyfish and your shoulder is still intact although the throbbing, stinging pain persists. Is this what electrocution is? After a meat tenderizer rubdown back at the hotel by a friendly concierge (who teaches you that in a pinch, rubbing a mixture of wet sand can also do the trick in removing the venomous tentacles), all that remains are a few more days of soreness and a new addition to the accumulating layers of fear racked up in regards to the beautiful, menacing sea.

But of course, all previously alluded to phobias pail in comparison to the grandam of them all. Back to the warning about swimming in twilight hours or in darkness, which is apparently the time when hungry sharks are most active and have a competitive sensory advantage. Dun dun … it is a fear that was first born from fiction with an assist to an unforgettable musical score. Dun dun, dun dun. Although news reports provide no shortage of real life attacks to play upon your fears, if truth be told it is a film that will forever deserve the blame. Looking out from the beach at the wavy water beyond, you cannot help but wonder if today might be the day. The premonition intensifies the further away from safety you get. This will be the day your torso is ripped in two in one ferocious chomp and all your bloody remains—shredded stomach, mangled arms and legs, severed head—will be swallowed whole by a gigantic great white killer of killers.

Mayor Larry Vaughn (Murray Hamilton): And I’m not going to stand here and see that thing cut open and see that little Kintner boy spill out all over the dock.

Now, even nibbles from minnows in fresh water lakes (fear trumps logic) sounds the alarm.

Ellen Brody (Lorraine Gary): Michael! Did you hear your father? Out of the water now! NOW!

And don’t think that the cheap blowup raft you got at the five and dime is an answer either. Maybe you feel safe above the stingrays buried below in the sand, but you know by now this isn’t about stingrays or even jellyfish anymore. From atop the raft, your arms-turned-oars are lowered into the water to guide the way and splash. They also serve the purpose of making you and your blowup raft look suspiciously and deliciously similar to a seal showing off its tasty fat belly along the surface of the water, flapping its sonar-come-and-get-it dinner call. Dun dun, dun dun.

It has been said that shark attacks remain a rare phenomenon and often a case of mistaken identity. (Somehow the latter fact does not seem all too comforting, really.) But to be as safe as possible, there are things to do in the water to lessen the likelihood of becoming the next CNN headline. To name a few: stay in groups, don’t wear shiny jewelry, avoid excessive splashing, use extra caution by sandbars, and avoid swimming at twilight or at night. But why is it that such tips just seem to add to the mounting dread? Nothing can ever take away the fear first instilled by a 1975 film. Since then, it somehow seems like the best tip of all is to stay the hell out of the water completely.

But that won’t happen. The ocean’s wondrous beauty beckons, offering its mysterious and magical promise, its healing rewards. We have little choice but to face our fears and take the plunge, albeit accompanied by a creepy little score that plays on without end inside the same heads we hope will remain happily attached to our non-bitten bodies, if and when we ever do return to safely back to shore.

-G

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