We've Got a Panic on Our Hands on the Fourth of July

By Deirdre Crimmins, Rue Morgue

So much of film rhetoric is wild conjecture. It seems like any film released is bound to be labeled the “best” of something or the “worst” of something, regardless of if that film is actually anything to get excited about. There are, however, some films that stand the test of time and are worthy of every single extreme statement made. Jaws is deserving of each “best of” list it takes a seat in, every undergraduate film paper written on its artistry and every special event that takes place around this time of year. It really is that good.

In the 50 years since Jaws was released, there has been plenty of lore around the film and its place in cinematic history. The widely confirmed rumors of Robert Shaw and Richard Dreyfuss bickering on set. The posturing that it was the first summer blockbuster, which set a precedent for big, action films that carries on to this day. But by far, my favorite story out is that of the uncooperative mechanical shark named Bruce.

Bruce is the nickname given to all three of the misfiring and elaborate props created to animate the deadly shark in Jaws. Named after director Steven Spielberg’s lawyer, the moniker has since gone on to inspire Disney to name a great white in Finding Nemo after this as well.

Bruce was originally intended to be the splashy (pun intended) star of the film. But just like a spoiled child actor, he refused to come out of his metaphorical dressing room and perform. The rubber-dressed machines would just not work as they were designed, and the whole crew had to scramble to somehow piece together enough footage to make a shark movie—without seeing much of the shark.

Though woefully over budget by more than double and late on delivery to the studio by months, what was eventually released by Universal Pictures turned out to be one of the best monster movies of all time. In fact, the lack of shark shots is one of the many factors that earns Jaws all that deserving praise.

Without seeing the shark on screen for the first acts, aside from quick glances at fins and water wakes from its movement, it’s more like a phantom haunting Martha’s Vineyard than it is a flesh-based foe. Imaginations are often better at crafting terror than reality, and by not seeing the shark with our own eyes, our imaginations can create something far more ghastly than what the reality might be. And as the concerned but irrational citizens of Amity argue early on about whether or not the shark is real or how big it might be, we cannot really fault them because we have not yet seen the shark ourselves either: only the carnage and the bloody waves.

It is not merely that Spielberg hid the shark from view as much as he could, but rather how he hid the shark from the screen. For many of the early attacks, the camera (and by extension, the audience) are the shark.

Shooting killers from a point-of-view (POV) shot is nothing new to modern audiences, but to audiences in 1975, it was still a bit of a novelty. The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, an early establishment of killer POV as a hallmark of the slasher genre, came out the year before Jaws, and was the beginning of a cinematic pattern. Sure, POV killers such as Psycho and Peeping Tom had released nearly 15 years before, but filmmaking had changed since then. Cameras were getting lighter and sound equipment more mobile. The technological opportunity to shoot from a perspective other than a mere camera observer was now more available and appealing to both filmmakers and audiences. Now, we can be the shark or the Sawyer family. And, in placing our gaze in theirs, filmmakers conveniently get to avoid showing the monsters themselves. The focus is on their terror of the victim, and the audience is no longer a bystander.

I am by no means saying that Jaws is a slasher, but it certainly does use some of the visual language of the budding horror subgenre, just as that subgenre is beginning to take identifiable shape.

In talking about the creative and effective solutions to avoid showing a shark in a shark movie, I have to talk about the barrels. In the film’s climax, when the three men in a boat have finally located the man-eating shark, they shoot Bruce with a harpoon that is attached to a bright yellow barrel so that they can better keep tabs on him. For nearly the rest of the film, these barrels are what brings tension and fear to the film. Granted, we are afraid of the barrels because we know what they are attached to, and not by the nature of the barrels themselves. But this still remains such a genius substitution in the film that sacrifices no atmosphere or mortal worry. Those barrels are terrifying.

Those barrels happen to also be one of the best ice breakers if you find yourself hanging about a bunch of film nerds. About 10 years ago, I found myself outside a bar after a long day at a genre film festival. Sobriety had long since left the chat, and a bunch of critics and filmmakers were standing in the same circular formation as an awkward group of middle schoolers at their first school dance. It was past 2 a.m., and though tired, no one was quite ready to end the day finitely. One filmmaker suddenly turned his head up to the group and said, “What about those barrels in Jaws?” All of a sudden, the group was wide awake and excitedly talking about those beautiful barrels. How they worked, how they were inspired by them and what other proverbial barrels they had spotted in films over the years. It was exciting to see that every person there could have something to say, and in a moment, the night was young again.

As an experiment, I’ve brought up these barrels in other filmish conversations as they hit a lull, with the same general effect. In fact, if you ever end up finding me bringing up these barrels in conversation face-to-face, take it with flattery. It means I find you interesting, and do not want the night to end.

This is what I opened up this article celebrating. The legacy of Jaws can still bring folks together, 50 years after its release. It is why we still wear Jaws shirts, crush our cans of Narragansett and talk to strangers about barrels. It really is that good.

Post created and provided by Rue Morgue