JAWS (1975) *** Long, long ago, when J. K. Rowling was Harry Potter's age, junior high kids didn't have anything hip written for us. So we gravitated towards adult pulp, and Peter Benchley's Jaws saw its copies more traded and worn than anything else. It wasn't a great work-it wasn't even as good as The Deep, but it hinted of adulthood with its drinking and adultery, and there was some mysterious attraction to the shark. The film, then, was the most eagerly anticipated film of its time. Steven Spielberg wisely decided that he didn't have any time for that adulterating nonsense, any dialogue at all threatened his precious rhythm. John Williams theme was ominous, and some of the incidental music was even better, though some (when the shark's pulling the boat) outrageously corny. Roy Scheider looked serious as the cop who cares enough to battle both shark and politician, and Richard Dreyfuss had no problem playing the smart-aleck biologist in a jean jacket in the way that allowed us all to identify with him; as if we, too, were brilliant, filthy rich geniuses who had dedicated our lives to science. Robert Shaw was best of all, but maybe brilliant only when he gathers momentum through the revelation of story telling. If the characters weren't drawn particularly deep, and the male energy contrived, and the shark not entirely convincing, we didn't care and didn't have to pretend not to notice. We'd read the book, you fill those things in the way that makes them work. So, anyway, it's a cool flick about a brilliantly-paced fight between a shark and three guys, but one in which the interior and exterior subtexts are both more important. Spielberg understood it all, and worked it all, establishing himself as a director who has no difficulty working simultaneously on levels so far apart that they can't even see each other...levels so subconscious as to assume the shape of.... of a shark! Aaaaaaah!! (spill your popcorn here)

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