JAWS...movie that gripped me really!

A stunning, still terrifying, movie, Jaws sucks three men down to the level of a perfect eating machine while keeping perspective upon their essential humanity. The scene is Amity Island, favourite holiday destination, and the time is summer, just before the 4th of July holiday. Early in the morning police chief Martin Brody (Roy Scheider) gets called out, alerted to a possible drowning. The severed arm that rests among the dunes, however, rules out this avenue of thought. In his first season on the island it's exactly the sort of horror that Brody hoped to avoid by leaving New York. Still this doesn't appear to be your typical city crime; the local pathologist rates the incident as a shark attack.
It's only under pressure from Mayor Larry Vaughn (Murray Hamilton) that this verdict gets rescinded, downgraded to a boating tragedy. As a politician and a local, Vaughn wants the beach kept open at all costs. Unfortunately when a little kid is taken, right in front of his mother, all hell breaks loose. With a bounty on the shark's head, amateur fishermen flock to Amity like hook-happy lemmings. With them comes Matt Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss), a marine biologist and shark specialist; he alone realises the size of Amity's unwelcome guest. Even the eccentric but experienced Quint (Robert Shaw) doesn't realise what he's stumbled into when he offers to reel in the beast for $10,000. Yet, through the wonder of procrastination, Brody, Hooper and Quint will all get to stare death in the face.
A directorial tour-de-force, with Jaws Steven Spielberg demonstrates an astounding knack for contrasting moments of sheer terror with natural feeling. Even when foreboding wraps your rib cage in a vice-like grip, there is room for touching scenes of beauty. Yet to concentrate on this aspect of Spielberg's talent is to jump the gun; throughout the first half of the film the central trio are barely threatened. In this long, never for one instant boring, build-up, Spielberg achieves two things. First, he makes us care for the three men about to be crammed together in a leaky tub. We care because these characters are endowed with separate, distinct pasts and feelings that touch on more than the immediate crisis. Second, throughout most of the film we barely glimpse the shark; instead our imagination has over an hour to dream up horrifying images and gross scenarios. These factors alone ensure that Jaws retains its dizzying impact decades after first light.
Despite this juggernaut momentum, that Spielberg harnesses and bends to his will, the leading trio of Dreyfuss, Scheider and Shaw resist with incredible strength. Without the slightest evidence of effort, all three dig deeply into their roles; from Jaws' lucky dip they drag motivation, history, phobias and destiny.
Thus Dreyfuss is a rich kid with rich kid's toys, entranced by the danger and mystery that sharks represent. He's familiar with the ocean and how to work with its power; what he's never had to do is gain a living from the sea or evade the chance of dying by its salty clutch. This is Shaw's territory. He's been scarred, rewarded, tortured and reborn, yet the waves continue to hold a deranged fascination for Quint. He's made a sailor's pact with Neptune, open-eyed to his probable fate; all Quint asks is for a shot at the best. In a remarkable change of pace, Scheider is not just a landlubber but also an island dweller that's terrified of the water. It's a crazy notion yet Scheider pulls it off with honesty, warmth, humour and a knowledge of what it's like to leave your comfort zone far behind.
Together these three provide sufficient friction to keep us entertained even as they work together for a single goal; the enormity of the challenge rivets all but the most impatient to their seat. Of course, while the dialogue sparkles and the ensemble acting is wonderful (even amongst the bit parts), these elements alone do not a classic film make. What lifts Jaws high up is the technically sure hand of Spielberg, displaying impressive maturity for one so young. Exceptional, sharp editing ensures that not a single scene is wasted; each builds on that which came before. Overlapping dialogue, such that you often get the gist of what's been said without being able to separate the words, proves wonderfully realistic. Spielberg's choice of shot is occasionally inspired, implying far more than is shown. When suspense is required, it's drawn piano-wire tight, vibrating to the slightest touch. Yes, Jaws is a quite remarkable movie, propelled by a pace that simply refuses to slacken.
Ironically then it's probably the technical limitations faced by Spielberg that forced him to make a better film than might otherwise have emerged. Saddled with a shoal of uncooperative rubber sharks, Spielberg came to rely on the unseen. For much of the time the shark is little more than a shadow or a brief glimpse of fin, the luck of being based on a naturally camouflaged monster. When the shark finally lurches bodily out of the water it's a shock, despite its rubber glory. In fact the effects inJaws still look reasonable, though this is more a result of the aforementioned directorial "choice" than due to the superiority of the effects themselves. Spielberg makes it so easy to suspend your disbelief that you've got to actively work against the film to dislike it, to see the joins. Even better, Jaws is just awesome on the big screen, gaining an impact that you don't realise is missing on television. Writ large the characters gain stature, the violence is more shocking and the tragedy greater.
When these harmonious elements sum, the result is a memorable film that stands up to repeat viewing. Spielberg plunges into the emotional currents of Jaws, forcing the camera upon his cast. Their panic, fear, anger, bewilderment and smugness rolls forth in waves. It's a remarkable directorial feat. Jaws still stands as one of Spielberg's finest, most triumphant, heart-stopping movies, which is really saying something when you consider his filmography. This is an eternal classic, badly let down by its sequels.