A Perfect Engine: Jaws

It’s got nothing to do with flags or fireworks, and there’s really only one scene that takes place on the holiday, but Jaws has become the quintessential Fourth of July movie for me, more so than more overt examples like Independence Day or Yankee Doodle Dandy.  I watch it every year, and today’s viewing will be under the stars with a bunch of other like-minded people at the Enzian.  Weather remaining kind, of course.

I think a large part of that connection is that Jaws is the definitive summer movie.  It kicked off the whole idea of movies released in the summer being profitable (which is a blessing or a curse, depending on who you ask), and the whole story is built around those staples of summer, vacations and beaches and tourists.  You can almost feel the hot sand between your toes, and smell the tang of salt sea air mixed with sun tan lotion.  It’s a total warm weather movie, and while it’s no less effective a film if viewed in December or January, something just feels right about watching Jaws on a humid July evening.

And while it’s not some patriotic, flag-waving piece, Jaws does have some things to say about America.  There’s the obvious commentary, the mindless hordes of vacationers lining up to be eaten, but there’s also some sly social commentary of the country in 1975 going on.  As I wrote in my entry on Jaws during my Immortal Beard series last year:

Jaws debuted in June of 1975, two months after the fall of Saigon and the conclusion of the Vietnam War.  The country was less than a year removed from the resignation of President Nixon and the Watergate Scandal.  The country had just lost a war and a president and was probably at its lowest point in living memory.  In that light, it’s hard not to see Quint, Brody and Hooper as three competing versions of America, who had so recently clashed over Vietnam:  the rough-hewn, experienced elder, the steady, even-headed adult, and the brash, confident youth.  The rivalry between Quint and Hooper is particularly revealing, a clash between old and new, neither wanting to give any ground to the other.  And when they do, it’s grudgingly, either with the assistance of copious amounts of alcohol as in the dinner scene where the Indianapolis speech takes place, or when all other options seem to have run out, as when Quint finally asks Hooper just what he can do with the shark cage he brought on board.  The irony is, of course, that Quint and Hooper aren’t really all that different.  They’re both obsessed with sharks in their own way, even if they come at their obsession from different places, and they’re both much more at home aboard the Orca than Brody is.  But in the end, neither the brute force of Quint nor the technical prowess of Hooper wins out; it’s the staunch determination of Brody that carries the day, sticking to his guns on a sinking ship.  The two extremes of the Vietnam era fail, while the calmer middle succeeds when everything is falling apart.

In that sense, Jaws is about the triumph of the ordinary man, that bedrock of America so canonized on days like this.

And of course, the film is just amazing as a piece of entertainment.  I’ve seen it dozens of times, and I’m still legitimately excited to see it again tonight with an audience.  I want to see them jump in terror at the opening scene. I want to hear them laugh at the humor.  I want to see them cheer the ending.  Even the most familiar of films take on new life when filtered through the perceptions and reactions of a bunch of people you don’t know, and I’m looking forward to what new things reveal themselves tonight.  And hopefully that shared experience will be the best of example of why Jaws is a perfect Fourth of July movie:  it brings people together, and makes them one for a few hours.  I’ll take that over fleeting fireworks any day.