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stasia_title.gif, 520x117 resolution, 5KB. Stasia McGehee - Avatars / Character Animation / RT3D Environments

Jaws (Steven Spielberg, 1975) Stasia McGehee 12/8/97

The Pursuit of Life, Liberty and Happiness - Industry vs. the Individual
Of all the directors encountered to date, Spielberg most optimistically affirms the status quo, paying tribute to family values, the nuclear family, capitalism, democracy, and the American Dream. It is true that the citizens’ pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness (most notably the former) is rudely jeopardized by the appearance of a giant "feeding machine," whose ravenous impulses are aided by the capitalistic greed of Amity’s mayor. But by portraying the overt corruption of the city council as palpably destructive, such a compromise of values is depicted as a breach of American principles, and not the norm.

The protagonist, Chief Brody, is caught between his own conviction of what is right, the closing of the beaches, and Mayor Vaughn’s mandate to keep them open during the tourist season. Hence, as one vandalized billboard taunts, the 4th of July becomes an open season on Tourists, as The Great White Shark goes on a feeding frenzy. This precipitates the hunt, embarked upon by Quint - the obsessive seaman, Hooper - the learned scientist, and Brody - the hydrophobic police chief. In the end, Jaws is consumed by his indiscriminate appetite, as he ingests the explosive tanks of oxygen. Ultimately it is the moral order espoused by the police chief that wins out, yet at the same time, the interests of a capitalistic economy are served as well. Unhampered by the nuisance of fatalities, now the tourist industry may flourish, perhaps even benefiting from the recent notoriety.

The White Picket Fence, and Other Motifs of Americana
Spielberg’s reactionary ideology is supported by a host of idealized images, both nostalgic and stereotyped. The Yankee setting of Amity is quintessentially American. Motif’s of white picket fences, marching bands, 4th of July parades, and precious children comprise a tableaux reminiscent of Norman Rockwell. And the saga of the destructive sea creature is reminiscent of that great American classic, Moby Dick. Details of the monomaniacal Captain Ahab have been transposed onto the obsessive Quint, whose boat "Orca" sinks without a trace, not unlike the ill-fated "Pequod." The men’s hunt for the Great White comprises the dramatic action, and like its literary precursor, explores the theme of male bonding during times of crises. Yet unlike Ishmael, Spielberg’s Captain Brody, the moderate voice of reason, is not only left to narrate the adventure tale, but will return home to preside over the nuclear family, to inflect future generations with his-story. Spielberg’s idealized family perfectly embodies the so-called "family values" espoused by right wing political candidates. The father is the sole breadwinner, responsible yet isolated. The wife is supportive, but not too involved in his career, never hampering the progress of the main action. And the boy children, of course, are adorable yet resourceful.

The Predator’s Gaze
The only woman with any semblance of initiative and courage is heartily dispensed with in the first act, as the teenage girl becomes the shark’s first victim. Highly sensational and exploitative, the opening scene adopts a masculine gaze that is both predatory and voyeuristic; it repels yet titillates, as we are forced to assume the vantage point of a hungry shark, tempted by the delicate morsel before us. Thus, we are not allowed to passively observe the carnage; implicated by our point of view, we are sucked into the drama.

After the girl’s untimely demise, the nauseated grimace on the policeman’s face heightens our anticipation of the grisly spectacle to come. Our morbid appetites are partially appeased by a pile of kelp, crawling with crabs, buzzing with flies (predatory instincts in miniature), so close to the camera as to be partially out of focus. Jutting from the unidentifiable mass is a woman’s well-manicured hand, long nails impressively intact, beckoning fingers curled in a gesture that are still inviting, a continuation of her original invitation to skinny dip. In the background we see the disturbed countenance of Chief Brody who acts as a surrogate to the viewer, surveying the remains in all its gory splendor. Gazing at Brody, we identify with him; and although the fare is measly, we feel as if we too are partaking of that visual repast. This voyeuristic element is carried into the next scene as well. As the oceanographer examines the woman’s remains, we catch another glimpse of her manicured nails, as he gasps from the horror of her "denuded bone." Such subliminal suggestions encourage our participation in this spectacle of exploitation, while simultaneously whetting the appetite for the violence that follows, until we are eager to voraciously feed upon the proffered blood bath.

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