The Lasting Impact of Jaws on Our Fears
Fifty years ago, I went to see Jaws with my friend Raymond in a theater near Cherry Hill, New Jersey. It was a packed show, just a day after its release on June 20, 1975. Having read the book by Peter Benchley, I had my doubts—thinking it was just a rehash of Moby Dick with a shark. But the excitement around the movie was hard to ignore, especially since director Steven Spielberg had already made a big splash with his earlier film, Duel.
Looking back, that evening watching Jaws turned out to be unforgettable. It was a perfect blend of scares and laughs, making it one of the most enjoyable nights I’ve ever had at the movies. My impression was shared by millions who flocked to theaters over the years. Jaws became a defining hit, marking the start of the summer blockbuster season in Hollywood.
On a personal note, the film changed my perception of the ocean in a way I didn’t anticipate. Since that fateful weekend, I’ve had a lingering fear of venturing too deep into the sea. I often hear a nagging voice in my head asking, "What if something is lurking just beneath the surface?" The thought of a sharp-toothed predator waiting for me is enough to keep me on the shore.
It’s interesting how our minds work. My fear of sharks isn’t an adrenaline rush but more like a constant background dread. It’s a bit like the haunting music from the movie that sticks with you long after the film ends.
Even swimming pools unsettle me, reminding me of that memorable scene where the shark menaces from afar. I didn’t feel this way right after the movie; I was thrilled, but over time, the fear settled in. Statistically, the chances of a shark attack are extremely low, yet that doesn’t comfort me. I have other phobias that occupy my mind, yet the fear of sharks is one that remains.
Since Jaws came out, I’ve noticed others share similar feelings. I bet there are countless folks who still find it hard to shake off shark-related thoughts. In fact, there’s an intense story from 1975 about a girl who saw the film and was later admitted to a hospital—hallucinating that sharks were attacking her despite living far from any ocean.
Spielberg may not have aimed to instill fear, just create a successful film, but perhaps there’s a deeper lesson here about unseen dangers. Jaws taps into a universal fear that many can relate to—the fear of death or something that could disrupt our lives unexpectedly.
The themes of Jaws mirror those in classics like Moby Dick, hinting at a darker force waiting to strike. From literature to cinema, the concept of a lurking fear has always captivated audiences.
What makes Jaws so chilling is its masterful climactic build-up. Spielberg skillfully keeps the shark mostly hidden, creating an atmosphere of dread that grips your attention. When it finally surfaces, it’s a chilling spectacle that leaves a lasting impression.
As summer approaches, many will flock to the beach and enjoy the waves, but I won’t be among them, still haunted by the memories and fears sparked by Jaws. I used to plan to reconnect with Raymond to discuss our experiences with the film. Sadly, I found out he passed away recently, which brings another layer of reflection—the unexpected dangers that life presents.
In the end, while my fear of sharks endures, I’ve come to realize that life holds greater uncertainties. Rather than worry about unseen threats, perhaps we should focus on what truly matters—our relationships and the connections we sometimes take for granted.
