Great Scenes Part II: "Jaws"

It's been a little while since I've done my last blog, mainly because I've been trying to think of something that I felt passionate enough about writing. I wanted to space out my "Great Scenes" series a little more, but that's just going to have to go by the wayside for the time being. When one gets inspired, one finds it difficult to think or write about anything else. Thus, my second "Great Scenes" entry in a row.

Since I was about nine or ten years of age, I have lived and breathed the Steven Spielberg classic Jaws. Both TBS and TNT would run this film at least five times a year, each. It would usually be on a Saturday night or Sunday afternoon. I have fond memories of sitting in front of my television and watching this film with my dad. I loved the performances by its three primary actors. I loved the dry sense of humor that was always on display. Mostly, I loved the minimal screen time of the title character. That's the most important aspect of the film; one that I mentioned previously in my salute to "The Great Adjectives". It can't be stated enough. Spielberg had a mechanical shark that did not work and, by that fault, it birthed one of the great miracles of cinema of the last forty years. This is one of my all-time favorites.

There are so many scenes in this film that I find great in one way or another. Obviously, the opening scene works very well. The killing of the Kintner boy terrifies me more than any other attack in the film. The scenes where Matt Hooper, Richard Dreyfuss' character, first arrives on the island are terrific. All of these scenes work. The one that works for me the most, though, HAS to be Quint's (Robert Shaw) speech to his two boat mates, about the U.S.S. Indianapolis. Sometimes I just put in the DVD to watch this scene, alone. It staggers me every single time. Our three main characters, Brody (Roy Scheider), Hooper, and Quint, are out to sea, tracking down the great white shark that's killed several people. These are three men of different values and ethics, but they share one common goal. I love to see different personalities onscreen coexist with one another to achieve a greater purpose. By the time we get to the Indianapolis scene, the guys have already tasseled with the predator once. It's nighttime and they're in Quint's raggedy boat, drinking and sharing stories. Quint and Hooper proceed to compare wounds they've gotten from various sharks and finally Brody asks Quint about a scar on his arm.

Quint, who's primal by nature, says that the scar comes from a tattoo that he had removed. Hooper, still drunk and playing the wound-comparison game, says, "Don't tell me. Don't tell me. 'Mother'". He laughs hysterically at his own joke and Quint is quick to point out, "Mr. Hooper, that's the U.S.S. Indianapolis". Hooper is immediately taken aback and asks, "You were on the Indianapolis?" We know that Hooper knows what the Indianapolis is, but Brody asks, "What happened?" That's where Quint lets Hooper and Brody and most importantly, the audience, in on what occurred aboard the doomed ship that delivered the atomic bomb to Hiroshima. What makes this speech so great is that Quint is drunk when he's telling it. For some reason, it gives the words an edge that it wouldn't have, if he was sober. The story is vivid and quite terrifying. I felt like he was a history teacher dictating the most important lesson of the year. It's about a five-minute speech with the most detailed visuals: the Japanese submarine slamming two torpedos into the ship's side, the tiger sharks, the Lockheed Ventura helicopter coming in to pick them up, the shipmates staying in close circles to fend off the sharks, etc. My favorite line in the whole movie is Quint's description of a shark in his drunken, Irish brogue,

"Ya' know the thing about a shark is that he's got lifeless eyes. Black eyes, like a doll's eyes. When he comes at ya', he doesn't seem to be livin'. Until he bites ya'. Then those black eyes roll over white and...oh, and then you hear that terrible high-pitch screamin'. The ocean turns red and despite of all the poundin' and hollerin', they all come in and...rip ya' to pieces"

The perfect ending to this scene, though, is when Quint begins singing the old English shanty, "Spanish Ladies", which leads Hooper right into "Show Me The Way to Go Home". This is truly the only time in the film where the three men are able to all come together and just be "mates". There's no squabbling, or stupid arguments about who's tougher. It's simply three men, some alcohol, and a perfect boat song. It comes at the perfect time, due to the intensity of the last five minutes.

In the end, this speech defines the character of Quint. He's the old salt from the sea who hunts sharks and we know why after he tells us about this terrifying event. I think what impresses me the most is that while the film is considered the starting point to the "summer blockbuster", it had enough respect for its audience to tell a brilliant story about a little-known, yet tragic event during World War II. I know I've done research on it, since I saw the film for the first time. I'm very glad Sterling Hayden and Lee Marvin turned down the role of Quint, because i truly cannot see anyone BUT Robert Shaw playing such a rugged, inappropriate individual. His being Irish just makes the character that much better. Movie monologues, especially the ones three minutes and above, have to stir something in the audience member watching. Because, by and large, our short attention spans require fast cuts and little dialouge. You'll find that a lot of my "Great Scenes" are characters talking. Speeches are my crack and, dammit, if this isn't one of the best ones in film.

On a little sadder note, I'd like to thank my wonderful co-workers at the MTSU Athletic Ticket Office, who've shown unbelievable patience in my inability to move forward in life. I've worked at the office longer than what should be considered legal, which makes it all the more difficult to say 'goodbye'. Well, I've finally gotten my act together, so I'd like to thank Dustin, Joy, Peggy, Derek, Renee, Jason, Mary, and Chris for your warmth and humor. I love you all.

Great Scenes Part I: "Lost in Translation"

Roger Ebert is, quite possibly, my favorite writer. Since I'm not as much of a reader as I want to be, I take refuge in Ebert's sharp and always fair-minded articles on films past and present. There's a pure joy in what he does and you can tell from his writing. He would give a film a chance that no one else was giving and a lot of the time, once his review was read, that movie became acceptable. He's had major influence come Oscar time just through his articles. His review of Juno and Ellen Page's performance, put that film on the map. Two months later, it was nominated for four Academy Awards including Best Picture. When he took ill in 2006, I missed his reviews greatly. I, honestly, refused to read anyone else's, because I was too familiar with his specific style of writing. When he was healthy, he would write a review every other Sunday for an older movie that he had just re-watched. This would compile into his "Great Movies" list. He's released two books with said reviews on films ranging from The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie to A Christmas Story. Saying all of this, I'm starting a little series of my own discussing some of my favorite scenes from certain films. In Sofia Coppola's beautiful Lost in Translation she pairs two seemingly different, but altogether lonely people, who find mutual attraction in one another through their loneliness. In one particular scene they lay in bed together.

You just know that Coppola went into this movie knowing how each little nuance that she wrote in her screenplay was going to play out on film. She wrote a splendid scene about two-thirds of the way through the film where the two principal characters, Bob and Charlotte, have come back to their hotel from an evening of strip clubs and chasing moving billboards to retire to their respective rooms. We see Charlotte tossing about in her bed. She gets up and wanders around the room and suddenly a note is slipped under her door. She opens it up and it's Bob wanting to know if she's still awake. Let me just say that this detail alone is very important to the overall design of Bob and Charlotte. They've known each other for two days and they already feel a necessity towards the other. Not sexually, mind you, but through a force of understanding that the two of them have. They have a love for one another that's shared through quiet talks about their lives. It's the kind of desperation that HAS to be discussed instead of numbed by the act of sex.

So, she comes to Bob's room and they share some sake while watching La Dolce Vita on tv. Eventually, they tire and commence in laying down on Bob's bed. This shows how absolutely comfortable they are with each other. They are finally able to rest easily. Half awake, they begin talking about marriage and children. Charlotte fears the long road ahead with a man that is probably not her best option. It's not that she's just opening up to Bob to be emotionally available. She's turning to Bob for help. She wants advice from a man who is not only older, but has been in the throes of a marriage stuck in neutral. Charlotte needs to know that there are rough patches, but she will be able to get through them. Bob delivers a great monologue about his marriage, but then he suddenly starts talking about his children. I felt as if he were talking to me. It's such a personal discussion. Coppola's really allowing her audience the privilege of sitting in on this intimate conversation. The most beautiful thing about this entire scene is that they allow each other to talk and, in turn, listen.

When they both start to close their eyes, they're still in this trance-like state. They're half-heartedly fighting sleep by keeping the conversation light. The brilliant thing about this scene, though, is that Coppola used this conversation as a way for them to both finally fall asleep. They just needed the comfort of each other's company to do it. I can't stress how much this type of desperation moves me. Just the idea of finding someone who stabilizes you, while you're in such a spinning motion, to the point that you just need to be in their presence. The last great moment of this scene comes in a high-angled shot over the bed, looking at the two of them. Both of their eyes are closed and they haven't said a single word for about ten to fifteen seconds. Slowly, Bob places his hand on Charlotte's foot. It's one of the most intimate moments I've seen in a film. The subtlety of it speaks volumes. This is a friendship that is playful and fun. The ending works so well, because you're not sad that they won't end up together; you're sad because they may never have a chance to talk, again. Ultimately, that's the scariest prospect of any friendship.

I've met too many people who disliked this film because they thought it lacked the proper emotion they felt most Hollywood films have. I completely disagree. I love being able to follow characters around during a film and just listen to them talk. Coppola achieved something so rare in a film. She was able to create a writer's film where there wasn't a whole lot of talking. We did quite a bit of observing. What makes it a writer's film, though, is that when there is a conversation, namely between Bob and Charlotte, there's not a wasted word. We make sure that we listen. The bed scene in Lost in Translation is the best example of two people just being. Love has never looked so real.