Summer of the Shark

A couple of episodes back (Episode 61, to be exact) we devoted our time to talking about Jaws-the book (yes, there was one), the film (released some 50 years, or 50 summers, ago) its sequels (Jaws 2, Jaws 3-D, and Jaws: The Revenge-yes, sharks do take things personally, in spite of what one character says in Jaws 2), its rip-offs (Piranha, Orca, and Grizzly, to name just a few) but mostly, we talked about its impact-on films, popular culture, on Hollywood, on sharks themselves and of course, its impact on us personally.

I'd be happy to report that five decades after Summer of the Shark, that impact is over, gone, blown up like the shark at the end of the first film, improbably (impossibly, as it turns out-thanks MythBusters) reduced to bits thanks to a rifle shot into an oxygen tank. I'd be happy to report that I know longer feel that impact.

I can't do that.

I can't do that, because, after all these years, after all those summers, after all those films, articles, documentaries, follow-ups, rip-offs and homages, that book, that film, that shark, and everything that came with it, still has an effect on me.

I'm not a shark hater by any means. I think they're amazing, wonderous, fascinating creatures. I think they deserve to be respected and protected, feared and revered, admired and I can't find anything that rhymes with admired. But you get the idea.

You hear the stories about random shark attacks, but you don't hear the stories about them being illegally hunted. You see the footage of them passing through a random coast, but you don't see the footage of them fighting for their lives against man and machine. You hear the ominous theme music in your head, no matter what body of water you're next to (yes, this includes pools). That movie, and all that followed, made such an impression, such an impact on younger me (probably too young to be actually seeing that film on opening day in the summer of 75, but..) that I can't get past it even today.

When I go to the beach, anytime, every time, I'm aware of the water. I scan the horizon looking for dorsal fins. When I make it into the water, I don't stay very long, preferring the comfort and safety of the sand, a beach chair, a cold drink, a good book. This fear is pretty irrational; you’re far more likely to be hit by lightning, stung fatally by bees, or die in a car crash than to be attacked by a shark.

Oh well, see you at the beach...actually, on the sand...