By: Sara Barnes
The movie theater was dark and cool on a warm day. I was a little tentative meeting my new romantic interest’s sister for the first time. The movie was already a big deal, but it hadn’t been on my radar. The movie opened. Surprise! I discovered places I recognized from Martha’s Vineyard! Once I realized its location, I found myself having a hard time following the plot, my inner location scout scouring the scenes for, I know that place!
The scruffy and plainspoken characters struck a familiar Island tone, and I was lulled into thinking I was in friendly territory. So, when the first shark attack came, I was nowhere close to ready. Sitting next to the sister, I jumped and grabbed her wrist so hard she had marks. After that she always looked at me with suspicion. I thought of the movie encounter as the cause, though there was probably something much more values-based, or personality-based, or it was just cultural—I was 17 and she 26, and we did march to very different drummers.
The Jaws historical context
Distracting oneself required some concerted effort in 1975. There was so little in the life experience that was predictable in the United States. The continuing Vietnam war and the fall of Saigon, the erosion of the presidency (vice president corruption/resigned, Watergate and the presidential resignation), the post-assassination decade, the destabilized economy (oil embargo, stock market crash, unemployment and recession crises), ongoing movements for justice for African Americans, women, LGBTQ; an engaging movie was welcomed by many.
Filmed on Martha’s Vineyard, the movie employed and was adopted by many Islanders. There was something about the story—silly and outdated leaders holding strong to simplistic, unexamined solutions. It tracked with the historical period and made sense to those living on the Vineyard. Enter complexity and scientific analysis à la Richard Dreyfuss—the educated and earnest guy from Woods Hole (I know that place!), the new sheriff from off-Island, the grizzled shark hunter—Quint (he looks familiar!). The town meeting. It may have been called Amity, but we all recognized our Island.
Read the full version of this Mediation Musings essay here.