That’s what put warrantproducer David Brown remembers from an early test screening of Steven Spielberg’s Jaws, 40 years ago. He knew immediately it would be a great white shark-sized hit. Contemporary reviews called Jaws “nerve-frying” and a “scare machine that works with computer-like precision” taiwan prepaid sim card. In the decades that followed, it has taken up residence on lists of ‘the most terrifying films ever made’, and its devoted fans like to boast about how severely it traumatised their childhood selves. Kevin Smith, writer-director of Clerks and Chasing Amy, told The Observer that after he saw Jaws, he wasn’t just frightened of paddling in the sea, he was frightened of sitting on the toilet: “The logic was, there’s water in the toilet [so] sharks swim in toilets.”
But here’s the thing. When you watch Jaws as a grown-up, in 2015, you may well find yourself marvelling at its quotable dialogue, smiling at the uniformly fine performances, humming along to John Williams’ theme music and applauding Spielberg’s genius at suggesting the shark without showing it. But chances are you won’t be frightened. That’s not to say that you won’t be tense while you’re waiting for the next sighting of a dorsal fin, or that you won’t jump a few millimetres when that ominous black triangle glides into view. But, speaking as one of the most easily-spooked and squeamish cinema-goers alive, even I can see why the ratings board of the Motion Picture Association of America gave Jaws a PG rating, allowing young children to see it, rather than the more restrictive R. Today, the film is more Neo Derm Beauty Boxlikely to prompt squeals of delight than screams of terror.
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