CJG MOVIE HATCHET MAN -Fun Analysis of Your Favorite Movie Scenes — Bruce’s First Meal/Chrissie’s Last Swim in “JAWS” 1975; 50th Anniversary!

Welcome to the dark heart of cinema, where fear is crafted frame by frame. I am CJG: THE HATCHET MAN — the ruthless investigator of terror, slicing through the artistry of horror one scene at a time. From spine-chilling suspense to blood-soaked brilliance, I dissect what makes your favorite moments legendary… and unforgettable. Brace yourself — because the nightmare is about to begin. Horror should make you feel something — whether it’s dread, fascination, or dark delight. Welcome to the madness.

50 years ago, 27-year-old Steven Spielberg made us fear the water before he got us invested in everything ranging from scary dinosaurs, dashing archeologists, sweet extraterrestrials, creepy kiddie robots, and even The Holocaust. His initial non-use of the shark (while not exactly planned as such) was a brilliant albeit forced move and while he was just off his success of his TV-Movie, “Duel”, still managed to make a terrifying opening that set the gold standard.

Also, the genius of the Chrissie Watkins (the late actress/stuntwoman, Susan Blacklinie) attack lies in its brutal simplicity: a drunk college girl decides to take a midnight swim, and nature decides she’s dinner. No elaborate setup, no warning signs, no chance for escape. Just pure, primal terror that taps into humanity’s oldest fear — the dark water and what lurks beneath.

Jaws (1975) — Chrissie’s Last Swim Scene (1/10) | Movieclips — YouTube

The Technical Brilliance of Limitation. The scene as follows. Chrissie, some beach girl (college girl, hippie, bohemian flower child? A mystery, but still effective), making goo-goo eyes at some beer-swilling blonde stud and entices him to a dawn or dusk swim. She strips and he takes a Jack-style tumble and she jumps naked into the water. She arches and let’s the water bathe her completely, but from underneath — danger! A great white shark who just saw a moveable feast in front of him. Chomp! Chomp! Chooomp! Chrissie struggles and pleads to not be digested. Too late. Blonde stud lays drunk on the beach and Chrissie? Buh-bye and not even left behind for seconds.

Based On a True Story! Bruce, the now-infamous mechanical shark named after Spielberg’s lawyer, Bruce Ramer; was famously broken, waterlogged, and unreliable. Rather than delay production, Spielberg made the bold choice to suggest the monster rather than show it. The forced limitation became the film’s greatest strength. The attack sequence relies entirely on Susan Backlinie’s physical performance, underwater rigging, and the audience’s imagination to create something far more terrifying than any rubber shark could have achieved.

The practical effects team submerged Backlinie in a specially constructed pool with hidden cables and pulleys. She was yanked violently in multiple directions, her body contorting in ways that feel genuinely unnatural and helpless. The physicality is visceral — she’s not fighting a creature; she’s being consumed by an unstoppable force. Her screams cut through the peaceful dawn air like a knife, creating an audio landscape of pure terror.

The Psychology of Primal Fear. What makes this opening so effective is how it weaponizes our deepest anxieties and phobias. Spielberg understood that the most terrifying monsters are often the ones we can’t see, can’t understand, and can’t negotiate with. You’re on their territory and f**k your feelings! The shark didn’t just stalk Chrissie — it simply exists in its natural habitat, and she happened to enter its domain. This randomness makes the attack feel cosmically unfair, more disturbing than any calculated evil. But, when the shark needed to appear, it did. Our hearts stopped beating for a nanosecond and the late Roy Scheider’s iconic line ad-libbed: “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

The Hitchcockian Influence. The sequence borrows directly from Hitchcock’s playbook, particularly the shower scene in “Psycho”. Both attacks happen in spaces associated with cleansing and vulnerability. Both use editing, sound, and suggestion rather than explicit gore. Both create lasting trauma that extends far beyond the theater — how many people couldn’t shower alone after “Psycho”, or swim in the ocean after Jaws? Namely me! Fun fact, the John Williams iconic score, “duuuh-dum, duhhhh-dum, dumdum dum” would often play in my goddamn head every time I would walk the Coney Island boardwalk! Just as I watched beachgoers and park dwellers cooly walked and even lay on the beach sand — I would often wonder if any one of Bruce’s relatives would make an appearance and nom-nom anyone in sight! You could say…the shark theme was like Bernard Herrman’s string-shrieking moment when Marion Crane met Norman Bates’ (Mommy) knife and the chocolate syrup poured into the drain. That was a true fact by the way! Sadly — a scene dissection that will still be a few drafts away, but it’s coming.

Alright — a Few Brief Pros:

Setting the Standard. The now-iconic opening established the template for modern horror: start with maximum impact, establish the threat immediately, and make it personal. The sequence also introduced the concept of the “Spielberg scare” — the perfectly timed jump that comes not from cheap tricks but from genuine suspense. The moment when Chrissie gets pulled under for the final time isn’t just startling; it’s emotionally devastating because we’ve been trapped in her experience.

Less Is Gore. Chrissie’s death also didn’t require buckets of blood or severed limbs to make its impact felt. The practical thrashing of the water and Chrissie’s desperate screams and cries of pain were all that were needed. Most 1970s horror films kept the gore to a minimum and since the film adopted a PG rating from the Motion Picture Association of America, it left the most chilling cold opening all in our wild imagination.

The Perfect Victim and the Chain Reaction. Susan Backlinie’s Chrissie Watkins is horror cinema’s ideal opening victim — sympathetic enough to matter, but forgettable enough to be expendable. Her death isn’t just shocking; it’s quite brilliant. In those first few minutes, she establishes the shark as a credible threat while setting up the entire film’s central conflict.

Chrissie’s death creates ripple effects that drive every major character’s arc. Sheriff Brody (Roy Scheider) becomes haunted by his failure to protect the community, his land-stuck paranoia about the ocean and water in general, now justified by real terror. The attack validates his outsider status — he knew something was wrong but couldn’t act fast enough to save her.

For Quint (the undeniably polarizing Robert Shaw, RIP), Chrissie represents the latest casualty in his lifelong war against sharks. Her death isn’t personal — it’s business, another reason why he’s the only one qualified to hunt Bruce. She’s evidence that supports his worldview: sharks are killing machines, and someone needs to kill them first.

Hooper (Richard Dreyfuss in a performance that adds some much-needed comic relief) sees Chrissie as mostly scientific data. Her mangled remains telling a story about predator behavior and feeding patterns. His clinical detachment contrasting sharply with Brody’s emotional investment, creating the tension that drives their unlikely partnership.

But perhaps most importantly, Chrissie’s death exposes Mayor Vaughn (Murray Hamilton) as the film’s true villain. His decision to keep the beaches open after her attack transforms him from incompetent politician to willing accomplice. He’s literally serving up tourists for a shark buffet, making him more morally reprehensible than Bruce — at least the shark kills for survival and even fun, not for profit.

Yes, Just a Few Cons as Well

Killing Movie Kids; The Uncomfortable Truth. For all its brilliance, “Jaws” carries some troubling elements that complicate its legacy. The decision to kill young Alex Kintner feels genuinely transgressive, even by today’s standards. While Chrissie’s death is suggested through shadows and screams, Kintner’s attack shows actual blood in the water — a shocking escalation that even pushes the PG rating to its absolute limit. I get that stakes were risen, and it added stronger tension since children and families make up the summer beachgoing experience, but why be so brutal? Alex’s death creates devastating pathos, but it also feels exploitative in a way that modern audiences might find harder to stomach. There’s something deeply unsettling about using a child’s death as entertainment, even in service of a larger narrative about community responsibility and political corruption.

Quint. To Like or to Not Like? Another polarizing issue I find is the character of Quint, played by Shaw. Robert Shaw delivered an undeniably iconic performance; but his character often veered into caricature territory that felt more like a cartoon than compelling. Shaw’s over-the-top delivery and manic energy sometimes overshadowed the character’s tragic backstory, making him feel less like a damaged veteran and more like a scene-chewing villain — or plain certifiable madman. His Indianapolis speech is genuinely haunting, but his earlier scenes can feel so exaggerated that they break the film’s otherwise grounded tone. It’s a performance that either completely works for the viewer or feels like it belongs in a different movie entirely. For me? I found him (Quint, the character) grating more often than not. “Farewell to Them Spanish Ladies”? Mmkay.

Conclusion

A Filmmaking Icon. Steven Spielberg deserves every credit for this and his longstanding career. He explored every facet of story and just a simple act of killing a beachgoer is still the reason he is the King of Movie Cinema.

At a mere 27, Spielberg understood something so many veteran directors never grasp: the most powerful horror comes from the intersection of technical mastery and primal human fear. The Chrissie Watkins attack isn’t just a great opening scene — it’s a masterclass in movie storytelling that established the template for modern blockbuster filmmaking.

This single sequence contains the DNA of everything that would make Spielberg legendary: the ability to find humanity in spectacle, the skill to turn technical limitations into creative advantages, and the instinct to trust the audience’s imagination over expensive effects. Every subsequent Spielberg film — from the wonder of “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” to the terror of “Jurassic Park”, even the heart-wrenching tragedy of “Schindler’s List” — can trace its emotional impact back to those first five minutes of Jaws.

The fact that a broken mechanical shark and a young director’s desperation created one of cinema’s most enduring horror sequences proves that great filmmaking isn’t about having the best tools — it’s about knowing how to use what you have to maximum effect. Spielberg took a simple premise (shark eats people) and crafted a cultural phenomenon that redefined what movies could do to audiences. Special thanks of course to the late Peter Benchley’s landmark bestseller that was its source material.

Fifty years later, we’re still afraid of the water. That’s the mark of a true master — the ability to create fear that outlasts the film itself, burrowing into our collective unconscious and staying there forever. In those first few minutes of “Jaws”, Spielberg didn’t just make a movie — he rewrote the rules of movies itself.

Next Week: Kathleen’s Turkey Oven Death in Eli Roth’s “Thanksgiving”, 2023.