>> I/ Jaws I

I/ Jaws I ( 2)

: I/ Jaws I.

I/ Jaws I


Bigger blips, both visually and audibly.

Taking note of this, Hooper stands a moment trying to figure out what could have done this. There doesn't seem to be any damage fore or aft. Then he notices that one of the after cleats on the Flicka has been torn away...there are scars on the wood where the screws are used to hold the cleats down.

MEADOWS (skin crawling from the foggy stillness) He must have hit something...I'm sure they had life-belts on board.

Hooper nods toward the water.


We see life-belts and jackets floating in the unearthly stillness.


He gingerly steps onto the rail of Flicka, peeks into the cockpit and cabin. Awash. No sign of life. He puts more weight down as he cranes his neck further and the whole boat lists to one side. Hooper leaps back to his own.


He opens a locker and pulls out a wet suit and other gear.

MEADOWS Maybe we should just tow it in.

HOOPER (suiting up) I'd better see the damage first.


Blip, blop, blip, blip.


suddenly cold, zips up his windbreaker and turns the collar up, as Hooper zips up his wetsuit and clasps on a weighted belt.

HOOPER Did he have a dinghy on board?

MEADOWS (just wants out of here) I don't know.

Hooper hyper-ventilates as he places on mask, checks his "hot" flashlight.

MEADOWS (alone) I'd rather we just towed it in, Mr. Hooper.

Hooper finishes hyper-ventilating...smiles to reassure him.

HOOPER Be up in a minute.

He's ready to go, but hesitates a moment, staring out at the sea -- the first time Hooper has appeared to be doubting his next move. He shakes it off, takes a huge breath, lets out half and splashes in....


all alone in the boat. Just he and the active sonar. He checks the second-hand sweep of his watch, counting out loud.


Hooper descends in a froth of bubbles. Warily he turns a full circle with his hotlight. At first we see nothing out of place about the Flicka except that it is lying so low in the water. But as Hooper travels the bottom looking for damage, he comes across a jagged hole two-thirds of the way forward. The hole is about the size of a basketball, and the wood around it has been bashed and splintered. Hooper explores the hole with his hands, then takes the knife from its sheath and begins to dig at something. Whatever it is comes free in his hand. As he studies his find, his light wanders upward, pointing directly into the dark hole. Hooper looks up....

119CLOSE - HOLE119

Ben Gardner's dead face stares out through the hole in the Flicka, eyes and mouth gaping in frozen horror, his skin pinched like a prune.


bumps his head in trying to get away, seems to yell through escaping bubbles. His mask fills with water as he flails for the surface. Miscalculating, he bumps into the hull of his own boat, scrambles around it, finally coming up between the two boats...gulping air, unable to speak yet, shocked and scared, out of breath....

MEADOWS Bad -- ?

All Hooper can do is hold out his hand, open for Meadows to see. A shiny white tooth, at least two inches long, rests in the palm of his hand.

HOOPER A White -- it's a Great White, I knew it...! Looks like he died of fright in there.

MEADOWS (scared shitless) No shark did that to a boat ---

Hooper rolls up his sleeve, and with one stroke of the tooth shaves all the hair off him forearm.

HOOPER One this big could do anything!

Meadows will never be the same.


On the run and seeing red, Larry Vaughn speed-walks out of his office, grabbing his coat and out the door, cuss-mumbling all the way. Meadows, still in his boat clothing, appears behind him, his tie undone and sweating. Vaughn jumps into his car, and just before Meadows can open the passenger door, takes off in it.


Just under the roadside billboard, Hendricks and another deputy, Joyner, prepare for a climb with ropes in their arms, paint cans and large canvas brushes.

Beyond them a few feet away, stand Brody and Hooper, watching Vaughn pacing back and forth, sucking on a Havana. He has a newspaper in his right hand. Hooper is sketching on a sketch pad.

VAUGHN It says here IT IS CAUGHT! Period!

Brody holds out the two-inch tooth.

BRODY Mr. Hooper figured its size from this -- it's over a ton. It's also over ---

VAUGHN Put that rotten thing -- (he pushes it away, it slices) Yee-ow!

Hooper steps over to show him his sketch.

VAUGHN (wrapping handker- chief around his hand) If my hand gets infected....

HOOPER Meet Carcharodon charcharias.

VAUGHN What is it?

HOOPER The shark that just bit you on the hand. (sketching) And this...is you.

Hooper has sketched the reduced ratio figure of Vaughn with cigar standing in front of the jaws. He looks like a dwarf by comparison.

HOOPER Seventeen feet from anterior to posterior.

VAUGHN No shark grows seventeen feet, for Christ's sake.

HOOPER The famous Swedish naturalist Linnaeus believed that the 'great fish' that swallowed Jonah was not a whale, but a great white shark.

VAUGHN Love to prove that, wouldn't you? Get into the National Geographic.

BRODY What should we do about this white?

Hooper has come prepared. He takes from his backpack a Bomar Brain calculator and ticks away at it while talking.

HOOPER The longer there's nothing to munch on here, the better your chances he'll go. That means, of course, keeping your beaches closed, your fishermen in port. The other alternative is non- corrosive, 100-gauge steel mesh -- say, 30,000 feet of it around your bathing area. Concrete blocks and installation would run you...oh, four, five hundred thousand. That is, unless you could seek a deputa- tion from the federal government -- (notes Vaughn's non- believing countenance) Beats getting swallowed, doesn't it?

Vaughn is apoplectic. His seemingly dead cigar glows again. He takes Brody by the arm and leads him out of earshot of Hooper.

BRODY Maybe we can make it up in August.

VAUGHN That beach will be open ON the FOURTH OF JULY, DAMMIT!

BRODY We have to give this a coupla weeks.

VAUGHN A couple of days. And that's bad enough. I'll have to think of some reason that'll keep the grease from frying. In the mean- time, I want that shark killed. Either do it yourself, or hire a pro, but go door to door with the offer. No more of his bounty crap. And Brody ---

Vaughn gestures up at the billboard. The beautiful model splashing in the golden surf with flailing arms has been significantly reinterpreted. Some pranksters have painted a huge dorsal fin cutting through the waves next to her, and she now looks like an hysterical beach-goer stampeding out of the water. The deputies begin covering it over with paint. People have been gathering throughout the scene on bicycles and a few station wagons.

VAUGHN First the picket fences -- and now this. I want to see those little bastards hanging upside down by their Buster Brown shoes.

Vaughn storms away before Brody can reply.


Hooper is loading some mainline floats and smelly bait fish on board. Two young long-hairs are assisting him. The old harbormaster dips his coffee percolator into the water and rinses it thoroughly while watching Hooper load. He rises to his feet and walks across the pier, looking in the oppo- site direction about three slips away.


Brody and Deputy Hendricks are supervising another loading activity. Six local fishermen are converting their 16-foot fiberglass double outboard into a gunboat. A sealed crate of high concussion palm-sized depth charges gingerly finds a place in the bow section, over which fishing gear and nets are positioned to disguise the mission.

BR0DY (to Hendricks) Don't let him out of your sight. Not for a second. Stay at a dis- creet distance -- and dammit, Lenny, no shark talk! The way sound carries over water, you're a dead giveaway.

HENDRICKS Who's with him?

BRODY Local hire...I don't know. I want to hear from you, Len.


Angling down a stretch of picket fence. Little karate cries are accompanied by little flat hands piercing through splin- tering wood.


The hardware store proprietor, bored and withdrawn, suns himself on a chaise lounge surrounded by summer surplus that no one is buying, while --

-- the Amity Gift and Candle shop is offering an outside display on a carousel postcard rack of artificial shark- tooth necklaces, along with an open-air gallery of shark books. A dozen tourists bunch up as business booms here today.


Ellen is somehow mired behind Brody's desk, two travel folders in her absent-minded grasp. She talks into one phone, at the same time she is talking on another to a breathy, ticky landlady. All of this overlapping. Brody's secretary Polly is in the outer office doing three things at once.

ELLEN LANDLADY (into phone)First it's twenty-four I don't know where my husbandhours, then it's two days. is, Mr. Kretzler. He's onlyIt one more guest of mine closed the beaches to insureleaves for Cape Cod, I'll your safety....start a petition!

From the outer office, we hear:

POLLY (into phone) Until further notice! You'll have to ask him about that when he gets back. Good-bye.

Three people enter. Two of them, an elderly tourist couple, push past Polly and into Brody's office where Ellen stands beside the desk.

MAN TOURIST Excuse me -- I see by the papers they caught the killer shark. I see by the signs that the beaches are still closed, and we were just wondering....

TOURIST WIFE (reaches out and takes Ellen's hand in hers, glowing) I think it's a simply wonderful positive sign of our times to see a woman Chief of Police in a nice place like ---

Ellen removes the receiver from her ear, from which angry geese-like sounds filter through. She starts to explain, instead bursts out laughing -- one of those spontaneous, funny cries for help that leaves you weak. She falls helplessly into her husband's swivel chair, covering her face with Acapulco brochures.



Entering Quint's abode is not unlike a spooky ride at Disneyland...the placement of objects, the dungeon lighting, the tendrils of smoke and dust in the air makes a visitor wish he were carrying a 100-watt bulb.

There is gear everywhere. The walls are adorned with jerky shark hides, coiled ropes dangle like serpents above a galley stove that leaks smoke and holds two weeks worth of filthy dishes. Tubes, barrels, rods, reels, harpoons, an antique gun collection and a dizzy array of shark hooks line the walls, with one entire wall dedicated to a collection of laminated jaws from the blue shark to the Great White. Con- spicuously in the center of the room is a swivel fighting chair and it looks like the perfect place to have all your teeth pulled. Into this orifice of decay, Brody enters, and from his point of view, we see Quint hunched over a tub of steaming Borax.

BRODY I know it's late, Mr. Quint.

Quint lifts a ghastly set of dripping jaws from the solution.

QUINT Snappy little novelty item.

Quint demonstrates by holding them up to frame his face through the round jagged opening.

QUINT Picture frame... (holding it down) Toilet seat....

He looks up at his gallery of jaws.

QUINT No offense, you guys! (confidentially referring to what's left of sixteen sharks) Very touchy. All set for the Hallelujah chorus and stuck on the first note.

Brody enters the room like he's treading on hot charcoal.

BRODY I would have called you ---

Quint walks toward Brody with Borax dripping from both hands. He places one of them hospitably on Brody's shoulder.

QUINT (without losing a beat) Sure you would, sweetheart.

And ushers him into the fighting chair. He then busies him- self around the premises and Brody must use the swivel chair to follow him, feeling chills whenever Quint move behind him.

BRODY I'm Chief Brody, Mr. Quint --

QUINT Suits me. I'm a social undesirable myself.

BRODY Listen ---

QUINT Me and your Great big White.

BRODY Who told you?

QUINT (scrubbing teeth with a wooden brush) What's the count up to down there anyway? You can't have much of a town left!

BRODY Got Ben Gardner this time.

QUINT (feigning shock) Ben? Sharks'll eat anything.

BRODY I need to talk to you, Quint ---

Quint slips past Brody's blindspot to the opposite wall, and Brody tenses and swivels too fast, almost spinning 360 degrees before braking with his feet.

QUINT Anything! Know what I found inside that tiger? Aside from fish and all?

He moves proudly to the shelf of jaws and souvenirs collected from the bellies of sharks.

QUINT Twenty feet of cable, half an army cot, four brass buttons, a cocker spaniel, license plate, a drip- dry shirt, and a six-pack of diet Pepsi....

BRODY We can't have this damn thing sneaking in ---

QUINT (as though alarmed, he touches a hand to Brody's mouth) Chief! Show a little respect. Jesus! Whites are head of the mob out there, this sounds like Lucky Luciano.

BRODY (wiping his mouth) Ever caught one?

QUINT A thirteen-footer and one fifteen -- teenagers.

BRODY Now you're asking ten thousand dollars, but look ---

QUINT Chief, Chief, Chief - forget it. I get two bills a day from charters. I sell the hides, I sell the teeth, I sell the fins to chinks for soup -- you ought to try a little shark sometime! Hammerhead's terrific - here!

Quint hops to the oven. An avalanche of pots and pans, a burst of smoke, and before you know it, Quint is presenting Brody with a hot plate.

QUINT Home-fried hammerhead!

Brody turns away from the stink.

QUINT (obsequiously apologetic) Sorry, nothing fancier tonight -- boy, I do a Mako Provencale - (kisses his fingers)

BRODY How's four hundred a day, Quint?

Quint is suddenly across the room, lowering a bucket in front of Brody.

QUINT (fuck off) Serve yourself, Chief. Shark-liver oil! Best lubricant in the world!

BRODY (desperate) How much do you want?

Quint turns, suddenly bitter. He walks over to a cage with a parrot in it.

QUINT (to parrot) Clowns trying to bargain....

BRODY I came on my own, Quint.

QUINT Yo-ho-ho, and a bottle of rum.

BRODY (rises, pleading) See, if we could make a deal tonight --

QUINT Here's what the price is tonight, Chief.

Quint stalks Brody as he talks. Brody trying to look reasonable as he backs around the room, bumping into objects d'art.

QUINT Twenty-five grand to go for it, plus twenty-five more if I land it, all repairs on the boat, and on me, a new rod from Haydy's in London, a life subscription to Playboy, a stereo 4-track and the color TV.

BRODY Quint, you know they'll never ---

QUINT Let me finish! If it gets me, different deal -- seventy-five, no extras!

BRODY (bewildered) Seventy-five for who?

QUINT (wildly improvising) For nobody! To make this place a museum or something! 'Quint's Monster Palace!' How's that? Maybe have me stuffed in the middle here --- !

Quint poses stuffed with a harpoon in the middle of the room. This is the first time he has stopped moving.

BRODY (addressing stuffed Quint) I have to tell them something reasonable ---

Brody looks for the door...completely disoriented, he tries to open one of the walls.

QUINT No problem! Tell 'em that joke from World War Two -- (walks over to parrot) About the Marines in the landing barge? Sergeant splashes right in, yelling 'Hit the beach men, follow me and....'

Quint taps the bottom of the bird cage, and without losing a beat, the parrot squawks in falsetto:

PARROT Watch out for the shark!

Brody has found the door and is gone. The door swings in a breeze. Quint turns to his gallery of jaws and smiles with a mock-courtly bow.


Hooper's Formula twenty-two tying up in his rental slip. He looks dog tired as he steps off and stretches his legs on dry land. The most astonishing thing about Matt this evening is his obvious disappointment.

The gunboat is also tied up, the men unloading. They are in terrific spirits. Each has caught his limit. The boat is filled with fish, the men filled with stories. Only Len Hendricks shows the strain.


riding up on his police bicycle. He sees Hendricks fifty yards away in the dusk, shaking his head. Brody turns and rides down the dock toward Hooper, saying good-bye to his day help.

BRODY (tired, apologetic) Any luck?

HOOPER Might be for you, Mr. Brody. I think it's all over.

BRODY How can you be sure?

HOOPER The sea is full of fish again for one thing. You won't find sea life in the territory of a Great White. All the fish we saw in the ocean today. You'd think they were cele- brating. I played low-frequency music underwater -- that usually works faster than blood. (shrugs "nothing")

BRODY (gives him a long look) Are you feeling okay?

HOOPER There are signals in the water. I can always read them. And the currents are shifting.

BRODY Vaughn's going to want a statement. What about taking precautions?

HOOPER I'd take them, sure. Lookout posts. An alarm system. If you can afford picket boats equipped with sonar repellent line across the bathing area. Jesus...we must have gone six times around this crummy island.

BRODY (still perplexed) And you're sure it's ---

HOOPER You'll never be immune to attack. It knows where you live now. Good- night.

Brody is left alone on the dock, the sky darkening behind him.


Two cavernous iron doors. Then a crack of vertical light as six burly crewmen muscle them apart. The Amity ferry landing is approaching, people in colorful outfits waiting dockside for the first filled-to-capacity shuttle of the summer season and ---

Bach's Little Fugue is the musical accompaniment to this wholly visual montage of disembarkation. The next two minutes should be treated like a "short film" taking into account all of the colors, episodes, faces and behavior of a variety of Americans who colonize Eastern resort communities for the ninety-day season.

A. A train of cars trundle down the ramp, bumper to bumper.

B. Young beautiful people from Princeton, Yale, N.Y.U., wearing knapsacks, toting luggage, babies riding in papoose rigs, energized children, senior citizens hold- ing hands on the pedestrian ramp, a few wheelchairs.

C. The sidewalk vendors hawking balloons for the kiddies, hotdogs, hot fried clams, Italian ices.

D. The Amity Cab Company, small blue Toyotas, run by students on vacation queued up like a bomber wing.

E. Hooper is watching.

Station wagons with pale winter faces pressed anxiously to the windows, Cadillacs with Rear Admirals at the helm, their wives with blue hair remembering the way from the years before.

Then six blonde and tanned Coney Island meatballs descend the ramp. They all wear Men's Club Lifeguard patches and matching collegiate windbreakers. They scour the landing, looking for someone to save.

The boat is empty. Everybody heading inland, anticipating the best Fourth of July ever. Already there is debris on the docks and the cleaning crew works away at it.


As Bach's Little Fugue ends, the six burly crewmen lean their combined weight against the Cathedral doors, closing out the light and locking in the trade. The doors latch shut with a resounding clang!



A young Ensign is demonstrating "Shark-Chaser" to Brody from the concrete pier. He lowers a canister of it into the water and a dark cloud begins to diffuse.

OFFICER You'll need about 150 of these -- twelve feet apart, behind your surf-line. We'd have to string them right across, that's say, 2000 feet....

BRODY Makes sort of a long black curtain.

OFFICER Repellent.

BRODY (leveling) But it doesn't always work.

OFFICER Well...it inhibits them, Mr. Brody. (brightens with facts) The astronauts use it.

BRODY (not impressed, gazes into water) That, and Tang.


If you lifted out any hunk of mid-day Manhattan intersection and set it here on the colonial corners of Main Street and Pilgrimage Way, you couldn't do worse. This is what Amity feeds on between July and September. This is what the tourists pick over between 8:00 A.M. and 5:00 P.M. This is what it's all about.


The marquee lights go on. Moby Dick is the new substitute feature offering. Pan down to show the theatre manager and a boiling, pacing Larry Vaughn.

VAUGHN I want this off before the weekend. And if it's not -- !

MANAGER I thought with all this interest... (weak smile) It's not a documentary, you know.



Gregory Peck as Captain Ahab in an outpouring of classic Melville. The white whale explodes through the waves and crushes sixteen harpooners. A single sandpapery laugh accompanies each special effect.


Quint sits in the center aisle, popcorn and ju-ju-bees stuffing his face. The splayed projection beams dance around his head as he roars with amusement. People are getting up and moving away from him. He is watching with delight, slapping his thigh, thumping the seat-back with his feet.


We watch as Ahab gets tangled in the line and dragged under by the whale. Quint can be heard OVER.


A four foot surfer's swell curls and crashes on shore, rider- less. The broad sandy beach is a mosaic of summer color as one thousand vacationers practice fun in the sun, but not in the water. Hot dog stands and ice cream vendors are every- where.


A half-dozen lookout lofts. As many handsome lifeguards with Walkie-Talkies strapped to their trunks and loudhailers at arm's reach. Bored, two of the hot dogs train their binoculars on some local color.

142AT SEA142

Tactically flanking a three-hundred-yard apron of black repellent are four small watch-boats. A fifth tiny pleasure boat darts around the repellent line. Farther out, cross- ing back and forth, are patrol boats six and seven. To top it all off, a Coast Guard blimp floats three hundred feet above.

143ON SHORE143

A crunch of gawkers makes life miserable for a mobile TV crew on their van-shaped unit. A graduate from the Columbia School of Broadcasting is interviewing Martin Brody in front of dozens of camera-conscious kids.

INTERVIEWER (humorous) Will you be going for a dip, Chief?

BRODY (ill at ease) No, I'll be sticking to business today. As you see, we have spotters up and down the beach, and out there's the Coast Guard, State Police, County Police -- everyone's cooperating on this ---

INTERVIEWER The question is, if it's so unlikely as you seem to think ---

BRODY It never hurts to play it safe.

INTERVIEWER Thank you, Chief Brody. (to crew) Let's do a group at the hot dog stand.

Vaughn is watching the ocean, aware that nobody is in yet. He turns in the direction of a Selectman and his family, and after grunting hellos, falls on his haunches and talks through a dogged smile.

VAUGHN Will you please get in that ocean.


VAUGHN Nobody's going in -- move! (indicating his family) Them, too!

He gets up, gesturing "go in" to another townsman. The Selectman gathers his senses, swallows back nagging nerves.

SELECTMAN (to his family, false cheer) How about a swim, gang, huh? (to 12-year-old daughter) Not you, you have a cold.

Vaughn spies Hooper, alone on the sand in his trunks, look- out at sea. The Selectman and his family of four start into the ocean as Vaughn approaches Hooper.

VAUGHN You've earned a day off, Doc. And thank you.

Hooper just looks at him.

VAUGHN We feel you've done a heck of a job, you know.

HOOPER (nods, looks back to sea) I feel the same about you.


They walk into the surf, deeper and deeper, until a wave washes over their heads. The Selectman surfaces, and realizes he is wearing his watch. Never mind. Others follow suit and begin to trickle into the white surf.

145BOAT #2145

Four State Police with their 30.06's stowed discreetly under their seats. As a Beering State Policeman talks to Brody on the Walkie-Talkie, we notice Boat #5, a short-range speedster, working the repellent line.

BEERING POLICEMAN We're putting the fresh cans on, Brody. (takes beer from ice chest) Calm down, will you? (shouting to Boat #5) You guys want a beer?

146BOAT #5146

Two men and a boat-load of canisters. One holds up the nylon repellent line with a pole as the other replaces a can and shouts back.

SAILOR I want a pair of rubber gloves.

To demonstrate what he means, he holds up two hands, black with dye. A wet can of Budweiser tumbles into one of them.

Sailor's Walkie-Talkie squawks like a strangled chicken.

VOICE (Walkie-Talkie) Daisy to Blimp...Daisy to Blimp... thirty yards off my port side....

The two sailors turn to port.

147BOAT #7147

Hendricks is on the radio while a Coast Guard spotter works the sonar.

HENDRICKS Anything? Thought I saw a shadow. Over.

Pan to the water.

148INT. BLIMP148

A breathtaking view. The blimp spotter looks down with naked eye and binoculars.

BLIMP SPOTTER Nothing from up here, Daisy. Over.


HENDRICKS (into Walkie- Talkie) False alarm. Must be this glare.


He is walking down the beach, threading his way through the happy hordes.

VOICES Who's scared to go in! I was in! Up to your knees, yeah -- So come with me -- I'll go again. How far? Etc., etc.

A group of youngsters playing with Michael Brody's dinghy. They are hauling it toward the surf.

BRODY Hey Mikey -- !

Michael turns as Brody trots toward him.

BRODY You're not going to the ocean with that, are you son?

MICHAEL I'm all checked out for light surf and look at it.

BRODY Do me this favor just once. Use the ponds.

MICHAEL Dad, the ponds are for old ladies.

BRODY Just a favor for your old man.

MICHAEL (confused) Sure, Dad.


A surfer waving to impress his girlfriend on the beach. He dives off his board and swims around the black dye.

COUNTY POLICEMAN (through loudhailer) Not so close to the line, please....

The eighteen-year-old surfer submerges, comes up all inky. His girlfriend laughs, impressed.


Clowning, posing, boasting for the cameras, dozens of youngsters ride in baby waves, stand on their heads, on the shoulders of friends, wave, swim out, kick up the water. The TV cameramen are going crazy. Burning film. Zooming.


The Surfer won't leave the area.

COUNTY POLICEMAN (through loudhailer) Get clear of the repellent line, son!

Suddenly his Walkie-Talkie fizzes, and the Blimp Spotter's voice overloads the speaker.

BLIMP SPOTTER Blimp to Daisy! Red Four, Red Four!


Guns are up, heads turning everywhere.

HENDRICKS (into Walkie- Talkie) Where --- ?

BLIMP SPOTTER Went under your -- There!

The Coast Guard sonar operator spots it and pales. A slick black dorsal fin is slicing a wake toward the swimming area.

SONAR OPERATOR Jesus Christ ---


Rigid and choked, he almost breaks the "send" button trying to transmit.

BRODY Everybody out! Out of the water, please -- leave the water, please ---

Hooper is on his feet. The lifeguard next to him begins blowing on his whistle.


shouting hysterically into his Walkie-Talkie.

BRODY No whistles! No whistles!


Dozens of bathers halfway out of the water, turn to see. More whistles, and they start toward shore. The loudhailers sound- ing more urgent now, and a contagious dread seizes one person after another. Entire groups of people begin pulling toward shore, some of them obviously trying to control a growing hysteria in others.

158BOATS #6 AND #7158

are converging, heading toward the repellent line as if track- ing an underwater shadow. The fin is beyond the repellent cordons and heading into the crowds.


People begin screaming. Kids are suddenly separated from their parents. Others seem to forget how to swim. One myopic little girl has her glasses bumped off and she begins to cry in blinded panic.

160BOATS #2, #3, #4160

The riflemen in the boats are trying to get a bead, but too many civilians create a hazard. The Coast Guardsmen attempt to sever the repellent cord to gain access to the bathing area and the heaving fin.


This is a confirmation of our worst dread -- a full-blown headlong water panic. Screaming vacationers claw their way over the bodies of the less able. Some literally attempt to walk over the bobbing heads and glistening backs of others pulling for dry land.


Horrified faces. Some are stunned and wandering in slow, tentative circles, while others are helped out by friends. Five people try to mount a rubber raft.

Ugly reminders that each of us is Number One.

Brody enters shot, yelling into his Walkie-Talkie, Hooper charges past him to help an old man out of the water. He returns to pull several others to their feet.

163EXT. - THE BEACH163

Hooper keeps plunging in, dragging the helpless from the surf. Tears well in Brody's eyes. The screaming is deafening. The TV unit pushes past Brody.

INTERVIEWER (pointing) Zoom in! Over there!

One thousand survivors pack the beach, standing absolutely still. A numbing cold sets in, and people shiver against each other.

Muted sobs, whimpering, coughing.

The six burly lifeguards huddle together like Cub Scouts.


The monstrous black fin turns a slow circle as two Coast Guardsmen manage to cut their own repellent line. All boats converge on the dynamic fin. Men raise their guns to fire. Others adlib nautical commands in a uniquely calculated fashion.

165CLOSE - FIN165

It slips sideways, revealing for the first time a tiny blue snorkel. Then appears the faces of two youngsters whom we will recall from the coven behind the dune. The fin bobs back, a beaverboard replica attached to a partially sub- merged surfboard. One youngster looks up and is greeted by:


Twenty rifles and shotguns pointed directly at him. Surround- ing him on three sides. Some of the policemen start to lower their guns -- struck dumb.


his only defense, he begins to cry -- and feebly raises his hands in unconditional surrender.


The narrow estuary leading into the half-mile is rough today. Two children digging in the sand and unaware of the beach panic one hundred yards away look up, and the little girl points.


is cruising through the narrows and toward the busy pond.

170ANGLE - POND170

Michael is tacking full-sail in his boat with a friend, Kit. Kit is admiring the shark's tooth necklace around his own neck while Michael rubs some water on the scratches left by it. The fin, huge, black and real, crosses behind them. They are not yet aware. The fin seems to circle and return. It heads toward Michael's boat when another small dinghy gets in its way -- a weekend novice just finishing a thermos of coffee when he is "bumped." The entire boat is overturned. Michael sees the fin now as it collides with him, the entire bow lifting out of the water and rolling over on the port side. Michael and Kit are thrown head first.

Three heads in the water come up sputtering, the fin between them crossing back. Michael freezes. The fin comes directly at him, growing into the sky, passing him so close he could touch it, but ignoring him as it follows the flailing and panicked weekend novice. Catches him. Michael watches. That all too familiar explosion of water -- a choked off scream -- the head and upper torso of the novice passing Michael swiftly as though being carried off -- a current of blood trailing around.

The renewed cry of SHARK! SEMENTIA POND!


He turns. Oh God! Running through the slogging sand.


COAST GUARDSMAN Block the estuary!

Three boats racing to carry out the orders. The black fin repassing the two children, racing to get out. One rowboat reaches the mouth before the others. The fin won't veer off. It smacks into the little vessel, tearing off the bow and beaching it in its wake. Racing into open water. Blood leavings.


He is pulling Michael out of the water as Brody runs up. Michael is conscious but in shock -- his eyes staring at nothing.

HOOPER (feeling his face) He's in shock. Get blankets!

People gather and Brody snatches beach towels out of their hands. They cover Michael and carry him off the beach, feet raised above his head.

HOOPER I can read signals in the water -- when they're around -- when they leave. I saw the signals. It moved on. They reported an attack up the coast, toward Ipswitch, Maine today. Oh, Jesus, Martin, I'm sorry.


The 1940's hit HUBBA, HUBBA, HUBBA blares from the new stereo. Barbara Walters blares from the new color TV.

Brody has the look of a man who has gone without sleep for two days. He slouches in the fighting chair, watching Quint who is shoving Salvatore toward the door.

QUINT (shouting over the noise) You know which cans, stupid -- the whale meat. Get 'em out of the deep freeze and on board.

This done, Quint picks up a harpoon, tests the point. Sharpens it on a shark hide.

QUINT And where would you like this shark delivered, sir?

BRODY (even) Anywhere we can see it's dead.

QUINT (looking at TV) You want him gift-wrapped?

Brody rises to go.

BRODY Call me. Soon as you have some news.

Quint talks past him in a load open voice.

QUINT What is it now?!

We see Salvatore, afraid of him, but resolved.

SALVATORE I ain't going. Ain't goin'.

Quint snaps the generator off.

QUINT (quiet menace) You ain't what??

SALVATORE I ain't that crazy, that's what! Now I brung in some mean big mothers with you, but I'm resignin' on this...no, sir!

QUINT (to his gallery of jaws) Mutiny on the Bounty!

SALVATORE I don't mess with nothin' built like no station wagon, 18 -- 20 foot ---

QUINT (bored) How much do you want?

SALVATORE Not with no man-eater! He ain't gonna live to no reputation on me ---

QUINT (sharply, turning away) Go load up.

SALVATORE That's all I'm gonna do.

Quint picks up a length of rope and starts to coil it, turns to Brody.

QUINT Might have to wait till I dig up another ---

BRODY I'll go.

Quint takes him in with a tight smile. He tosses Brody the length of rope.

QUINT Tie me a barrel knot.

Brody feels useless holding the rope end.

BRODY I really want to go, Mr. Quint.

QUINT (ignoring him) Five lengths of half-inch...twenty number 14's, straight gaff ---

BRODY (leaving) I'll get a pro to come along.

Quint runs through his check list...to himself. Pan down to the floor and an arsenal of hand-to-shark weaponry.

QUINT Flying gaffs, tail rope, eye-splices, M-One, pliers, irons.



Hooper's fighting gear is on deck. His colleague from Woods Hole looks at him with some dismay as they go over the check list of fighting gear from the Oceanographic Institute. The Colleague, in a smaller boat alongside, hands him the last few bits and pieces.

HOOPER (grim) Powerhead, C.O.2 darts...hypo... regulator...tanks...depth gauge....

The Colleague glances up toward the flybridge and Quint. Salvatore goes back and forth rolling on chum barrels.

COLLEAGUE You shouldn't be in on this, Matt. (pause, watches) Hunting anything down -- I mean, that's not our area.

HOOPER (signing receipt) Maybe I'm in the wrong area.

Quint looks down at the undersea cage that is sitting on the transom of the Orca.

QUINT What's this glamour-boy...a portable shower?

HOOPER (shakes hands with Colleague, who pushes off, shaking his head) Thanks. I'll see you.


HOOPER (disinterested in what he thinks) Anti-shark cage.

QUINT (smiles) And you're inside that -- in the water?

HOOPER If necessary.

QUINT (smiles, nodding) You're in the water with the shark.

HOOPER That's right.

With an operatic gesture, Quint sings down to him in his best voice.

QUINT (soulfully) 'Believe me, if all those endearing young charms... That I gaze on so fondly today....'

HOOPER (glancing toward pier) Let's go.

176ANGLE - PIER176

Brody is walking down the pier, bundled in foul-weather clothes like a tenderfoot Sea Scout. He carries a shopping bag and an overnight kit. Quint can't help himself -- he guns the Orca's diesel engines to sound like a wolf whistle.

QUINT Well...shiver me timbers!

Brody is helped unsteadily into the boat by Salvatore, who then leaps lightly to the dock and casts off with style. Even now Brody is beginning to look sick. He holds onto the hatch handle.

QUINT (to Brody) Bow. Stern. Aft. Forward -- Port -- Starboard. Got it?...Good! (yells over engine noise to Salvatore) Missing a great adventure, Sal!

Salvatore waves and smiles as the boat pulls away.

SALVATORE You bet, Mr. Quint! Bye! Bye!

The Orca chugs past the dock and out toward the narrow breakwater.



The Orca is drifting in neutral. The ocean is like gelatin, the sun sucking heat waves from its surface. Brody at the stern, handkerchief on his head to protect from further sun- burn, has been handed the slimiest job on a shark hunt: the ladling out of chum. Brody is reeling with nausea. Hooper is up at the wheel on the flybridge. He dons a baseball cap and aviator's sunglasses. Quint is firmly situated in the fighting chair, reeling in the bait. All three have the look of being on open water for the better part of the day, with no luck.

QUINT (to himself) That don't tempt him either, huh?

He hauls in the bait. Two mackerel, barely alive.

QUINT We'll find him something.

Hooper studies this man Quint as he flings aside the mackerel. Brody has stopped chumming and is retching over the side.

QUINT (yelling at Brody) Keep that chum going! We got five good miles, don't break it!

Brody opens his overnight kit and takes out a handkerchief and some Old Spice after-shave. He pours the after-shave into the cloth, presses it to his nose, and resumes ladling.

Quint almost trips over Hooper's tanks as he walks to the chum barrels. He roughly kicks them aside.

QUINT Fancy goddam toys....

HOOPER (jumping up) Careful! Compressed air -- you crack that and it explodes like a bomb!

QUINT (mutters) Cluttering up my deck ---

Quint takes a wide red strip of whale meat and a gnarled squid from the garbage pail, and searches for a No. 2 hook rig.

HOOPER (distaste) That from a pilot whale too?

QUINT (deftly slicing whale) Can't you tell? Here ---

He holds up the strip of whale. Quint has sculpted it into the outline of a whale.

QUINT Cute, huh? (to Brody) The expert don't approve.

Brody shades his eyes from the white sun as Quint baits up.

QUINT Now, you swim down and... (kisses the bait) give a nice big kiss to Mr. White ---

BRODY (croaky) You still think it's all the way out here?

QUINT (snapping bait to his leader) I think like they do, Chief.

HOOPER And they have brains the size of a radish.

Quint gets a big laugh out of this, and sits in the fighting chair. He casts off, murmuring as the line feeds out.

QUINT Now if he weren't around, we'd of hooked something else by now, wouldn't we? But he scared 'em all away. Yeah, didn't you? Yeah, I know you, you poor lonesome son of a bitch...come to pappa, you ---

The line whizzes off the reel. Brody jumps up. Quint puts his hand on the drag and addresses the situation softly.

QUINT Atta baby -- he'll gulp it down now... (making gulping noises) Hoooooo!

Quint tightens drag and strikes. The line goes whizzing out. Brody runs to Quint's side.

BRODY You got it?

QUINT (turning with the pull) Get behind me, dummy! (shouts to Hooper Reverse her and turn -- he's taking too much line! (to Brody) Wet my reel, quick!

Brody pours water on the screaming reel, nearly unspooled now. Hooper is turning the boat around and the line changes direc- tion.

QUINT (straining, muscles popping Starboard, for Chris'sake ---

Hooper steers it sharply.

QUINT (to Hooper) Half-speed there....

Again the line changes direction, down this time.

QUINT (to Hooper) Neutral! (to the sea) Where the hell is he going?

Quint reeling in like mad.

QUINT Oh, this ain't foolin' me -- (rod arcs down with a surge) Sure -- try it!

The line rushes out and now there is less tension. Quint is horsing up and down, reeling in.

QUINT Makin' believe it's easy now.

The line is almost vertical now, and Quint shows a hint of bafflement. He reels in suspiciously.

QUINT Gettin' ready to run again -- no? No? (suspicious) What's he playin' here? (reels in furiously, to Hooper) Put the gloves on! (to fish) Let's see who's gonna tease who now! (to Hooper) Down here! Do like I told you!

Hooper is rushing down.

HOOPER Can't bring him up so quick ---

QUINT (bathed in sweat; hauling, reeling) How do you know! How do I know!

The leader shows above the water line. Brody is wide-eyed, waiting for that first look.

BRODY He's nearly up ---

QUINT (to Brody) Unbuckle me -- fast! (to Hooper) Grab the leader. He ain't normal, this one...they never -- (to Hooper) Snap it on, jerk!

Hooper snaps the rope onto the leader and holds on.

QUINT Watch your hands -- (suddenly to Brody) Grab onto this!

Before he realizes what's happening, Brody is clumsily clutch- ing at the big rod, appalled. Quint skips away for a harpoon. He picks one from a row of twelve, turns....

That's when the leader lashes free, sending Hooper crashing backward in a serious fall, and the rod whips at Brody's forehead, drawing blood. Quint snatches up the rod and reels in. The wires have been bitten through.

QUINT (addressing the ocean) Sure...you're havin' a ball! (to Hooper, still sprawled on deck) Get back up here!

BRODY He's hurt....

HOOPER (stunned) I'm okay....

BRODY What's the point with hooks and lines ---

QUINT Don't tell me my business! (to Hooper, points) Quarter-mile, that way. Full throttle.

Hooper shakes off his dizziness and obeys. Brody watches Quint rig up a new leader, hook up the same bait.

BRODY (nursing forehead, gesturing at rod and reel) I don't understand though...How you expect to ---

QUINT This tricks him to the surface, got that? Then I can jab him, under- stand? (goes to flybridge, muttering) Think I'm gonna haul it in like a catfish?

Brody begins to apply cream to his sunburned nose.


QUINT (suddenly, pointing) Over there!

HOOPER Why over there?

QUINT (still looking) At least you handle the boat all right.

HOOPER I can do more than that. Look, Quint, I brought along a ---

QUINT Stop. Here...Cut the engine.

Hooper cuts the engines as Quint swings nimbly down. He stands stock still on the main deck, motioning Brody to be silent. Then picking up the newly rigged rod, Quint softshoes it over to the chair. About to sit down, he freezes.


looking stunned.


moving back, eyes wide.


moving closer, aghast.


We see the shark. First the jet-black fin...then the head and upper jaws, twenty yards off. It finally submerges, veer- ing off to one side with a neat slap of its tail.


He puts the rod away.

QUINT Jesus. I heard they got that big....

HOOPER Closer to thirty feet....

QUINT (knowingly) Twenty-five. And three tons of him there.

HOOPER (to himself) What's the formula...? (calculates in his head) Girth, say 150 inches. Squared and...divide by 800 -- that's six one, five...6150 by 2000 -- (stops, wryly) Just over three tons.

Quint snorts and dumps the chum overboard. Flings in the two mackerel.

BRODY Where'd it go?

Hooper is rummaging in his gear. Brody watches him locate a small waterproof signal light. He starts to attach it to the first barrel. Quint, who has been scanning the sea, spins around.

QUINT Don't monkey with none of my gear!

HOOPER (trying to be patient) Your harpoons are attached to these. right? (indicates barrels) They pop up and drag on him, drag on him till he's through -- isn't that the idea?

QUINT You can't improve on it!

Hooper switches on the signal light. It pulses a glow that hurts the eyes even in broad daylight.

HOOPER What if we have to follow him?

Quint breathes in smoke until his tongue catches fire.

QUINT Sonny -- take that, and your formulas, and your cage -- take your whole halfass hardware store here and ---

A whale of a thump jolts the Orca. Quint grabs for a harpoon. Brody pulls his snub-nose special from his shopping bag. Hooper sees the panic on Brody's face and reaches a hand out to him.

HOOPER Put that away!

Quint, on the pulpit, harpoon poised.

QUINT Once more...once more!

WHUMP! Quint almost takes a tumble into the water. We see the glistening back and fin below him. HE PLANTS THE HARPOON. The Great White slaps the transom with its tail and sounds.


The rope reels out in a blur, and Hooper pins Brody out of the way of the spinning coils -- just in time. The barrel with flasher attached literally somersaults out of the boat, missing both men's faces by seven inches.

Quint is already poised, feet planted, with harpoon number two.


The barrel skips like a flat rock over the surface of the water, then unexpectedly vanishes under the water.

QUINT (poised) He can't stay down, swimmin' with that on! Wait till I stick him with two! That'll worry him! Come on, upstairs! What's he waitin' for?! He can't keep down this long!

Brody and Hooper enter the shot behind him. The sun is low- slung over the horizon.

BRODY Why don't we go in? Have a crack tomorrow....?

QUINT (doesn't turn) We are stayin' out here till I got him!


They exchange looks. "He's nuts."


asleep on deck. The day has taken its toll. Brody is riding the crest of some bad dreams, on the verge of waking at any moment.


Both sit on the transom. Hooper takes a long pull from a bottle of Quint's home brew. Quint is railing at him, both a little smacko.

QUINT Close call, my ass. A baby dogfish in a laboratory? See this thumb?

Quint flaunts his thumb, a checkerboard of scar tissue.

HOOPER (handing back the bottle) You've got the monopoly, huh? Here!

Hooper rolls up his trouser leg boasting a crescent scar on his calf.

HOOPER Look at this one.

QUINT (snorts) Beauty mark.

Quint starts to pull up his own pant leg.

HOOPER Bull-shark scraped me. I was down getting samples, and he ---

QUINT (puts his leg on Hooper's lap) Mako! Match that!

A slow mischievous grin stains Hooper's soggy face. He slowly unbuttons his shirt, knowing an ace beats the three of club. An S-shaped white scar on his side says "gin."

HOOPER Eight-foot moray eel -- right through the suit, buddy....

Quint staggers to his feet, begins undoing his belt, undoes his zipper.

QUINT You're in one piece, ain't you? Here me lovely!

Quint pulls down one side of his pants to his hip. It looks like a small piece of him was cored out.

HOOPER Minor League. Where's it from?

QUINT Tillie Schwab -- Newark, New Jersey.

Both laugh, as Hooper pull his shirt down over his left shoulder.

HOOPER Right! You want to play dirty -- ? (displays tiny scar) Standing in line for The Exorcist!

More laughter. Quint takes off his shoe.

QUINT I got a toe that'll wipe the floor with you ---

Hooper, laughing, undoes his belt.

HOOPER A what? You got a what?


Something catches his eye and sobers him.

QUINT He's up again.

190ANGLE - SEA190

The stroboscopic signal-light surfaces at the horizon.

QUINT (grudgingly) Very handy light, I'll say that.

HOOPER (feeling macho) Let's move in on him.

QUINT (shakes head) Not till I can see him good. (a long look, a hint of worry) Even the one'll keep pullin' him up. But he'll need three, maybe four. Most I ever used was two. (swigs from bottle) Bastard ran me halfway to Liverpool.

HOOPER You kill him?

QUINT (still staring) Always do, once I stick a barrel on 'em. (back to Hooper) No more objections?

Hooper doesn't replay, Quint needles him.

QUINT Jaws two foot wide. Real Prestige item.

Hooper shrugs. Quint hands him the bottle. Hooper cocks his head, noticing a scar patch on Quint's right forearm.

HOOPER How'd you get that one?

Quint, staring out to sea, doesn't seem to hear Hooper. The signal light disappears.

QUINT Down again.

HOOPER (persisting) The scar on your arm.

QUINT (detached) Had a tattoo there.

HOOPER (jocular) Changed your mind about somebody?

QUINT (shaking his head) It said 'U.S.S. Indianapolis.'


His face falls as he hears this. Quint looks at him ironi- cally.

QUINT Guess you experts know about that.

Once again Quint turns his eyes to the sea.

HOOPER (gravely) You were on her? June '45?

QUINT (flat and quiet) On her and torpedoed right off her. Into the drink with 900 other clowns ...Started with 900 anyway...floating in that big warm Pacific. (the light surfaces again) Must have been like a dinner bell in there...Explosions, and half the guys bleeding. Soon as the sharks came homing in on us, we went by the Manual, of course... Kept trying to float in groups... doin' what if said, splash at 'em, yell at 'em, hit 'em on the nose, they won't bother you...all that. They tore apart about a hundred men, the first night. And pretty soon, when they stepped it up, and you'd feel 'em bump you, and guys'd get pulled down a couple of yards away, and it got to two days...and three...Well, some fellas couldn't take it no more, just peeled off their life-jackets, got it over with ...We were in the water 110 hours. Sharks averaged six men an hour. (nails Hooper a hard look) They're all experts. (spits in the ocean)

HOOPER (weakened by the story) Jesus, Quint! You can't blame ---

Hooper is interrupted by the boom and banshee cries of a distant whale.


springs out of his shallow sleep.

BRODY What -- What the hell --- ?

HOOPER (depressed) A whale's out there.

Quint sits in the fighting chair.

QUINT So is he.

193ANGLE - SEA193

The light has surfaced a quarter of a mile away.

QUINT Go on and sleep, the two of you.

Brody sinks back, half awake and panting from his burst of fright. Hooper looks at Quint a long time, suddenly a stranger again, then beds himself down in the balmy night air. Quint starts to doze, massaging his missing tattoo.



The Orca sits on unruffled waters. A planetarium of star- life overhead with shooting stars, every now and again making incisions into the heavens and leaving green trails behind. All is quiet, not a breath of wind.

The barrel's strobe light pops into foreground, CLOSE. It heads toward the Orca, carving neon blue phosphorescence into the water. The massive dorsal fin surfaces in the night and circles the Orca, leaving phosphorescence in its broad wake. The night skies, the silent waters are now alive in dancing light.


as the sleep. A SOUND is heard. A low protracted scraping. No one wakes. The sound returns. Another SCRAPE. A SCRATCH- ING noise...almost sounds like CHEWING. Then a gentle BUMP at the stern. Quint stirs. Brody turns over. Hooper is sleeping soundly. Then....

A seizure of violent shaking. A horrible splintering and popping noise. Quint half falls, half springs, out of the chair. Hooper is on his feet, but loses his footing. The Orca is again bumped from underneath. Brody holds on, his gun in hand. Quint pulls out his M-1.

QUINT Start the engine!

Hooper is on the flybridge in six bounds. Quint fires sea- ward over the transom. The engine starts, but something in it sounds wrong.

QUINT Cut it! Cut it!

Quint cranes to look down and around, but no light can be found.

QUINT I don't know where he is! Ripped something loose -- shaft or some- thin'.

He hefts up a deckboard, pokes his small flashlight into the cavity.

HOOPER I told you I have things to kill it with...take over up there, I can -- Quint!

QUINT (slams down board) Start the pump, goddammit!

Quint can't hide his fear now.

BRODY Are we leaking?

Sound -- pumps starting.

QUINT We'll stay afloat. Watch for the barrel ---

BRODY Can't I bail or something?

Quint takes Brody by the arm and sits him down, pointing to starboard.

QUINT Keep your eyes open, that's all -- out there! (to Hooper) And you keep looking that way, killer!

Quint takes up the opposite position and loads his M-1. Brody checks his gun. Hooper looks with binoculars.

QUINT And nobody sleeps. Nobody!

196ANGLE - ORCA196

The three men standing sentinel. Stars...quiet seas... phosphorescence lighting up the water. HEAR the whale cry- ing from far away.


Brody leans against the windshield on the flybridge. His arms hoist binoculars to his eyes. Visible without binoculars is the signal-light and barrel, not moving, two hundred yards astern. An angry racket filters up from below deck -- Quint is effecting engine repairs the only way he knows how. Brody has learned a neat sailor's trick and nimbly slides down the hand piping, his feet avoiding the steps. He sidles next to Hooper, who is struggling into his full wet suit.

QUINT (o.s.) It moving?

BRODY (loud and off) No -- still there!

Hooper is busy attaching the cage to the ginpole. He is full of purpose, his hands working against the clock, short glances to the hatch from where Quint can be heard, cursing and wrench- ing.

BRODY Please, Matt, don't get him sore. He's loony enough.

Hooper tests the rope, inspects his gear, selects a steel pole and opens a tiny green felt case.

BRODY Put all that stuff away before he finds out.


Hooper opens it, removing a deadly-looking syringe head.

HOOPER (grim) He had a turn, now I'll have a turn. (mounting it on steel pole) Maybe you should have a turn, too.

Brody tries to reason, when:


emerges dirty, red-eyed and haggard, pauses to take it all in.

QUINT What is this?

HOOPER (without looking up) Strychnine nitrate, 20 CC's.

QUINT Wear all the Batman costumes you want, sport. But don't you inter- fere with me.

Quint starts to climb the bridge.

HOOPER (to Quint) All you need to do is lower me in ---

QUINT (muttering to himself) I need a transom that don't leak every time that -- (starts engine) -- shaft goes around -- (an uneven sputter) -- Bent! Seams splitting open there -- !

Quint finesses the Orca "slow ahead" toward the barrel. The engine sounds like a hamster treadmill. Hooper climbs up beside him.

HOOPER You know he'll go for the cage ---

QUINT Not today, doc. No injections.

HOOPER I can finish him in sixty seconds.

QUINT (listening to engine) Whole goddam housing's loose! 'He' can hear it, too.

HOOPER Can't you stop this Moby Dick crap?!

QUINT We do this the way I know how.

Quint cuts the engine once alongside the barrel. Hooper barely controls himself. Climbs down.

Quint follows after him, putting a cautioning hand on Hooper's shoulder to walk softly, then motions Brody to stay on the flybridge and keep his eyes peeled.


Tiptoe to the stern, Quint intercepting a harpoon along the way. Hooper leans way out over the transom and poles the barrel closer. It bobs around easily, arousing Quint's sus- picions.

QUINT (softly) Playin' possum....

Hooper poles up the slick nylon rope, leaving the barrel untouched in the water.

QUINT Pull up easy -- only want to goose him up. Second you feel he's run- ning, drop it...If you want any hands left.

Hooper starts hand-reeling in. Surprisingly, there is no resistance. Both men share perplexed looks. Then Quint reaches over, his whole body leaning over the side, putting down his harpoon.

QUINT Here -- gimme. I don't get what he's....


Both men are draped over the side, their chins almost touching the water on the aft side. From the opposite starboard direction, fully unfastened from the barrel, comes the Great White. First the fin, then the conical nose and the upper border of wide, grinning teeth. It knifes through the water in absolute silence, propelling itself with tremendous speed toward the unsuspecting men.


His instincts shine -- as does his newly-acquired sense of direction.

BRODY (top of his lungs) Shark! Starboard! It's under you -- !


They turn just in time, and a long spine-stretch saves them from instant decapitation. The Great White passes the transom, the harpoon still in its side and trailing five feet of chewed off cable. The monster rolls on its side and looks at them as it passes. Then, with a great sweep of its tail, it lashes the side of the boat, ripping the rope from Quint's hand and shearing off five square yards of paint like a lathe. It makes a wide arc out to sea, only the fin showing now, and begins to circle around the boat. Quint notices his hand, palm cut and bleeding, realizes he came that close to losing his whole hand. He has never been more dangerous.

QUINT (to Brody) Haul in that rope -- it can foul us! (screaming to Hooper) Start the engine -- !

Brody and Hooper exchange places. The engine starts with a terrible grinding.

QUINT (roaring) Easy! It'll tear right out!

BRODY (next to him, hauling in rope) We can't do it ourselves....

QUINT (seeing red) Shut up!

BRODY He chewed through this, he cracked your boat -- radio in for help ---

QUINT (to Hooper) Pump her out a little...!

BRODY I mean it! Send out an S.O.S.!

QUINT (spitting) Don't make me laugh when I'm working.

BRODY (sudden resolve) I'll do it.

Brody heads off for the cabin.


A perfectly terrible look comes over him. He raises up and starts after Brody. Brody disappears into the cabin. Quint pauses outside and sees:


his calloused hand grabs it up fiercely.


Brody picks up the radio, flicking on knobs and lights on the complex console.

QUINT (o.s.) Beg your pardon ---


Quint appears, silhouetted in the hot light of the door, raising his bat.

QUINT Duty first and pleasure after ---


looking up in horror.


Quint brings down the bat with all the strength he can muster.


Sparks fly, lights blink and go out, plastic and sections of metal ricochet all over the cabin as Quint demolishes the ship- to-shore radio.

Quint takes a happy breath, winks at Brody and hands him the bat.

QUINT (leaving the cabin) Excuse me!

If he were ten years older, Brody would be on the floor with heart failure.


urgently pointing.

HOOPER Coming right to us!

Quint grabs up his harpoon.

QUINT No -- comin' at us! Slow ahead he'll slam us, head on -- (the engine clanks) Slower! Throttle back ---


The shark is closing the gap, faster.

QUINT (raising harpoon) Hard to port!

Hooper pulls the boat into a tight turn and Quint has a shot at the upward rolling flank. He sinks it with careful pre- cision.

QUINT Try shakin' that out!

Brody emerges from the cabin as the rope zips overboard, and the barrel, changing over, catapults into the air before plunging into the ocean in a cloudy splash.

BRODY (shouting to Hooper) This won't kill it!

QUINT (to Hooper) Swing around! After him!


Hooper can see the fin racing ahead of the barrel. Diving down. Up again -- Quint prepares another iron.

QUINT More gas...go to half! Get me right alongside him ---

The engine thuds and knocks.

HOOPER (shouting down) We can't rev it up this high ---

Suddenly the barrel gongs into the side of the Orca.

QUINT Watch it!

Hooper skillfully avoids the speeding rope.

QUINT Atta boy!

Quint leans to one side, harpoon over his head. The Great White breaks water and....

QUINT Take two, they're small!

He sinks it deep. We hear shots. As the new rope whips out, Brody can be seen standing on the gunwale, clutching the steel cage with one hand, firing his pistol at the shark with the other.

Quint shakes his head in amused disbelief at this, as the barrel goes over.

HOOPER (shouting at Brody) Don't shoot him any more! He's crazy on his own blood already!

BRODY I can't stand here doing nothing!

QUINT Order in the court!


He has seen the two barrels pop to the surface.

QUINT (racing over) Three'll do it! He's havin' trouble with two!

He yells to Hooper and Brody as he swings behind the controls.

QUINT Grab yourselves a couple of poles!

Quint steers "Slow Ahead," engine protesting, as he maneuvers toward the moving barrels. Quint peers down, steering closer and closer.

QUINT Get ready! Now snag 'em!

Together Brody and Hooper hook a barrel-rope and hold on for dear life as the shark changes course.

QUINT Pull in the ropes and tie 'em onto the transom -- free ride.

Brody and Hooper pull in with all they are worth as Quint helps out by wheeling in a circle. He laughs to himself, enjoying the spectacle.


securing the rope to a cleat but allowing the barrel to hang overboard. He helps Brody with his chore on a second adjacent cleat.


The boat is jarred violently from side to side as the under- water force of the Great White jerks and heaves them to and fro, up and down, side to side....


are both torn off their feet as the boat is thrust forward.


sees the fin ahead. It is pulling the boat.

QUINT Get tired! That's the idea! Here's a little reverse for you!

The shark leaps partially out of the water, and the sight is both horrifying and awesome. Its jaws break water, snapping at the ropes that have him snarled and frustrated.

Quint throws the Orca into neutral and shouts down:

QUINT Haul in -- watch the prop!

At that, Quint slides down to the prow, grabs up an iron. It is too light. He grabs another, finding satisfaction in its heft and balance. The shark can be seen directly ahead, threshing closer.

QUINT Now! Untie 'em! Quick -- Now!

He sinks the iron, and the shark veers downward in a gushing shower of spray.


They are trying to untie from the cleats, but both ropes are stretched too taut. They jump out of the way as the ropes stretch down the side and behind the boat, knocking over objects as it skeeters across the deck. A tight jerking motion, and the Orca is dragged through the water -- backwards. And much too fast. Water is splashing up over the transom in its backward wake.

QUINT I said untie them ---

Wrenched to one side, Quint is knocked from his feet.


A moment of slackness, and then a great surge of raw strength.

The rope snaps the cleats off, screws and splintered wood spraying -- and the barrels fly into the water. They dis- appear beneath the turbulent grey surface.

The three men, breathing heavily, bruised and pouring sweat, look out at the blank water.


Pop -- pop -- pop. One, two, three, the barrels surface -- ready for more.

QUINT He can't go deep now, or far, either. Not with those. Not for long.

Brody looks down at his feet. There is salt water up to their shoe tops.

BRODY What about us?

QUINT (mentally assessing the damage) Have to pump her steady, s'all.

The barrels start a wide circle, each cuts through the water, pushing a wave before it and leaving a wake behind.

QUINT (to Hooper) Follow him -- (to Brody) You start pumpin' out here.

Quint tosses Brody the hand pump, then picks up his 30.06, checks the load.

QUINT Maybe a brain shot...one lucky hit....

HOOPER (o.s.) (on bridge) He's heading under -- !

QUINT (incredulously) No way! He can't!


The barrels approaching the Orca dip below the surface, one -- two -- three.

BRODY Where'd he go?

Brody looks around. Hooper on the flying bridge searching in all directions. Quint is looking more appalled every second.

QUINT (helplessly) He can't stay down with three barrels on him! What are we dealing with here?! Where is he?!

BRODY Have you ever had one do this?

QUINT (and he means this) No!

BOOMING THUD at the keel. Brody slides on the wet deck and Quint loses his footing, falling into Brody's arms.


With him we watch the barrels pop up ahead of the bow then veer briskly to the left and plunk down again.

QUINT Follow him!

HOOPER I can't see him!


Panic-ridden, barely in control.

BRODY There -- !

The barrels have surfaced and we see the lengthy shadow passing underneath the Orca. It is incredibly huge, there's always more of it. There is a SCRAPING NOISE. Quint looks down as two of the barrels drag along the sides of the boat.

BRODY He's trying to sink us!

QUINT (to Hooper) Dead astern! Zig-zag!

There is something different about Quint. He's quieter now, more icily calm. The colorful cockiness has left him. Brody senses that Quint knows he's in a fight for his life.

The Orca taking evasive action. But the three barrels are steadily closing the gap. The engine makes SLOSHING NOISES now...missing and backfiring.

BRODY He's chasing us...I don't believe it.

QUINT Full throttle -- to port!


He gooses the throttle but the engine only screeches and pounds erratically. The three barrels pass beyond the boat, negotiating a tight circle and plowing mercilessly toward the Orca. The tip of the fin aims for the stern. Quint is ready with his rifle.

The shark breaks water and rises like a rocket, snout, jaw and pectoral fins shooting straight up. We see the smoke- white belly, the pelvic fin, as it clears the surface and falls sideways drenching Quint, who fires six times.

The Orca shudders from side to side. From Hooper's point of view we can just discern what is happening. The shark has the lower transom in its jaws and is shaking the boat with each jolt of its head. Quint shoots until spent. Brody seizes a gaff and drives it down at the conical nose again and again.

QUINT Throttle back -- !

When they next peer out, the dorsal fin can be seen gliding away, beginning a long circle around the Orca.

Right about now the Orca's engine breathes its final fumes and fails.


Utter dismay. Hooper turns the key, the motor wheezes...but the engine is dead.


His eyes flick from Hooper to the transom. It is cracked! Then out at the barrels...they don't seem to be moving.

BRODY (noting this) Maybe we killed it?

QUINT (don't I wish) We didn't kill it.

In rebuttal the barrels begin to move again, closer, in tighter concentric circles.



slipping into his weight-belt, strapping on his compressed air tanks. Nobody wants to stop him this time...even Quint helps him on with things.

HOOPER Your pumps are out too. Drop me down to twenty feet or so, okay?

Hooper walks over to the cage. Opens the steel doors and closes himself in.

HOOPER (to Quint) Try and keep him off me till I'm down.

Quint nods grimly and Hooper brandishes the pole with affixed syringe. He give him a thumbs up and Hooper absently returns it. Quint circles the deck, eye on the barrels.


on opposite sides of the bars.

HOOPER (with a reassuring smile) Lower away, Chief.

He pops his mouthpiece between teeth and lowers the face mask. Unsure, Brody manages to undo the knot that starts the cage into the ocean. He and Hooper stare at one another as their faces pass, Hooper's moving down, down into the slate- grey sea. Brody curls the rope around his forearm for a stronger hold.

QUINT That's the way Chief.

BRODY Live and learn.



Submerging. The sky, horizon, water line, clean fresh sea air then...the magnificent innerspace, with bubbles sparkling in front of us.


as he floats to twenty feet Hooper never stops looking around 360 degrees. He removes the rubber guard from the needle and waits.


Their turning heads tell us that the barrels are still circling. Suddenly, both heads stop turning.

232THE SEA232

The barrels have come to a stop. Delicately, they change course and meander toward the lowered cage.


His back is to us. He is just now completing a visual sweep and turns, eyes front into closeup and: fixes wildly on something monstrous...and fascinating.


The water is clear and shafts of sunlight streak downward in the blue. From the deep gloom -- diving slowly, smoothly -- comes the shark. It move with no apparent effort, sinuous beyond comparison. As it nears the cage, it turns, and its ghastly length passes right in front of him: first the snout, then the jaw, slack and smiling, then the black eye.

Hooper tentatively reaches out. It is too far for the strychnine pole. The vinyl flesh is pocked with bullet holes, iron scars, gaffing hooks and strange open wounds that tinge the passing currents with pink.


The trailing barrels GONG and SCRATCH the keel of the Orca above. Brody and Quint leap back.


The shark has vanished into a cloud of rising silt. Hooper, expecting the shark to attack out of that same general direction, braces himself, pole extended through the bars, breathing faster, straining his eyes into the gloom and...we see that the shark attacking from behind him.

The cage is sent careening. Hooper grabs the bars for dear life. The shark has grabbed the steel struts in its brutal jaws, shaking the cage relentlessly from side to side, bending the bars like clothes hangers. Hooper can't turn the point- end of the pole around, his body jammed as far away from the non-rational attacker as possible.

Hooper is trapped.

The shark withdraws to get some running room then charges again. The bleeding snout thrust deeper into the yawing bars, the jaws snapping and twisting, two feet from Hooper's torso, the tail thrusting it forward. Hooper drops the strychnine pole between the bars and it tumbles slowly toward rapture depth.

All the shark needs is one more good thrust before separating Hooper at the waistline. Through frantic bubbles Hooper fumbles with the overhead hatch cover, kicking up and out of the cage. The shark backpedals with its tail, but the broad head won't shake loose.

Hooper rushes downwards, after the strychnine pole.


As spirals of harmless bullets bead the water, the shark twists free of the cage and arrows downward after Hooper.

Hooper nearly recovers the pole. Again it slips from his frightened grasp and this time disappears into a narrow abyss. Hooper turns and looks up.

The Great White is lunging at him, twenty feet above.


One of the barrel ropes snakes around the cage rope and pulls taut.


Turning to meet the monster which -- though held back for a moment by the snarled rope -- now surges forward.


The Orca is listing dangerously aft, the ginpole bent almost to the breaking point. Brody is in a frenzy trying to haul up the cage. Quint attaches the end of Brody's rope to a hand-winch. The GINPOLE IS SPLITTING!

QUINT Let go of it!

The pole gives way, the rope whipping down on the gunwale.... the pulling of the tonnage below is tipping the Orca, dragging it, but Quint won't give up the winch. Brody hauls on the rope barehanded.


maneuvering downward, away from the jaws...Suddenly the crazed shark veers upward for the surface.


The winch is working faster now, Quint demonically winding it in. The crushed cage bangs against the hull then breaks water.

Brody is horrified. THE CAGE IS EMPTY!

QUINT (a horrible scream) He's comin' up --- !


The shark breaks water right beside the Orca, rising with a great whooshing noise. It rises vertically, towering over- head, blocking out the sun. The pectoral fins seem to reach forward. The shark, in all of its monstrous glory, falls onto the stern of the boat with a shattering crash, narrowly missing Quint and Brody. It drives the stern underwater, the ocean pours in over the transom. The jaws snap from side to side. Brody flounders backwards away from it. Quint gropes for his rifle and fires. The shark heaves its terrible girth and Quint flies backwards onto his harpoon display.


Skewered by a Number Twelve iron, Quint gulps blood and pitches into the onrushing sea.


The Orca is tipping backwards, sinking stern first, tipping Brody toward the gaping thrusting jaws. Deck chairs, irons, spent cartridges, thermos, beer cans all pour into the vacuum of the open gagging jaws. It wants Brody now, its tail keeping him into position.

Brody is sliding toward it with the rest of the debris as the bow raises thirty degrees. He intercepts one of Hooper's compressed air tanks and just as he and everything else pours toward the whirlpool and into the jaws, Brody braces himself and shoves the tanks at the bottomless pit. They jam between the upper and lower jaws and stick fast.

The shark twists backward in the water and turns away. Hooper, rising, is peering around for Brody and Quint. The shark is spinning in crazed circles, the head-thrusts indicating that it can neither dislodge nor swallow the silver tanks. It bites down at fifteen tons pressure per square inch. The TANKS EXPLODE!


A thirty-foot geyser of bright red water touches the black sky, spreading everywhere, missing nothing.


Clouds of blood -- shark's suspended carcass. Another cloud -- Quint suspended.


sinks with a rumble.


Raising his mask from the water, he kicks toward Brody.


The steel-grey body of the shark is falling away, an apparition evanescing into the darkness -- sinking in a slow, graceful spiral, stopped by the bobbing barrels.


Brody is holding onto a cushion, barely afloat, in shock.

BRODY Quint...Quint...is he dead?

Hooper crosses Brody's chest with his left arm, keeping him up in the water.

HOOPER Don't talk. We've got a long way.


The two tiny, miserable heroes, swimming from the debris.





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