Mystery-writing lessons from ‘Jaws’

I saw the movie “Jaws” the summer it came out. Over and over and over and over again. There wasn’t a lot to do in Augusta, Maine, in the summer in the 1970s. But I also just couldn’t get enough of that movie. At 14, I couldn’t have told you why. It thrilled me way beyond the scary parts.

I don’t believe I’ve seen it at all in the years since it came out in 1975. If I did, it was decades ago. It’s now on streaming, in celebration of its 50th anniversary (Peacock+ and Netflix). I’ve watched it three times in the past two weeks and now, with 50 years of reading and writing behind me, I can tell you exactly why it was great then and it’s great now.

I know you’re likely poo-pooing that. It’s just another summer disaster movie, right? That’s what I would’ve said in the years since I’d seen it. I would’ve been wrong.

“Jaws” is to good story structure and writing what a Great White shark is to the ocean — “a perfect engine,” as the shark was described in the movie. The movie itself is, too. It’s a a lean, efficient machine. And it does it well enough that it tells a perfect story. [This is the movie, I’m talking about, not the Peter Benchley novel the movie is based on. Benchley wrote the screenplay with Carl Gottlieb, but it’s a much more perfect engine than the book.]

Watch it as a writer, and you’ll see. I’ll sum up its biggest lessons for writers here. I’ll try not to give too many spoilers, but come on, folks, it’s been 50 years. The spoiler statute of limitations must be expired by now.

Don’t show the shark too soon.  The movie is masterful at building suspense. In two hours we don’t see the shark until the exact middle — the one-hour mark. It’s another 30 minutes before we see it again.

That doesn’t mean there’s no scary suspense. What do we see? A young woman getting repeatedly jerked under the water by an unseen attacker. You see little Alex Kintner’s rubber raft upend, and then a plume of blood. You see a dock getting pulled in half and going out to sea, then as the hapless guy on the dock frantically swims to shore, the dock slowly turns around and follows him. The head of Ben Gardner, the town’s best fisherman, popping out from the destroyed hull of his boat.

Even after we finally see the shark, the movie doesn’t overdo it. One of the most chilling moments in the movie is when the police chief, shark hunter and shark expert guy are in the boat, kind of drunk and singing. The view switches from inside the boat to outside. It’s dark, the boat is in the distance lit up, their singing faintly ringing across the water. Then, in the foreground, the plastic barrel they’d earlier attached to the shark pops up out of the water. There’s a pause, then it starts moving toward the boat.

Lesson for writers? Don’t pile it all on at once. Build the suspense, piece by piece, making it more powerful each time. And then, once you’ve done the big reveal, don’t overdo it. What’s not seen is scarier than what’s seen.

More dialogue, less exposition. The script of “Jaws” is just about perfect. We learn an incredible amount from conversations, many of them brief. This includes the police chief’s background, why he came form New York City to work on Amity Island, why some townspeople would rather roll the dice on a possible killer shark than close the beaches, and a ton of stuff about sharks — all through dialogue. The little bit of exposition in the movie feels natural and organic.

Lesson for writers? Tell the story through the characters, what they say and how they reaction. And they don’t need to say a lot, just enough, and the right way.

Natural dialogue. I’ve really tired over the last two or three decades of wise-guy movie (and book) dialogue. I call it Lethal Weapon/Die Hard syndrome. The guy holding the gun? The guy at the other end of the gun? All the people in between? Everyone’s an over-confident tough guy with wise-guy patter and catchphrases. I even saw Superman doing it in a trailer for his later movie. It’s like the script writers (or book writers) are just looking to create the latest catchphrase, rather than tell the story. It’s tiresome, trite, lazy, bad writing. When every reaction is LWDH syndrome, it flattens the story and characters.

Dialogue should be the utility player of a book, serving a lot of purposes. Not only to get in information and background, as noted above, but to develop character, convey mood, slow or speed up pace, and much more.

“Jaws” does that. Sure there are jokes and sarcastic asides and a wisecrack or two, but they’re a natural part of the dialogue and true to the characters. Some of them have become catchphrases, but “Jaws” was made long before the catchphrase era, and they weren’t intended to be.

People may remember one of the movie’s most famous lines, “You’re going to need a bigger boat,” as just the kind of wisecrack BS I’m talking about. The ultimate catchphrase. It’s definitely used that way today. But it wasn’t in the movie. It comes after the second appearance of the shark, a full-face leap at the police chief, at a point when everyone’s guard is down. When Roy Scheider, as the chief, says it, it’s not a wisecrack. He’s in shock, terrified, and he really, really thinks they need a bigger boat. In fact, he asks Quint, the shark catcher, two more times during the rest of the movie if they’re going to get a bigger boat. It’s so much better than a throwaway wisecrack.

When there isn’t a wisecrack or joke punctuating every tense situation, characters can develop more fully. They can be vulnerable or smart or insightful in a way that the buddy-movie approach doesn’t allow. It makes for a much better story.

Lesson for writers? Don’t base your dialogue on superhero and buddy movies. Instead, consider how your characters think and see the world, and what their purpose is in the book, and allow them to fully express themselves.

Character development. The main characters are the same archetypes you see in many movies and crime novels — the reluctant hero, the concerned wife, the guy who knows things are really bad but no one will listen to him, the rogue that you have to depend on to save the village. That said, in “Jaws” they are not caricatures. The script and good acting combine to give them nuance and story arcs that work. The fact that the dialogue is not just a string of exposition, wisecracks and catch phrases helps. Even the mayor, the typical guy who does not want to close the beaches and lose the tourist trade, has some depth. When he says to the police chief, “My kids were on that beach, too,” you believe his distress.

Lesson to writers? Sure, you may have some of the standard-issue characters. But that doesn’t mean they have to be cartoons.

Less is more. There are so many scenes in the movie that easily could’ve been overblown and melodramatic, a lot of the cliche stuff you expect to see or read these days. The movie in its lean and efficient way, avoids those overblown scenes we’re conditioned to see.

A great example is when the chief tells his wife to take their youngest home. They’re at the hospital after a harrowing event, and she’s obviously had enough. She says, “Home? To New York?” He says, quietly, “Home. Here.” They look at each other for a beat, she gives a very small resigned nod, and leaves with the kid. A lot was said in those few words. It was so much better than some big screaming argument about the island, the shark, the kids, blah blah blah. Masterful. There are many moments like that in the movie.

And at the end, when the police chief does what he does to solve the shark problem [I won’t spoil it!], it’s not some overdone wisecracking extravaganza. He’s terrified, a little panicked, but knows what he has to do and with some skill and luck, manages it. And as a bonus, it’s not punctuated with wisecracks or catchphrases. He does say, “Smile you son of a bitch,” but it’s out of desperation, not to be s smart aleck.

Lesson for writers? If you do it right, the scene or situation will carry itself without a lot of bells and whistles.

It’s not about the shark. Even though I binge-watched “Jaws” 50 years ago and have again the last week or so, I have no interest in sharks. None. Zero. Zilch. Nada. Shark Week comes and goes without me giving one thought to sharks.

“Jaws,” though, isn’t about the shark. It’s a horror movie in the best sense of the word. There’s a mostly unseen terrifying thing that is killing people, and they are slow on the uptake, then have no control over it. It’s about fear, obsession, vulnerability, human weakness and strength, and human interaction.

Lesson for writers? The crime or murder in a mystery novel is the vehicle for the real story. What’s your real story about?