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Description
I think we can all agree there's enough Jaws alternative posters / fan posters out there - pointless, I might add, since Roger Kastel's original is unsurpassable, but fun and often creative - so I'll just keep this in the scrap department.

Also, I just watched Jaws for the first time in roughly 11 years. A little afraid though, not knowing if it held up anymore; I've known the movie inside out since I was a kid, seen tons of movies in the meantime, my taste has matured and I've grown to want to see films dealing with relatable struggles rather than those out of our everyday realm. What if I desperately start looking for deeper meanings to justify Jaws's existence, unable to appreciate it for what it actually is and ruining the viewing experience in the process? What if I only see the minor continuity mistakes and can't think of nothing else? I've crafted a great chunk of my persona around the fact that Jaws is my favorite film of all-time, but never had the guts to put that to test in all my adult years. Even though I knew I was going to like it and think it's great upon viewing it, you may still end up not quite feeling it. Then all you can think afterwards is seeing something that was once very important to you, but feeling hollow inside.
Not that there's anything wrong about it, it may just mean you've grown. It's perfectly natural to not find the same importance in films you loved as a ten-year-old. Maybe it's important to acknowledge that some things are meant to be important only temporarily, and appreciate that temporary importance.

With that said: Holy Hell, was it good.

I wish I was making a joke but I'm not.

-----------------------

A week or two later I was preparing dinner alone and put the movie in the background to keep me company. About 30 minutes in, my dad walked in. This is a man who doesn't have any of the passion for movies I have. We sometimes saw films together when I was little, but in recent years that kind of occasion has been an anomality. BUT he is the one responsible for introducing me to JAWS. (As well as a bunch of classic Hitchcock flicks.) It was he who hyped up this film about a monster shark when I was barely ten. My parents wouldn't let me see R-rated films as a kid unless they had seen the movie themselves and deemed it suitable. This was one of those few exceptions and eventually it was my pa who bought the 25th anniversary VHS for me. Now I was playing this movie on a gorgeous high-definition Blu-ray and, after what I can assume to be nearly thirty years, I witnessed my freshly retired father sitting on a sofa, that's actually facing away from the TV, turn around, as if to see what the hell is making all that racket. He didn't even seem like he was going to keep watching, and from my experience, he wouldn't: instead he would normally just get a glimpse and continue with whatever. He obviously recognized the film and kept watching from that awkward position in the couch. One of life's modest pleasures for a Jaws nut like me happened rougly 45 minutes in as Hooper was submerged in the dead of night, investigating what happened with Ben Gardner and his boat, and seeing my father visibly flinch when Gardner's body pops into view. When a scene from a 45-year-old movie makes a man jump, in the least immersive film-viewing environment you could imagine, way too far from the TV screen in the early evening, you still got it, Jaws.
Usually there would be chatter in the dinner table, but not this time. All throughout the meal I'd prepared, dad was completely immersed, barely even able to look away to eat.
I didn't plan on watching the movie again, I was gonna shut the player once I was done eating, but I rarely see my pops get so into anything there was no way I was gonna ruin that. It was too precious a moment in life, and such a delicate one it would be gone with the ring of a doorbell or an incoming phonecall. I saw him shift from the dinner table to under the kitchen hood where he enjoys his customary cup of after-dinner coffee and cigarette, still following the movie, and then move closer to the TV set. He didn't sit down though, he kept standing, as if to watch "just this one scene" and then go run some errands. Like you would. But eventually he just sat down to make himself comfortable. I figured I didn't have anywhere to go or anything special to do, so I just relished the remaining hour of the movie that got me into movies in a big bad way, first time with the person who originally introduced me to it.

As we approach the marvelous end, my mom entered and I got to witness a magnificent piece of dialog:
- "Sie jäit sitä napottaan!" (very inadequately translated ~ "You got stuck watching it!")
- "Tämähän on aina niin jännä!" (again, awfully translated ~ "But this is always so ducky!")

Description
I think we can all agree there's enough Jaws alternative posters / fan posters out there - pointless, I might add, since Roger Kastel's original is unsurpassable, but fun and often creative - so I'll just keep this in the scrap department.

Also, I just watched Jaws for the first time in roughly 11 years. A little afraid though, not knowing if it held up anymore; I've known the movie inside out since I was a kid, seen tons of movies in the meantime, my taste has matured and I've grown to want to see films dealing with relatable struggles rather than those out of our everyday realm. What if I desperately start looking for deeper meanings to justify Jaws's existence, unable to appreciate it for what it actually is and ruining the viewing experience in the process? What if I only see the minor continuity mistakes and can't think of nothing else? I've crafted a great chunk of my persona around the fact that Jaws is my favorite film of all-time, but never had the guts to put that to test in all my adult years. Even though I knew I was going to like it and think it's great upon viewing it, you may still end up not quite feeling it. Then all you can think afterwards is seeing something that was once very important to you, but feeling hollow inside.
Not that there's anything wrong about it, it may just mean you've grown. It's perfectly natural to not find the same importance in films you loved as a ten-year-old. Maybe it's important to acknowledge that some things are meant to be important only temporarily, and appreciate that temporary importance.

With that said: Holy Hell, was it good.

I wish I was making a joke but I'm not.

-----------------------

A week or two later I was preparing dinner alone and put the movie in the background to keep me company. About 30 minutes in, my dad walked in. This is a man who doesn't have any of the passion for movies I have. We sometimes saw films together when I was little, but in recent years that kind of occasion has been an anomality. BUT he is the one responsible for introducing me to JAWS. (As well as a bunch of classic Hitchcock flicks.) It was he who hyped up this film about a monster shark when I was barely ten. My parents wouldn't let me see R-rated films as a kid unless they had seen the movie themselves and deemed it suitable. This was one of those few exceptions and eventually it was my pa who bought the 25th anniversary VHS for me. Now I was playing this movie on a gorgeous high-definition Blu-ray and, after what I can assume to be nearly thirty years, I witnessed my freshly retired father sitting on a sofa, that's actually facing away from the TV, turn around, as if to see what the hell is making all that racket. He didn't even seem like he was going to keep watching, and from my experience, he wouldn't: instead he would normally just get a glimpse and continue with whatever. He obviously recognized the film and kept watching from that awkward position in the couch. One of life's modest pleasures for a Jaws nut like me happened rougly 45 minutes in as Hooper was submerged in the dead of night, investigating what happened with Ben Gardner and his boat, and seeing my father visibly flinch when Gardner's body pops into view. When a scene from a 45-year-old movie makes a man jump, in the least immersive film-viewing environment you could imagine, way too far from the TV screen in the early evening, you still got it, Jaws.
Usually there would be chatter in the dinner table, but not this time. All throughout the meal I'd prepared, dad was completely immersed, barely even able to look away to eat.
I didn't plan on watching the movie again, I was gonna shut the player once I was done eating, but I rarely see my pops get so into anything there was no way I was gonna ruin that. It was too precious a moment in life, and such a delicate one it would be gone with the ring of a doorbell or an incoming phonecall. I saw him shift from the dinner table to under the kitchen hood where he enjoys his customary cup of after-dinner coffee and cigarette, still following the movie, and then move closer to the TV set. He didn't sit down though, he kept standing, as if to watch "just this one scene" and then go run some errands. Like you would. But eventually he just sat down to make himself comfortable. I figured I didn't have anywhere to go or anything special to do, so I just relished the remaining hour of the movie that got me into movies in a big bad way, first time with the person who originally introduced me to it.

As we approach the marvelous end, my mom entered and I got to witness a magnificent piece of dialog:
- "Sie jäit sitä napottaan!" (very inadequately translated ~ "You got stuck watching it!")
- "Tämähän on aina niin jännä!" (again, awfully translated ~ "But this is always so ducky!")