Tag Archives: Horror

TOP 10 FILM SCORES OF THE 1970s: AN ECLECTIC DECADE OF TRANSFORMATION

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Film scoring in the 1970s was nothing short of revolutionary. This was a decade in which composers and filmmakers experimented with sound in bold, unprecedented ways. Sweeping orchestras still had their place, but they now shared the stage with eerie minimalism, jazz-infused soundscapes, synthesizers, and even progressive rock. The result was a period of extraordinary breadth and innovation—one that gave us some of the most iconic film music ever written.

At the heart of this decade stood John Williams and Jerry Goldsmith, two composers who dominated in very different ways. Williams revived the lush, symphonic tradition and brought it back to the masses with scores that became cultural phenomena. Goldsmith, meanwhile, was the chameleon—endlessly inventive, prolific, and daring, whether working with avant-garde techniques, electronic experimentation, or lyrical orchestrations. Yet the decade was not defined by them alone. Outsiders like Goblin, with their phantasmagorical score for Suspiria, or directors such as John Carpenter, who electrified horror with nothing more than a chilling piano rhythm in Halloween, proved that iconic film music could be born outside the studio system. Jazz, soul, and early R&B also found their way into major works, mirroring the diverse cultural pulse of the era.

The soundscape of the 1970s was one where tradition collided with innovation. Bernard Hermann closed out his legendary career with Taxi Driver, a jazz-infused urban nightmare that distilled both character and city into sound. Jerry Goldsmith, the consummate innovator, moved effortlessly from the operatic choral terror of The Omen to the avant-garde dissonance of Alien and the melancholy trumpet of Chinatown—not to mention his enduring Star Trek theme, launched in The Motion Picture. Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells, adapted for The Exorcist, demonstrated that minimalist rock could chill as deeply as any orchestra. And Williams resurrected the grand symphonic tradition with Jaws and Star Wars, reintroducing sweeping themes and leitmotifs to a new generation. Taken together, these works made the 1970s both a bridge and a launchpad: honoring the past while daring to explore the future.

Audiences witnessed a resurgence of the full-bodied symphonic score, reviving the golden-age practice of leitmotif-driven composition. But while many scores channeled old Hollywood, these same scores were blazing new trails–trails that future filmmakers would tread and further develop in their own voices. Yet the 1970s were hardly a return to tradition alone. From fragmented jazz and abrasive brass to minimalist repetition that conveyed inevitability, film scores proved that music could disturb and destabilize as effectively as it could uplift. Musical expressions across a wide spectrum were represented and fused throughout the decade. This eclecticism was witnessed in the integration of jazz, rock, and popular styles into film scoring. Jazz, long associated with improvisation and urban grit, seeped into dramas and thrillers, while progressive rock and folk elements brought an otherworldly quality to European cinema.

This embrace of contemporary genres reflected the cultural currents of the 1970s, when popular music increasingly shaped the everyday soundscape. Although electronic instruments are often associated with the 1980s, experimentation with synthesizers truly began in the 1970s. By blending traditional compositional techniques with new technology, composers created atmospheres that felt immense, uncanny, and otherworldly. Horror, in particular, became the proving ground for these sonic experiments. From the satanic choral grandeur of The Omen to the eerie repetition of The Exorcist, the avant-garde unease of Alien, and the surrealism of Suspiria, horror films became laboratories for innovation—setting trends that rippled across genres.

The eclecticism of 1970s film scoring mirrored the turbulence and transformation of American life during that same decade. The United States was navigating a shifting cultural landscape—post-Vietnam disillusionment, Watergate’s erosion of political trust, an energy crisis, and social movements that challenged the norms of race, gender, and identity. Just as the nation was renegotiating its sense of self, film music was renegotiating its role in storytelling. The return of grand symphonic scores reflected a yearning for stability, heroism, and mythmaking in a time of uncertainty. At the same time, the rise of dissonance, minimalism, and electronic experimentation resonated with audiences living through an era of anxiety and rapid change. Just as the decade was defined by eclectic fashion, political unrest, and artistic upheaval, so too was its film music characterized by hybridity, boldness, and the breaking of old rules. The cinema became a cultural mirror, wherein the nation’s contradictions—fear and hope, nostalgia and progress, tradition and innovation—were set to music.

The 1970s also reasserted film scores as cultural touchstones, in ways not witnessed since Herrmann’s Psycho. John Williams work and name became instantly recognizable beyond the movie theatre, entering the cultural lexicon in a way few film scores had before. Jerry Goldsmith pushed the boundaries of what film music could evoke, Nino Rota created hauntingly elegant themes with operatic weight. Meanwhile, Mike Oldfield’s Tubular Bells proved that a minimalist rock piece could achieve global recognition and forever alter the sound of horror. Collectively, these works and more reestablished film music not merely as background support, but as a defining element of a film’s identity—inseparable from its success and enduring in the popular imagination.

The 1970s forever changed how we would hear cinema.

This week, on my show ReelTalk on WKGC Public Media, I sat down with music professor Dr. Steven DiBlasi to countdown our Top Ten Film Scores of the 1970s. Our respective lists both aligned and diverged, covering the wide spectrum of great, memorable film music that was the 1970s. Below, you will find our respective Top 10 lists, but for the full conversation (approx 1hr), you’ll want to listen to the episode!

Listen

Top 10 Film Scores of the 1970s

Mine (Ryan’s)

Dr. DiBlasi’s

  • 10. Taxi Driver (Bernard Herrmann, 1976)
  • 9. The Godfather (Nino Rota, 1972)
  • 8. Chinatown (Jerry Goldsmith, 1974)
  • 7. The Omen (Jerry Goldsmith, 1976)
  • 6. Alien (Jerry Goldsmith, 1979)
  • 5. Star Wars (John Williams, 1977)
  • 4. Jaws (John Williams, 1975)
  • 3. Suspiria (Goblin, 1977)
  • 2. Halloween (John Carpenter, 1978)
  • 1. The Exorcist (Mike Oldfield, 1973)
  • 10. The Petrified Forest (Toro Takemitsu, 1973)
  • 9. Days of Heaven (Ennio Morricone, 1978)
  • 8. Space is the Place (Sun Ra, 1974)
  • 7. A Clockwork Orange (Wendy Carlos, 1971)
  • 6. Don’t Look Now (Pino Donaggio, 1973)
  • 5. Shaft (Isaac Hayes, 1971)
  • 4. Taxi Driver (Bernard Hermann, 1976)
  • 3. Chinatown (Jerry Goldsmith, 1974)
  • 2. Hurricane (Nino Rota, 1979)
  • 1. Star Trek: TMP (Jerry Goldsmith, 1979)

Ultimately, the 1970s was a transformative decade of film music, both a bridge and a launchpad. It bridged the golden age of orchestral scoring with the bold experimentation of the modern era, while launching the blockbuster tradition and electronic innovation that would dominate the decades to come. The eclecticism of 1970s film music remains its hallmark, and its influence can still be heard in how cinema sounds today.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

THE CONJURING: LAST RITES horror film review

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The screenplay should be exercised of the demons plaguing the narrative. While The Conjuring: Last Rites offers initial intrigue and a moderately compelling performative dimension, what substance the story had was undercut by a proliferation of monstrous encounters.

In 1986, paranormal investigators Ed and Lorraine Warren travel to Pennsylvania to vanquish a demon from a family’s home. This case would prove to be their last.

At its outset, the film suggests a promising return to the roots of this dozen-year-old horror franchise that began in 2013, hinting at a chilling and intimate confrontation with the supernatural. The mood is suitably dark, and the premise—while familiar—has just enough mystery to draw the viewer in for what would appear to be tapping into its desire to be in the same vein as The Exorcist. For a time, it even teases the prospect of a measured, atmospheric entry into the Warrens’ saga. Unfortunately, the promise of the first act quickly gives way to a chaotic barrage of hollow frights and set-piece monsters that smother any narrative tension the film might have cultivated.

The greatest asset in the film is, without question, the lead casting of (returning) Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga and the addition of Mia Tomlinson as daughter Judy Warren and Ben Hardy as her fiancé Tony. Farmiga and Wilson remain the heart of the franchise–they are the soul reason this franchise continued for as long as it did. Their impeccable chemistry continues to play a vital role in lending credibility and weight to this story and the others in the franchise that would otherwise struggles to stay grounded. Combining Farmiga and Wilson with Tomlinson and Hardy, their collective performances carry an emotional authenticity that suggests a deeper, more resonant film lurking beneath the surface–too bad it was largely kept beneath the surface of the picture. Additionally, the supporting players, too, offer moderately compelling turns, doing what they can with material that rarely allows for nuance.

Where Last Rites falters most egregiously is in its writing—particularly in the second and third acts. What begins with threads of intrigue quickly unravels into a tangle of formulaic plot beats, ill-defined stakes, and a near-total abandonment of narrative discipline. The dialogue oscillates between expositional over-explaining and perfunctory banter, never achieving the kind of earnestness that made earlier entries memorable. By the climax, the story feels more like a theme park attraction than a descent into the occult. (Speaking of which, The Conjuring-verse would make for a fantastic Halloween Horror Nights House if an agreement between New Line Cinema and Universal Parks and Resorts could ever be reached).

Equally troubling is the film’s shallow and often misguided treatment of spiritual warfare. While The Conjuring-verse has historically dabbled in theological and metaphysical ideas, this installment offers only a cursory exploration—at times bordering on ignorance. Themes of faith, redemption, and evil are reduced to ornamental set dressing rather than being woven meaningfully into the narrative. Fundamental tenets of spiritual warfare are neglected: Scripture teaches that “demons tremble at His name” and that they cannot force a person, calling on the Lord, to take their own life or that of another—tempt, yes; coerce, no. This misunderstanding undercuts the stakes, turning spiritual conflict into spectacle rather than a profound struggle. Even William Friedkin’s The Exorcist handled these dimensions with reverence and gravity, whereas here they are clumsily exploited for empty shocks.

From a film craft perspective, the overreliance on CGI monsters is perhaps the final nail in the coffin for this horror franchise and universe. Where practical effects could have imbued the film with texture, tangibility, and dread, we are instead subjected to a parade of vapid, weightless apparitions. Without giving way to spoilers too much, there is a scene in which Lorraine is staring in to a sink that overflows with blood–CGI blood. If Kubrick could pull off the bloody elevator scene in The Shining then this movie could have used practical effects for this scene. I am not suggesting that practical effects alone would have “saved” the soul of this movies, but an increase in the degree to which practical and mechanical effects were integrated into the narrative certainly would’ve helped the movie feel more tangible. The jump scares—frequent and rarely earned—feel like mechanical interruptions rather than organic outgrowths of fear. It is horror by checklist, and it shows. By the time we arrive at the third act, nearly every scene or sequence has a series of jump scares that are predictable at best and lazy at worst. More character-driven moments and dramatic conflict would’ve been a great tool for emotional resets and plot/character development.

In the end, The Conjuring: Last Rites is neither the triumphant sendoff nor the atmospheric chiller it aspires to be. It is a film at war with its own instincts: part haunted house, part monster mash, and ultimately, part missed opportunity. All that said, it’s not a bad movie–it’s better than many of the other installments. But a franchise that needed to end with an Annabelle: Creation would up ending with an Annabelle.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

WEAPONS horror movie review

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Sleek, stylish, and appears razor-honed, but needs a little sharpening. Zach Cregger’s Weapons takes audiences on a visually arresting and emotionally charged journey that blends suspense, terror, and moments of surrealism. While the film excels in crafting atmosphere through its immersive sound design, haunting imagery, and striking cinematography, its story ultimately collapses under the weight of overwriting and structural ambition. Despite moments of genuine tension and intrigue, the story struggles to cohere into something emotionally resonant or thematically satisfying. In the end, Weapons proves to be more refined in aesthetic than in substance—an experience-driven work that favors tone over storytelling.

When all but one child from the same classroom mysteriously vanish on the same night at exactly the same time, a community is left questioning who or what is behind their disappearance.

Weapons positions itself as a psychological horror anthology-adjacent film that aspires to echo the structural ambition of Trick ‘r Treat and the dread-soaked atmosphere of Hereditary. Each composition is meticulously crafted, echoing the influences of Ari Aster, David Lynch, and Paul Thomas Anderson. The film’s immersive sound design, scored with unnerving precision, deepens the psychological tension, ensuring that audiences feel trapped within the same spiraling unease as its characters. Cregger, best known for the unexpected 2022 breakout Barbarian, attempts something far more sprawling here: a multi-threaded, nonlinear horror tapestry that spans time, location, and character perspectives. On paper, the structure is bold and ambitious. But unlike Barbarian, which grounded its twists in a tightly wound narrative, Weapons ultimately feels thematically scattered and emotionally distant. Characters arrive with weight, but rarely evolve; connections are drawn, but their meaning feels underdeveloped.

What Weapons does exceptionally well is craft an experience. Cregger’s talent for generating sustained suspense, is elevated here to a more mature and stylized level. The tonal consistency, even across multiple timelines and narrative threads, is admirable. Individual sequences build atmosphere masterfully, utilizing silence and suggestion as effectively as sudden, jarring visuals. The sound design alone is enough to make your skin crawl—unsettling, precise, and deeply immersive. The cinematography delivers an unnerving blend of realism and the uncanny, grounding even the most supernatural or surreal moments in believable textures and light.

Weapons boasts an outstanding performative dimension. Each of the lead and key supporting actors deliver performances that are uniformly committed, standing out for their subtle, tortured portrayals of people unraveling in the wake of the trauma of the kids vanishing. After the mostly disappointing Wolf Man earlier this year, I was curious to see if this film would be the vehicle needed for Julia Garner (until the Madonna bio pic that’s calling her name) to showcase her acting chops. The performative quality we witnessed of her in Ozark is what we have in Weapons. Josh Brolin offers stoic gravitas, while Austin Abrams adds a jittery, unpredictable energy. And then there’s Cary Christopher’s unsettling Alex, complete with enough creepy kid energy to fill a whole classroom. Collectively, their efforts lend some gravitas and humanity to a film that often prioritizes vision over narrative.

Without getting in to spoilers, the film takes a turn midway through the second act that completely shifts the experience and even the tone of the picture. One might say that the movie sets up one mystery and eventual payoff, but then deviates onto a different (and ultimately more predictable) path. Once that (unfortunately too obvious) reveal is made midway through the investigation into the disappearance of the classroom of kids–save one (Alex)–then it becomes quite the twisted fairytale. But therein likes one of the most significant problems I have with the film–because of this twist, there are questions that emerge for which we will not be provided answers. We can certainly draw conclusions, that are most likely correct, but this isn’t the type of picture that should require that level of guesswork. When that twist is revealed, explanations of reasons for the motivation and consequences, should the plan fair, are not sufficiently clear.

Horror thrives in that liminal space between order and chaos, but Weapons leans too heavily into the latter. Instead of meticulously peeling back layers to reveal a deeper truth, it obscures character arcs and emotional payoffs beneath narrative experimentation. In striving to be a psychological puzzle-box, the film forgets to provide the audience with enough meaningful pieces to solve it. As a result, Weapons leaves audiences with questions that the film should have answered because it clearly desires to be a genre horror film–it’s not Memento. However, the climax of the picture, while somewhat predictable, is none-the-less satisfyingly bold.

In the end, Weapons is a film that demands attention but struggles to justify its complexities. It will certainly appeal to fans of the prestige horror aesthetic, but despite the converging narratives it never quite hits the mark of a film that invites multiple viewings in order to fully appreciate the story and the apparatus thereof. But for general audiences, or those seeking a tightly woven narrative, the film’s impact may feel more like a glancing blow than a direct hit. Visually stunning and rich in atmosphere, Weapons captivates the senses but lacks the narrative clarity and cohesion to land its thematic strikes. A bold motion picture outing, it’s a film that’s more experience than story—one that feels sharpened in presentation but blunted in meaning.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER (2025) horror movie review

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“What are you waiting for, huh, what are you waiting for?” the hook-handed slicker-wearing slasher is back and knows what you did last summer in the reboot/sequel (or rebootquel) of the 1997 all-star classic slasher I Know What You Did Last Summer. While this throwback slasher is certainly entertaining, with just the right amount of nostalgic charm, the Jennifer Kaytlin Robinson written-directed addition to the series falters in making the bold choices needed to truly respect and adhere to the slasher formula, resulting in lower stakes and missed opportunities for horror excellence. No mistaking it, there is a lot to enjoy in 2025’s IKWYDLS, but what could’ve been perhaps as rewatchable as the original, fell victim to playing it too safe. However, this movie does offer a glimmer of hope, much like 2023’s Thanksgiving, that the slasher can be just as entertaining in the 2020s as it was in the 1980s and 90s.

When five friends inadvertently cause a deadly car accident, they cover up their involvement and make a pact to keep it a secret rather than face the consequences. One year later, the past comes back to haunt them as they learn someone knows what they did last summer. Stalked by a mysterious killer, they soon seek help from two survivors of the legendary Southport massacre of 1997.

Despite my negative criticism of two aspects to the storytelling and plotting thereof, which I cannot effectively analyze without going into spoilers, Robinson’s IKWYDLS succeeds where many (if not most) rebootquels fail when revisiting a classic movie (or franchise)–this is particularly true of horror movies. 2025’s IKWYDLS leans into the original (and even 1998 sequel) just enough to establish meaningful narrative and setting connections but still expresses a new story. Other than a glaring missed checkbox and another more nuanced narrative element perpetuating a toxicity found in modern media, this movie checks most of the boxes for a classic slasher and throwback-style horror movie without it feeling lazy or uninspired. Instead of repeatedly hitting us over the head with “hey remember this from the original,” it strategically places these homages and references in places that drive the main story forward.

Even the most memorable line from the original (which was actually a fan-suggested change that was initially met with opposition yet became THE line and moment most remembered from the original movie), “what are you waiting for, huh, what are you waiting for?,” was used incredibly well in this movie. For those that, like me, may watch the original IKWYDLS every Fourth of July, there are other nods to the original that are lurking in the background or shadows, but will add a little extra enjoyment in watching 2025’s IKWYDLS.

Three of the central characters from the original movie and one from the 1998 sequel do make appearances in this entry into the series. Two are rather signifiant, whilst the two others are little more than cameos. Still, getting to see them reprise their roles to varying degrees was huge in connecting the events of this film to the events of 1997. The connection is somewhat meta in that, among other dynamics, there is an obnoxious true crime podcaster that is traveling to Southport to cover the 1997 killing spree by the hook-handed slicker-wearing slasher in the quaint fishing village near Wilmington, NC (in reality, much of the original movie was filmed in Wilmington). But it’d be inaccurate to characterize this movie’s connection to the original being completely meta. It’s a nice balance between staying true to the movie world but connecting it to our real world. 2025’s IKWYDLS parallels characters to the original, but in ways that work for this story and not merely as throwbacks to the original.

Avoiding spoilers, I want to touch on the three negative criticisms I have of this movie, as best as possible. Firstly, there is a bold choice made by past slashers that is ultimately non-existent in this movie. The whole time, I am waiting for that moment–to truly drive up the stakes and ratchet up the suspense–and just when I think Robinson is going to play it too safe, she delivers it–or so I think. Then, she undoes the bold choice that I felt she made in order to more closely follow the tried and true slasher formula THAT WORKS (if the formula works, don’t change it). This move is necessary for a variety of reasons that I cannot get into without giving too much away, and Robinson fails to deliver. Consequently, this movie also devalues and even ignores a key character type that is (again) a crucial component of the slasher formula. Secondly, Robinson’s screenplay perpetuates a dangerous stereotype in contemporary media that not only works against crafting a realistic portrait of a collection of characters but also lowers the stakes because there lacks reasonable emotive and social connections. Even slashers have both redeeming and unredeeming characters.

Lastly, Robinson clearly panders to GenZ. One thing Kevin Williamson’s Scream, I Know What You Did Last Summer, and The Faculty taught us is that you can write a movie that appeals to young people without pandering to them. Taking notes from that, screenwriters can write something aimed at 17–24 year-olds that, those of us that are older, can still enjoy watching as well.

If you are a slasher fan, then I still recommend watching 2025’s I Know What You Did Last Summer, because it feels like a summer movie and reminds us of why the slasher is such a tentpole in the history of horror movies.

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry

JAWS 50: Celebrating Fifty Years of Cinematic Legacy

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“[We’re] gonna need a bigger boat” as we celebrate the 50th anniversary of the massive, radical game-changing effects of Steven Spielberg’s career-defining JAWS.

Jaws was the first official blockbuster. Looking back at the original crowds of 1975, you’d think the movie was a one-night-only big event. Hence the term blockbuster. The adjective blockbuster, commonly attributed to big summer movies, literally derives from the fact that queues for the box office wrapped around city blocks. It busted the block, so to speak. And the rest is history! Coupled with the summer release date and ticket sales, the allure of Jaws generated levels of enthusiasm and interest never seen before. The film took in so much money at its opening, that it nearly made up the entire production budget by the end of the first week. Furthermore, distribution and marketing companies began to use Jaws as a model for future marketing efforts in order to attempt to generate another blockbuster effect.

Fun fact, two years earlier The Exorcist commanded massive crowds of people that wrapped around blocks to see the provocative motion picture. But, the initial release of the film was rather small and it’s marketing was much more reserved. In contrast, Jaws‘ marketing was unlike anything that had been seen before and it’s initial release was a extreme wide release, and upon that initial release crowds were already wrapping around the block. The Exorcist may have achieved the massive crowds first, but it was earned over time; whereas with Jaws, it was instantly a blockbuster from day one.

Never before had there been such a popular and critically successful film in cinemas. Much in the same way Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho is often credited, and rightly so, for being the first modern horror film and forerunner to the classic slasher; likewise, Spielberg’s adaptation of Peter Benchley’s novel Jaws is credited as the first modern creature feature horror film and forerunner to the blockbuster (or event movie). I am not negating King Kong, Creature from the Black Lagoon, or other predecessors; it’s important to take note of the word modern. Aside from excellent, visionary direction, both Psycho and Jaws have three important elements in common (1) powerhouse cast (2) strategic suspense and (3) a brilliant, oft-parodied, burned in your mind musical score.

Instead of building a thriller on shock value, disturbing imagery, or jump scares, author Peter Benchley’s screenplay for Jaws focussed on crafting a cinematic atmosphere that had an intimate, claustrophobic feel built upon well-crafted drama through character development and conflict, at the center of which is a little heart. Different from contemporary creature features, Jaws picks off swimmers in the single digits and those attacks all happen at a single beach on a small island off the coast of Massachusetts. And instead of an entire agency hunting down the man-killer shark, three unlikely men are forcibly thrown together in order to track down and eliminate the terror from the waters off Amity Island.

Simply stated, Jaws is thematically rich from beginning to end, and there is no way to capture all the nuances of the film in this section; however, I’d be remiss not to spend some time on the emotive power of the landmark horror film. At the core of Jaws’ expressive meaning, it explores themes of greed, scientific hubris, and the consequences of unchecked ambition. Suffice it to say, the most prominent theme in the film is the folly of man. The folly of man is expressed through the character-driven story more than it is the search and destroy of the shark.

Chief Brody’s fear of the water and his struggle to protect his community from the shark reflect universal anxieties about the unknown and the fragility of human safety. In a manner of speaking, Chief Brody journey is one of redemption for the death of the little Kitner boy. Matt Hooper represents scientific hubris and dangers of unchecked bravado. And Quint’s obsessive quest to hunt and kill the shark serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of pride and arrogance, highlighting the destructive power of man’s hubris in the face of nature. Interestingly, all three men are seen as outsiders. Chief Brody and his family are new to town, Hooper is a white collar guy in a blue collar town, and Quint is socially an outsider, despite being a fixture in the community. During the 1970s, there were growing fears of outsiders coming into communities to upset the natural order of things.

Keeping the principle cast and environment small, Spielberg was able to focus attention on character development and interpersonal relationships in order for the drama to perform strongly and naturalistically. Big things do come in small packages. Coupled with the strong performances from the entire leading cast, this brilliant combination of cinematic elements works together to give us some of the most memorable lines, scenes, and cinematography in movie history. Furthermore, real people swept up into an impossible situation and foolish decisions enable the audience to identify with the characters and the setting in ways that make the terror feel all the more real and close to home–or the beach.

While Bruce is often thought to be the villain of Jaws–and no mistaking it, he is definitely an antagonist–I argue that the true opposition to the goal in the plot is Amity’s mayor. If we accept the goal is to apprehend or kill the man-eating shark, then Mayor Vaughn serves as opposing that action. Perhaps you’ve never thought of the true villain of Jaws being Mayor Larry Vaughn. A close analysis of the plot reveals that Jaws (Bruce) functions more as a catalyst for the principle conflict between Chief Brody and Mayor Vaughn. Other than the death at the beginning of the film, the Mayor is indirectly responsible for the remaining deaths. After all, it’s due to his utter complacency, negligence, and classic greed that led to the other deaths.

For most of the film, we spend far more time with Chief Brody’s continued conflict dealing with the social pressures, desires, and ill-fated decisions of his boss than we do with shark attacks. Mayor Vaughn fails to acknowledge the sheer gravity of the dangerous situation, and close Amity’s beaches in order to keep his citizens safe. Interestingly, even Jaws channels some of the anxiety of the 1970s. After all, the primary reason why Mayor Vaughn refused to close the beaches was because it would economically depress his town that literally depends on the summer dollars. In effect, he fed them to the shark. Seems like a villainous action to me. Bruce was just being a shark, Vaughn was the true villain.

Jaws forever changed cinemas and became the inspiration for countless other filmmakers. Another prominent filmmaker even cited it as part of his inspiration for a film that would be like a combination of Jaws and a haunted house, set in space where “no one can hear you scream.” In addition to serving as inspiration, many films have tried imitating it, putting their own spin on the premise. Even comedic satires featuring similar plot points have released over the years. The film’s box office success solidified Spielberg as a visionary director. Interestingly, the movie sparked a renewed interest in marine biology and conservation. Its timeless appeal continues to captivate audiences with thrilling storytelling, unforgettable characters, and groundbreaking practical effects. Jaws will forever hold a special place in the annals of film history and continue to be a holiday horror film that hundreds of thousands around the U.S. watch every 4th of July. 

Ryan is the general manager for 90.7 WKGC Public Media in Panama City and host of the public radio show ReelTalk “where you can join the cinematic conversations frame by frame each week.” Additionally, he is the author of the upcoming film studies book titled Monsters, Madness, and Mayhem: Why People Love Horror. After teaching film studies for over eight years at the University of Tampa, he transitioned from the classroom to public media. He is a member of the Critics Association of Central Florida and Indie Film Critics of America. If you like this article, check out the others and FOLLOW this blog! Follow him on Twitter: RLTerry1 and LetterBoxd: RLTerry