Jaws Page #28

HOOPER:

What's that supposed to prove?

QUINT:

Just a little appetizer. I want our

porker to know we're serving. I want

to put some iron into that big yap...

HOOPER AND BRODY REACT AS WE

DISSOLVE TO:

EXT. THE OCEAN - AFTERNOON

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

sunburn, has been handed the slimiest job on a shark hunt:

the ladling out of chum. There are several empty chum barrels.

A flag buoy bobs in the wake of the boat, another waits to

be tossed over the side. Brody is reeling with nausea. He

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. Hooper is also in the

stern.

QUINT:

Keep that chum line going -- we've

got five good miles. Don't break it.

BRODY:

Who's driving the boat?

QUINT:

Nobody. We're drifting with the

current.

HOOPER:

(using the fish finder)

Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

QUINT:

(to Hooper)

Hell, in the old days we went out

with good charts, good sounding lead,

and a damn good compass. Nowadays,

these kids are afraid to go out

without depth finders, radar, radio,

electric toothbrush, every stupid

thing...

Quint opens a can of beer and drains it in one long pull,

crushing the empty and throwing it over the side. Hooper

drains his coffee from a styrofoam cup, and cracks it in his

hand with a silly "plup." He stows the pieces in an empty

chum barrel.

QUINT:

(to Brody)

Get a fresh barrel.

Brody goes to unlash a fresh barrel, but can't figure out

the knots. He finally tugs on a piece of rope, and it all

comes loose... barrel, shark cage, and, most important,

Hooper's tanks, clattering and rolling on the deck.

HOOPER:

(jumping up)

Watch it! Compressed air -- you screw

around with one of those and Boom!

Careful, huh?

QUINT:

(mutters)

Real fine stuff but it won't mean a

thing to Mr. Whitey, of course... he

didn't go to schools in electronics.

He was born with what he does best.

Eat. He's a swimming appetite. 'Course

he might eat this stuff, but then

I've seen him eat a rocking chair,

too.

(to Brody)

Next time, ask me.

DISSOLVE TO:

LATER:

The men are in different positions on the boat. Hooper on

the flying bridge. Quint in the stern, Brody hanging over

the rail, puking.

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. He holds up a strip of whale.

HOOPER:

(eyeing bait)

That's pilot whale, isn't it?

QUINT:

It ain't a Big Mac.

(to Brody)

The expert don't approve. What do

you thing? You're closer to the

situation.

(laughs)

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

BRODY:

(croaky)

Why are we way out here, when the

shark's back there?

QUINT:

(snapping bait to his

leader)

...'cause this is where he lives.

You gotta think like they do.

HOOPER:

(to himself)

Easy for you -- they got a brain the

size of a radish.

Quint sits in the fighting chair. He casts off, murmuring as

the line feeds out.

QUINT:

(to Brody)

Now if he weren't around, we'd of

hooked something else by now, wouldn't

we? But he scared 'em all away. Big

lonesome son of a b*tch...

DISSOLVE TO:

LATER:

Quint at ease in his chair, Brody near him, practicing tying

knots. The line starts to move, a few feet at a time; both

men watch. Then the line whizzes off the reel. Brody jumps

up. Hooper springs to the deck. Quint puts his hand on the

drag and addresses the situation softly.

QUINT:

-- he'll gulp it down now...

(making gulping noises)

Hooooooo!

Quint tightens drag and strikes. The line goes whizzing out.

Brody runs to Quint's side. Hooper springs up to the flying

bridge.

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