Jaws Page #31

QUINT:

Hurry up, rig the line!

ANGLE ON HOOPER:

He finds what he's looking for. A small, powerful strobe

unit, waterproofed, a miniature signal beacon. He triggers

it, and it begins to pulse with a light we can see even in

the sun.

Hooper scampers to the foredeck and begins to rig the light

to the first barrel, as the shark begins to surface near the

bow.

QUINT:

(to Brody)

Come to port. Watch my hand. Steady

now...

He guides Brody with hand signals. Brody tries urgently to

get it right, not to oversteer, to try to hold the big boat

with its throbbing diesels on the course that Quint is

indicating.

QUINT:

The line, man, the line!

Hooper is rigging like crazy.

FROM THE FLYING BRIDGE

Brody steering f.g., Hooper on the foredeck with the barrels,

Quint leaning out over the pulpit, the gun at the ready, the

shark crossing inexorably in front of them.

CLOSE ON QUINT:

Agonizing over his shot as the shark approaches, glancing

back to see if the line is properly rigged and Hooper is

clear of it.

QUINT:

Get clear, damn you!

The shark is in position, Hooper shouts, a moment too late.

HOOPER:

Clear!

Quint fires. The harpoon slams into the shark behind his

head, half-way along the back in front of the big dorsal

fin.

QUINT:

Jesus H. Christ On a Crutch!

INSERT - COILED ROPE AND BARREL

The rope snaps out in a blur of violent motion, Hooper jumps

back, and the barrel leaps out of its rack, pulled by the

line rigged to the harpoon. It bounds forward and into the

sea, past Quint, who is already reloading, mounting another

steel shaft. In the distance, the barrel bobs and skips

violently in the water, dragged by the shark in his merciless

moves.

THE FOREDECK - QUINT

QUINT:

Now you've done it, you piss-ant.

Stop and rig a goddam tinker toy to

my gear. Let the bastard fight the

keg for a while. He can't stay down

with that on.

Hooper, furious with himself, runs for the flying bridge to

take the helm from Brody.

THE FLYING BRIDGE, BRODY AND HOOPER

Hooper has snatched the wheel, and is ramming the throttle

forward as he spins the wheel in a frantic 180 degree turn.

HOOPER:

(to Quint)

Rig another keg! I'm bringing her

around!

His eyes dart about the ocean, looking for the barrel, as he

hot-dogs the ship around in a violent expression of his own

disgust with himself.

HOOPER:

(to himself)

God damn it! We had him!

(to Quint)

I'm coming about!

He spins the wheel again, trying to make the big boat handle

like a formula speedster. The decks tip and the rigging sways

under the sudden strain. Brody is caught unaware, and tumbles

off his feet, sliding across the deck to fetch up against a

wall. the M1 Rifle is close to his hand. He stares at it.

FROM THE FLYING BRIDGE

Hooper is anguished, intense, trying to find the shark,

spinning the wheel, compounding his error, tipping the boat

in rolling turns as he crosses his own wake. Quint has turned

his back to the sea, and is in the pulpit looking up at

Hooper, staring at him, excluding everything else.

As Quint folds his arms and stares at Hooper, we realize the

sun is going down, and it's getting dark.

BRODY:

Why don't we go in? Get another crack

at him tomorrow.

QUINT:

We got a barrel on him. We can't

lose him. We stay out here until we

find him.

Hooper throttles back, and the roar of the diesels subsides

and the boat resumes an even keel, slowly circling the ocean.

BRODY:

Let's call in -- we can radio and

have a big boat here in an hour...

QUINT:

(grim)

You hired me, remember? It's my

$10,000. It's my shark...

EXT. ORCA - OPEN SEA - NIGHT

Throttled back to slow ahead, the boat circles the water

endlessly, staying over the shark like an avenging angel.

Its running lights gleam in the night, and a glow lights the

interior of the pilot house. A bright strobe glints on the

water winking once like a firefly.

INT. PILOT HOUSE - NIGHT

Brody and Hooper at the table, Quint at the wheel, keeping

his eye on the light.

QUINT:

He's up again.

He corrects course slightly to keep the barrel buoy in sight.

Hooper is sitting at the table, morose. Brody is staring at

a couple of open cans of beans or beef stew, or some other

crappy rations Quint has on board. Dirty spoons stuck in the

open cans show us this has not been a formal dinner. Quint

fumbles on the chart shelf and produces some of his home

brew.

He takes a pull, and hands it to Hooper, who takes a double.

Brody touches the fresh abrasion on his forehead, where the

fishing rod caught him.

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