Jaws Page #35

Past the stern the huge tail lashes out, ripping the rope

out of Quint's hands, shearing a huge swath through the paint,

peeling it off like a plane, taking one of the bronze letters

out of "Orca." The shark begins an arc to sea, its fin cutting

the water, and starts circling the boat. Quint notices his

cut hand, palm bleeding, realizing how close he came to losing

it.

QUINT:

(to Hooper)

Haul in that rope -- it'll foul us!

(then to Brody on the

bridge)

Start the engine!

The diesels start with a terrible grinding.

QUINT:

Easy! It'll tear right out!

HOOPER:

(hauling)

The shaft is giving.

Hooper slams the hatch, kicks the tools to one side, clearing

the deck for action once again.

BRODY:

(on bridge)

That's it! Radio in for help!

QUINT:

Shut up! Just pump her out!

BRODY:

(coming down off the

bridge)

Yeah, Captain, as soon as I make a

call.

Brody heads for the radio in the pilot house.

QUINT - CLOSE

A perfectly terrible look comes over him. He raises up and

starts after Brody. Brody disappears into the cabin. Quint

pauses outside and sees:

INSERT - QUINT'S LEAD-CENTERED BASEBALL BAT

his calloused hand grabs it up fiercely.

INT. RADIO SHACK

Brody picks up the radio, flicking on knobs and lights on

the complex console.

QUINT (O.S.)

Beg your pardon --

ANGLE - DOORWAY

Quint appears, silhouetted in the hot light of the door,

raising his bat.

QUINT:

Duty first and pleasure after --

CLOSE - BRODY

looking up in horror, covering his face.

CLOSE - QUINT

Quint brings down the bat with all the strength he can summon.

Crash!

Sparks fly, lights blink and go out, plastic and sections of

metal ricochet all over the cabin as Quint demolishes the

ship-to-shore radio.

Quint takes a happy breath, winks at Brody and hands him the

bat.

QUINT:

Excuse me!

Brody's adrenaline turns his fear into rage. His glasses are

cracked or broken by flying pieces of radio. He seizes the

bat, and pound the shattered radio for emphasis.

BRODY:

Some great idea! Now where are we?

Some goddamn skipper you are. You're

certifiable, y'know that? You're a

real treat! Certifiable! Bananas!

His tirade is interrupted by an urgent bellow from Hooper.

CLOSE - HOOPER

Pointing at the fin.

HOOPER:

Coming right to us!

QUINT:

No -- comin' right at us! Slow ahead,

he'll hit us head on --

(the engine clanks)

Slower! Throttle back ---

ANGLE - OVER THE BOW

QUINT:

(raising harpoon)

Hard to port!

Hooper pulls the boat into a tight turn and Quint has a shot

at the upward rolling flank. He sinks it with careful

precision.

QUINT:

Try shakin' that out!

Brody emerges from the cabin as the rope zips overboard, and

the barrel, changing over, catapults into the air before

plunging into the ocean in a cloudy splash.

BRODY:

(shouting to Quint)

Did you get him in the head?

QUINT:

(to Brody)

No! No! No!

(to Hooper)

Swing around! After him!

ON THE FLYBRIDGE

Hooper can see the fin racing ahead of the barrel. Diving

down. Up again -- Quint prepares another iron. Brody is

digging in his bag. He comes up with his 2" .357 service

revolver.

QUINT:

More gas... go to half! Get me right

alongside him --

The engine thuds and knocks.

HOOPER:

(shouting down)

We can't rev it up this high --

Suddenly the barrel gongs into the side of the Orca.

QUINT:

Watch it!

Hooper skillfully avoids the speeding rope.

QUINT:

Atta boy!

Quint leans to one side, harpoon over his head. The Great

White breaks water and...

QUINT:

Take two, they're small!

He sinks it deep. We hear shots. As the new rope whips out,

Brody can be seen standing on the gunwale, in regulation

police combat pistol stance, holding his .357 in both hands,

firing at the shark's head.

Quint shakes his head in amused disbelief at this, as the

barrel goes over.

HOOPER:

(shouting at Brody)

Don't shoot him any more! He's crazy

on his own blood already!

BRODY:

I can't stand here doing nothing!

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