A salty fog on early May clung to the asphalt runway of the Martha's Vineyard airstrip, as the roar of the twin-engine private charter finally spun down to a halt.
Duke stepped out of the cabin door into the damp morning chill, pulling the collar of his dense wool peacoat up around his neck.
Waiting for him beside a mud-spattered Ford station wagon was Gary Kurtz, his usually spotless hair plastered flat against his forehead by the weather, holding a production binder against his ches.
Duke offered a nod to the exhausted producer, causinng the tense lines around Kurtz's eyes to soften a little.
As they loaded Duke's minimal luggage into the back of the rental car and began the slow drive down the coastal roads toward the production base camp, Kurtz launched into a logistical update while driving.
He detailed the housing arrangements for the thirty-five primary crew members, positioning of the three distinct camera units, and the secretive storage of the twenty-five-foot mechanical shark, inside a guarded dilapidated boathouse.
The vehicle bounced over a pothole, the suspension groaning, but Duke kept his gaze fixed on the passing gray landscape, not really wanting to bother the tired Kurtz too much.
Kurtz's knuckles were white against the steering wheel.
"Duke, we do happen to have a situation down at the boathouse," Kurtz blurted out, "The engineering team... they made a call on Bruce's internal structure."
Kurtz let out an exhausted breath, swerving slightly to avoid a puddle. "The problem is the buoyancy. They put the damn thing in the water this morning and it rolled over. You know how objects are more buoyant in the ocean."
Duke didn't shift in his seat. He kept his gaze fixed on the gray coastline.
"The boys haven't slept in two days," Kurtz pressed on, "They're in the shed right now welding every spare ounce of lead to the undercarriage just to force the machine to swim upright. But Duke, if they can't balance the weight..."
"We simply shoot around it," Duke said as he waved a dismissive hand, not bothering to look away from the window. "This kind of stuff is precisely why the opening beach sequence is at the top of tonight's call sheet."
The Ford rattled to a halt in the gravel parking lot of a harbor side hotel that the studio had entirely bought out to serve as the primary residency quarters.
Duke pushed through the wooden double doors of the lobby.
Sitting at a small table near the front window was Roy Scheider, win a mug of black coffee while tracing a yellow highlighter over the dialogue in his script.
He looked up as Duke approached, and stood up quickly, extending a hand.
"I have to admit, Mr. Hauser," Scheider said, his grip tight, "this is my first time taking direction from the same man who signs my paychecks. It adds a certain... uniqueness to the performance."
Duke smiled, wrapping his left hand over their handshake. "You are Chief Brody, Roy. Call me Duke," Duke reassured him. "Forget the studio structure. On this beach, I work with you."
Before Scheider could process the relief, a laugh came from the adjoining dining room in the form of Richard Dreyfuss.
The young actor was holding a half-eaten blueberry muffin clutched in one hand while he bombarded Kurtz with questions about the mechanical shark.
Duke placed a hand on Dreyfuss's shoulder to halt his questions.
"Richard, stop worrying about the shark," Duke said. "You are not acting against a mechanical object. The true chemistry of the movie is the main trio."
After speaking with his two primary leads, Duke cast a sweeping look around the lobby, noticing a glaring absence.
Robert Shaw, the British stage veteran hired to play the grizzled shark hunter Quint, was nowhere to be found.
Duke caught the eye of a nervous production assistant holding a clipboard, who discretly tipped her head toward the door leading into the hotel's enclosed tavern.
Duke left Kurtz to manage Dreyfuss and strode toward the bar, the sound of loud laughter echoing through the panels.
Tucked away in a corner booth, sat Robert Shaw, already halfway through a bottle of whiskey, his face flushed a deep crimson as he leaned across the table.
Sitting opposite him was Craig Kingsbury, a bearded local Vineyard fisherman whom Duke had cast as a background extra to provide authentic island texture.
Kingsbury was in the middle of telling a tale about surviving a capsized trawler. Shaw was laughing as he slapped the table.
Duke moved across the sticky floorboards.
As he aproached, Kingsbury looked up, stopping half way through.
Shaw blinked slowly, his bloodshot eyes taking a long moment to register Duke's arrival, his laughter died abruptly, he tensed as he braced himself for the inevitable Hollywood reprimand.
Instead of shouting, Duke slid into the empty chair beside Kingsbury, signaling the bartender with two fingers.
"A glass of cold water for my friend Robert, please," Duke called out, he turned his gaze onto Shaw, "Robert, I did not hire you to have someone to yell at."
Shaw blinked rapidly, "I can act through the drink."
"Hope so, but I will have you physically carried to the set tomorrow morning in a burlap sack if necessary. So, you will finish that final whiskey, you will eat a plate, and you will go upstairs and sleep this off. We shoot the opening beach sequence tonight. You are not required on set. Let's not get into issues."
Shaw nodded slowly.
By midday, the coastal fog had burned away, leaving a weak sun attempting to warm the production base camp established in an empty dirt lot near the beach.
Duke's makeshift executive office was housed inside a converted wooden storage shed.
The space was covered by three folding tables pushed together, covered in topographical maps of the island, storyboards for the water sequences, and his portable typewriter.
Jeffrey Katzenberg, the young newly appointed CEO of DC Studios, stepped into the shed.
Duke looked up from his hand-drawn storyboards of a thrashing shark, "You flew all the way across the continental United States to talk about comic books while I am in my day before I start directing?"
Katzenberg dropped the heavy briefcase onto the folding table with a loud, authoritative thud. "The movie can wait, Duke. The Federal Trade Commission cannot."
Katzenberg quickly popped the latches, pulling out a stack of legal documents adorned with official government seals.
The Federal Trade Commission had officially launched an investigation into the Blue Beetle animated series, which had been produced by MadHouse and airing to huge ratings since December.
The government lawyers were trying to determine whether the cartoon constituted a disguised "commercial" designed exclusively to sell toys, rather than functioning as a legitimate, standalone entertainment program.
Katzenberg put a financial ledger onto the table, pointing to a highlighted column. The Blue Beetle action figures, the intricate Bandai model kits, and the tin lunchboxes had collectively generated an astonishing 1.2 million dollars in pure merchandise revenue since the first of January.
The financial success had painted a target on Paramount's back.
Katzenberg explained that the FTC was threatening to implement severe new broadcasting rules that would mandate a visible separation between children's programming and any related merchandising advertising, potentially crippling their newfound revenue stream.
Duke listened, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee, unfazed by the threat of federal intervention.
"We do not hide the ball from the public or the government, Jeffrey," Duke stated smoothly. "The Blue Beetle program is high-quality entertainment that simply happens to sell a massive amount of toys."
Duke set his mug down, tapping a finger against the FTC seal on the legal documents. "We don't have to worry about it, the FTC is not going to attack us for this."
Katzenberg's inherent paranoia lingered. "And what exactly do we do if they do decide they want to pursue this?"
Duke's expression hardened, "Then we take them to federal court and sue them. But they won't push it that far. Bureaucrats are predictable. They are looking for a flashy headline to justify their departmental budgets." Katzenberg started gathering the FTC documents and shoving them back into his leather briefcase.
With the government threat handled, Katzenberg shifted gears, his posture becoming slightly nervous as he approached a significantly more personal topic.
The live-action Wonder Woman television series was scheduled to begin principal photography later that month, aiming for a fall premiere on the ABC network.
Katzenberg cleared his throat, choosing his words with caution. "Lynda Carter is still attached as the lead," Katzenberg began slowly. "However, given the... complex personal situation between the two of you, I wanted me to ask if you had any desire to recast the role before cameras roll."
"No," Duke stated, "She is the best person for that specific role. I do not mix my personal life with my business decisions. The production moves forward exactly as we originally planned. I will simply not visit the soundstages if my presence makes the working environment awkward, but I will not sabotage her career or compromise the quality of this studio's product over a private domestic dispute."
Katzenberg nodded rapidly, a look of relief washing over his face as he realized he wouldn't have to navigate a recasting nightmare.
"She is already engaged in intense physical training with our stunt coordinator," Katzenberg added brightly. "She is taking the demands of the role seriously."
Moving swiftly past the topic, Katzenberg pulled out a detailed blueprint rolled into a cardboard tube, spreading it wide across the folding tables.
It was the schematic for the Paramount Park Orlando project.
He outlined the integration of the DC Studios properties.
Guests would enter the Batcave dark ride through recreation of Wayne Manor, physically descending into the subterranean caverns before joining Batman and Robin on a coaster with a practical-effects chase theme.
He pointed to a footprint on the map designated for the Superman: The Ride, a hybrid indoor-outdoor steel coaster.
The blueprints also detailed the DC Superhero Theater, a live-action stage designed to host rotating, fifteen-minute stunt shows featuring Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman, providing age-appropriate entertainment for younger guests.
Adjacent to the theater was the Justice League walkthrough attraction, an environment facilitating meet-and-greet sessions with costumed characters.
"Duke, the high budget live-action Superman movie must enter pre-production this year in order to be ready for the park's grand opening. The theatrical film and the theme park attractions can then launch simultaneously. The cross-promotion would generate hundreds of millions in free domestic publicity."
Duke leaned over the blueprints, examining the tracks of the proposed roller coaster, "I agree with the strategy."
Duke stood up to face Katzenberg. "We need a director who has an understanding of the mythology of the character and the logistical scale of the production. I have been thinking seriously about Richard Donner."
Katzenberg nodded in agreement. "Donner is working on Pre-production of The Omen for Paramount. He does possess the right tone we want."
Duke nodded, satisfied with the choice. "Start the conversations with his representation soon. Keep the total production budget under fifteen million dollars."
Katzenberg snapped his briefcase shut, he offered a quick handshake and hurried out the door toward his waiting car.
By early morning, the sun was somewhere high, but it was cloudy and cold in the part of Martha's Vineyard known as South Beach.
The production crew aimed to execute the dangerous opening sequence between the hours of 8 am and 4 pm, battling the coastal wind.
The water temperature hovered around 50 degrees Fahrenheit.
Down by the shoreline, the specialized rigging crew had spent the entire day before meticulously laying underwater cables, anchoring a customized submerged harness system to the ocean floor.
The rig was a modified industrial water-ski tow line, attached to a gasoline-powered winch.
The harness was designed to wrap around the waist and upper legs of the actress, allowing the winch operator to do a sudden downward pull, simulating the unseen force of a predator dragging its prey into the abyss.
Duke had arranged a three-tiered camera strategy to capture the horror.
Camera A was mounted on a smooth tracking dolly directly on the beach, equipped with a long lens to capture the victim getting attacked on the vast ocean.
Camera B was secured inside a waterproof housing, floating on a rubber raft just offshore, operated by a shivering cinematographer standing waist-deep in the freezing water wearing a neoprene suit.
Camera C remained handheld, stationed on a secondary raft, ready to go in for the intimate close-ups of the attack and to take the underwater shoots.
The lighting scheme was intentionally minimal.
Duke wanted the scene to feel dark, illuminating the water utilizing only a single massive lamp with a white sheet to simulate the pale glow of the moon.
There would be no dialogue recorded during this sequence.
The iconic Jaws theme would be layered into the film during post-production.
Off-camera, a team of rescue divers in full scuba gear floated silently just out of frame, while a white Coast Guard cutter maintained a standby position just beyond the waves.
Standing barefoot in the sand, doing slow hamstring stretches, was Susan Backlinie.
A 24 year-old former professional mermaid and skilled stuntwoman. She was prepared to perform the entire grueling attack sequence herself, enduring the temperatures and the underwater drags without a single complaint.
Roy Scheider stood on the beach, wrapped in a heavy parka, observing the preparation to internalize the tone of the film, a gesture of dedication that Duke appreciated.
Shaw was locked in his hotel room, sleeping off the whiskey, while Gary Kurtz paced the shoreline with a walkie-talkie and binoculars, coordinating with the offshore water safety team.
The special effects team huddled tightly around the gasoline winch, running repeated test pulls on a sandbag dummy, making sure the steel cables didn't snap under the pressure.
Duke stood directly behind the lens of Camera A, zipped tightly into a waterproof sailing jacket, with his leg in pain from the cold, his eyes locked onto the small screen of a new Panasonic portable video monitor.
He had personally storyboarded every single frame of the sequence, mapping out an specific order of shots designed to maximize the coverage before the tide inevitably shifted.
The sequence would begin with a sweeping wide shot of the dark beach, capturing Chrissie running joyfully into the frame, discarding her clothes, and plunging into the dark water, establishing the isolation without showing a hint of the monster.
The second shot would transition to the raft-mounted camera, capturing a medium angle of her swimming and treading water, smiling back at the shore.
The third setup required the handheld camera to record in tight on her face as she subtly senses the displacement of water beneath her, relying entirely on Backlinie's ability to sell the dread.
The fourth, most technically demanding shot, was the underwater POV.
The camera, encased in its waterproof shell, would slowly creep along a submerged metal track toward a pair of floating legs, helping create the suspense.
The climax of the sequence relied entirely on the winch.
Shot five would capture the initial bump, relying on Backlinie's panicked reaction as she looked down into the water.
Shot six was the attack. The winch would yank her violently underwater while both Camera A and Camera B rolled simultaneously, capturing her screams and thrashing arms as the unseen force dragged her.
The sequence would end with a final pull dragging her permanently under the waves, leaving a wide shot of an entirely empty, silent ocean.
Duke pressed the button on his radio, his voice cutting through the sound of the crashing waves. "Action."
The first take commenced. Backlinie hit the freezing water, her strokes elegant, and well timed.
Duke watched the small monitor, his brow furrowing. "Cut!" he yelled, his voice echoing across the empty beach.
He pulled the radio back to his mouth. "Susan, that was good, but you look like a synchronized swimmer. You are a drunk college kid sneaking a midnight dip in freezing water. Be clumsier."
Backlinie offered a quick thumbs-up from the water, her teeth chattering. The second take commenced, the energy matching Duke's idea.
The production moved quickly to the attack pull. The cameras rolled, and Duke called the cue.
The winch operator threw the metal lever, but he misjudged the tension on the wet cables. Backlinie was yanked sideways at a high speed, her body skipping across before her head collided hard with a compacted sandbar.
She surfaced a moment later, coughing, a thin stream of blood mixing with the saltwater running down her forehead from a cut on her scalp.
Duke got up from the camera, "Cut! Get the medic in the water right now!"
Backlinie wiped the blood from her eyes, waving away the approaching rescue divers with a shake of her head.
"I am fine, Duke," she called out, her voice steady despite the shock. "Let's reset the line and do it again right now."
Duke stopped staring at the bleeding stuntwoman. "Are you sure?" Duke asked.
She offered a smile. "The audience is not going to remember a scar on my head. Let's go."
Duke nodded slowly, he turned back toward the dunes, yelling at the effects team to reduce the winch tension.
Ten minutes later, they rolled cameras again, and the resulting take was amazing.
During a brief rain, Kurtz pulled Duke aside into the dunes, his face pale. "The engineering team just called from the boathouse," Kurtz whispered miserably. "The shark is not ready. The foam is impossible to balance. They are asking for at least another full week to adjust before we put it in the open ocean."
Duke looked out at the waves, "Then we shoot everything without the shark for the next few days,"
"We shoot the beach attack, the town hall meeting, the hunting preparations on the boat. We frame the camera around the empty water. The audience's own imagination is more terrifying than any mechanical shark we could build."
By half past three, Duke finally called wrap. The crew was exhausted, covered in sand.
Backlinie sat near the fire, wrapped tightly in a silver thermal blanket, sipping cocoa as Duke walked over to shake her hand.
Duke turned to face the freezing crew, raising his voice to be heard across. "This entire production is going to be hell," Duke declared, refusing to sugarcoat the misery.
"The water is freezing, the mechanical shark is broken, and the schedule is under changes. But today the takes were good. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, we come back and do it all over again." The crew started some small applauses despite the exhaustion.
____
Thoughs on the chapter?
It was originally written to be at night but apparently this scene was recorded during the day and then they used movie magic to make it look like night so had to rewrite it
'Jaws | Opening Shark Attack' To find the scene I described