Chomp

An unrequested look behind the curtain:

I sit here at my computer, doing this and that, and realize that I have not yet put in my ten minutes. I also realize that it is late in the evening. This second realization is quickly followed by several of its good friends, who remind me that I am pretty exhausted because I didn't get enough sleep last night. The band in my head, determined to fulfill its job as super-double-random soundtrack creator for my life, strikes up the following familiar tune:

"Show me the way to go home,
I'm tired and I want to go to bed,
I had a little drink about an hour ago,
And it went right to my head."

This song was notably sung in the movie Jaws. This makes me remember that I saw Jaws earlier this summer, and makes me decide that I will spend the next ten minutes writing about the experience.

First, the venue:

The Indianapolis Museum of Art has a very lovely back terrace on which it hosts Friday evening movies throughout the summer. You bring a picnic dinner, relax on one of the 5-foot tall grass covered steps of the terrace with your blanket, wine and cheese, and take in a movie on the big screen. It is a pretty perfect way to spend a summer evening, summer evenings being pretty perfect to begin with.

The first movie that I saw on the terrace this summer was Jaws. Strangely, I had never seen Jaws. Well, actually, I've probably seen Jaws if you piece together the one thousand times I've watched five minutes of the movie while flipping channels, but I've never sat down and watched the thing from beginning to end. I was expecting the sort of overdramatic, poorly done crapfest that we've come to count on from any remotely scary movie these days (coughcoughsnakesonaplanecough), but I had forgotten that it was directed by Steven Spielberg. Don't worry, I'm not going to get all lovey-dovey with Steven right here in front of you, but say what you like, the guy does a good job, and Jaws is no exception. Add to Stevie's vision the not small talents of Roy Scheider, Richard Dreyfuss, and the unbelievably old-salty Robert Shaw, and you've got much more than a mediocre "animal eats people" flick. Seriously. Compelling dialogue, good stories, high stakes (a little kid gets eaten, for crying out loud!), some great cinematography, and a shark that looks remarkably realistic for 1975.

I'm not going so far as "Go out right now and rent Jaws," but next time it's on, give it more than the cursory five minutes.

Oh, and if you have any opportunity to watch a movie in any sort of terraced-type grassy outdoor environment this summer, I highly recommend it.

Show me the way to go home....