“We’ll go again,” said the assistant director, Tom Joyner, and into the valley of death waded The 400 with cameras to the right of them, and cameras to the left of them.
The water was cold, cold, cold, and what sunshine there was was most uncooperative. It was Sunday, the last day of June, and really not an ideal day to spend (all of it, every last bit of it) on the beach. The leftover northeast winds were still onshore and so were about 600 people.
The rumors about Jaws suddenly turned ugly three weeks ago. There were no more jokes about sharks being released of the Vineyard — the word was that Jaws was in trouble, even in danger of shutting down, because of horrendous cost overruns. All the whining about the weather from the movie-makers seemed more serious as wild stories about drastic measures circulated. The rest of the film would be shot in Hollywood, some said. A new austerity program might move the crew from the Kelly House to more modest accommodations, others suggested, perhaps to Cranberry Acres campground.
Edgartown at any price is a bargain compared to friendly Amity. The white wooden houses of the Vineyard are kept just as neatly as those of Jaws’ picturesque resort; the waters are no less beautiful around the Island; even the inhabitants are similar. But somehow Richard D. Zanuck and David Brown, the producers of Jaws, are running through about $30,000 a day in their imaginary town, rain or shine, film or no film. Last week they paused in their spree to explain that they didn’t even consider themselves big spenders.
The movie production of Jaws continues to roam the Island in much the same manner as a touring medicine show, playing in each of the Island’s towns.
