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Insert - shark wriggling on hook
Tailrope dropping on him. Gaffed and bleeding, the shark is immobilized by Quint's practiced hands. He takes one of his big knives and poses for a moment beside the struggling fish.
QUINT These greedy sons-a-bitches will eat their own guts.
He slices into the shark's underbelly. We hear the sound of entrails plopping into the water. Brody is almost retching, and Hooper is just displeased.
ANGLE ON THE WATER
The gutted shark swimming in circles biting at its own entrails.
ANOTHER ANGLE
Fins closing in on the wounded shark.
QUINT Go ahead, you cannibals. Tell 'em where you got it!
SHARK FRENZY
A boil of water and the flash of fins and teeth as the local sharks erupt in a feeding frenzy, jaws snapping, blood spewing, a sudden display of the fury and blind predatory drive of the fearsome species.
HOOPER What's that supposed to prove?
QUINT Just a little appetizer. I want our porker to know we're serving. I want to put some iron into that big yap...
HOOPER AND BRODY REACT AS WE
DISSOLVE TO:
EXT. THE OCEAN - AFTERNOON
The Orca is drifting in neutral. The ocean is like gelatin, the sun sucking heat waves from its surface. Brody at the stern, handkerchief on his head to protect from further sunburn, has been handed the slimiest job on a shark hunt: the ladling out of chum. There are several empty chum barrels. A flag buoy bobs in the wake of the boat, another waits to be tossed over the side. Brody is reeling with nausea. He opens his overnight kit and takes out a handkerchief and some Old Spice after-shave. He pours the after-shave into the cloth, presses it to his nose. Hooper is also in the stern.
QUINT Keep that chum line going -- we've got five good miles. Don't break it.
BRODY Who's driving the boat?
QUINT Nobody. We're drifting with the current.
HOOPER (using the fish finder) Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.
QUINT (to Hooper) Hell, in the old days we went out with good charts, good sounding lead, and a damn good compass. Nowadays, these kids are afraid to go out without depth finders, radar, radio, electric toothbrush, every stupid thing...
Quint opens a can of beer and drains it in one long pull, crushing the empty and throwing it over the side. Hooper drains his coffee from a styrofoam cup, and cracks it in his hand with a silly "plup." He stows the pieces in an empty chum barrel.
QUINT (to Brody) Get a fresh barrel.
Brody goes to unlash a fresh barrel, but can't figure out the knots. He finally tugs on a piece of rope, and it all comes loose... barrel, shark cage, and, most important, Hooper's tanks, clattering and rolling on the deck.
HOOPER (jumping up) Watch it! Compressed air -- you screw around with one of those and Boom! Careful, huh?
QUINT (mutters) Real fine stuff but it won't mean a thing to Mr. Whitey, of course... he didn't go to schools in electronics. He was born with what he does best. Eat. He's a swimming appetite. 'Course he might eat this stuff, but then I've seen him eat a rocking chair, too. (to Brody) Next time, ask me.
DISSOLVE TO:
LATER
The men are in different positions on the boat. Hooper on the flying bridge. Quint in the stern, Brody hanging over the rail, puking.
Quint takes a wide red strip of whale meat and a gnarled squid from the garbage pail, and searches for a No. 2 hook rig. He holds up a strip of whale.
HOOPER (eyeing bait)
That's pilot whale, isn't it?
QUINT It ain't a Big Mac. (to Brody) The expert don't approve. What do you thing? You're closer to the situation. (laughs)
Brody shades his eyes from the white sun as Quint baits up.
BRODY (croaky) Why are we way out here, when the shark's back there?
QUINT (snapping bait to his leader) ...'cause this is where he lives. You gotta think like they do.
HOOPER (to himself) Easy for you -- they got a brain the size of a radish.
Quint sits in the fighting chair. He casts off, murmuring as the line feeds out.
QUINT (to Brody) Now if he weren't around, we'd of hooked something else by now, wouldn't we? But he scared 'em all away. Big lonesome son of a bitch...
DISSOLVE TO:
LATER
Quint at ease in his chair, Brody near him, practicing tying knots. The line starts to move, a few feet at a time; both men watch. Then the line whizzes off the reel. Brody jumps up. Hooper springs to the deck. Quint puts his hand on the drag and addresses the situation softly.
QUINT -- he'll gulp it down now... (making gulping noises) Hooooooo!
Quint tightens drag and strikes. The line goes whizzing out.
Brody runs to Quint's side. Hooper springs up to the flying bridge.
BRODY You got it?
QUINT (turning with the pull) Get behind me, dummy! (shouts to Hooper) Reverse her and turn -- he's taking too much line! (to Brody) Wet my reel, quick!
Brody goes to get water, the boat surges, he staggers. Brody pours water on the screaming reel, nearly unspooled now.
Hooper is turning the boat around and the line changes direction.
QUINT (straining, muscles popping) Starboard, for Chris'sake --
Hooper steers it sharply.
QUINT (to Hooper) Hey, you! Farmer! Half-speed there...
HOOPER (almost to himself) Aye, Aye SIR. Stand by to repel boarders. Poop the mainsail. Argh, Jim Boy.
Again the line changes direction, down this time.
QUINT (to Hooper) Neutral! (to himself) Where the hell is he going?
Quint reeling in like mad.
QUINT Oh, this ain't foolin' me -- (rod arcs down with a surge) Sure -- try it!
He ad libs brief instructions to Brody as the line rushes out and there is less tension. Quint is horsing up and down, reeling in.
QUINT Makin' believe it's easy now.
The line is almost vertical, and Quint shows a hint of bafflement. He reels in suspiciously.
QUINT Gettin' ready to run again -- no? No? (suspicious) What's he playin' here? (reels in furiously, to Brody) Put the gloves on! (to fish) Let's see who's gonna tease who now!
HOOPER Let it go, don't waste your time.
QUINT (to Hooper) Down here, Hooper!
Hooper is rushing down.
HOOPER I don't know what it is, but it's not a shark.
QUINT (bathed in sweat; hauling, reeling) Look -- you may be a big Yahoo in the lab, but out here you're just supercargo, and you'll do as I say, or you can take your gear and backstroke home. Now get down here!
The leaders show above the water line. Brody is wide-eyed, waiting for that first look.
BRODY The wire's showing!
QUINT (to Brody) Unbuckle me -- fast! (to Hooper) Grab the leader. He ain't normal, this one... they never --
HOOPER It's too wild, too erratic. It's a marlin or a stingray. It's a gamefish.
Hooper snaps the rope onto the leader and holds on.
QUINT Watch your hands -- (suddenly to Brody) Grab onto this!
Before he realizes what's happening, Brody is clumsily clutching at the big rod, appalled. Quint skips away for a flying gaff. He picks one, turns...
That's when the leader lashes free, sending Hooper crashing backward in a serious fall, and the rod whips at Brody's forehead, drawing blood. Quint snatches up the rod and reels in.
The wires have been bitten through.
QUINT (to Hooper) A marlin, or a stingray. Huh. Don't ever tell me my business again. Get back up on the bridge.
HOOPER (stunned) I'm okay...
QUINT (to Brody) Fasten the pole.
BRODY What's the point with hooks and Lines? --
QUINT Don't tell me my business! (to Hooper, points) Quarter-mile, that way. Full throttle.
Hooper shakes off his dizziness and obeys. Brody watches Quint rig up a new leader, hook up the same bait.
BRODY (nursing forehead, gesturing at rod and reel) How -- if they're gonna keep on breaking?
QUINT What I do is trick him to the surface, got that? Then I can jab him, understand? (goes to flybridge, muttering) Think I'm gonna haul it in as if he's a catfish, like everyone else does?
Brody goes inside to inspect his forehead.
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