Orca, none of which may have existed without their progenitor in Jaws. Both Steph Cannon and Blu Gilliand recognize the impact of Spielberg’s ’75 classic not just on the genre, but the degree to which it shifted how folks relate to natural bodies of water in general. As Cannon describes, the film’s blockbuster success ravaged waterside communities the year of its release, taking a choice bite from local economies largely dependent on summer tourism—just as seen in the movie. While these economies eventually bounced back, the real catastrophe was the film’s impact on sharks themselves. Ecologically speaking, the shark subgenre has fueled an intense antagonism and resultant lack of public care toward the hundreds of distinct species increasingly threatened as a direct result of human consumption. A combination of overfishing, inadequate management by commercial fisheries, and changing temperatures due to climate change all imperil these species who determine the overall health of biodiversity through the several oceanic ecosystems they inhabit. Solid arguments can and have been made for reading these films structurally as slashers, in which the shark acts as a stand-in for the masked killer of your choice. Alternatively, psychoanalytic feminist readings approach them as vagina dentata metaphors a la