Gabriel Gundacker’s review published on Letterboxd:
We should always be weary of when a passion for a movie/art/skincare brand borders on unfounded obsession and becomes performative, I.E. that one summer in Chicago I had a Jaws themed bathroom. That being said, this movie really is as good as that shark-themed bathroom was sexless.
When people hear how old Spielberg was when he made this movie, their reaction is something along the lines of, “25!? Christ, when I was 25, I barely had a well aestheticized bathroom!” — But no duh! the first modern blockbuster was made by a 25 year old little shit. Spielberg does not fully know who he is yet, and he uses every movie magic moment he can think of to make us think the opposite. His young, desperate ego informs every loud split-diopter and invisible one take in this movie. And when he didn’t know something because when was twenty something, he was lifted by veterans who did (and the studio who let him go 100 fucking days over schedule (stop and think about how long 100 days is(hint: long time))). Spielberg is nothing without Verna Fields art-house jump cuts and John Williams untouchable score and spotting. And the actors have uncharacteristic autonomy here: their choices are breathing much more than Spielberg’s later “tour di-vorce!” cinema.
I am hesitant to call it my most favorite film anymore, and have retired my Jaws themed wallet. I want to celebrate this as an important feat rather than a personality trait.