I don't remember how old I was when I saw Jaws, but I was definitely too young, even in the eyes of the BBFC (Jaws is now rated 12A). I was at an age where the big fear with movie monsters was that they would eat you, and if they did that then you’d be dead; I was obviously aware that being eaten by a monster would probably hurt, but it wasn’t something I thought about. I probably worried about dying more than the average boy of primary school age, and it was that fear that drove horror for me.
I can remember the exact moment when that changed. It’s near the very end of the film, when Quint dies. The shark has his lower half in its mouth, and it’s slowly drawing him further in as the boat sinks. We get a close-up shot of Quint’s face as he screams, and blood pours from his mouth. I don't know how long that shot is, but in my memory of the film it’s probably more drawn-out than in reality.
I don't know what it was about that shot that got me - probably Robert Shaw’s acting - but for some reason that shot made me consider pain in a way I never had before. Up until then, pain was something that happened when you fell and scraped your knee, or got into a fight - you tried to avoid it when you could, but it wasn’t a grand fear like death or rabies (much like John Green, I was disproportionately afraid of rabies as a young child, especially considering we don't have rabies in the UK). Steven Spielberg changed that. Ever since seeing Jaws, I’ve been drawn to films and literature that focus on suffering, be it horror films like Tusk or the writing of Primo Levi. I haven’t seen Jaws since, but to this day I measure every horror film I see against Quint’s death. 
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