Welcome back to the home of the oxymoron. Evil genius. He asked the newspaper to print his obituary early so he'd enjoy it. That's like hiding at your own funeral. Yeah, a big, great gig. I'm Russell Kane. Join me to weigh in on whether the biggest players in history are more evil or genius. Becoming that rich, I'd say that is some level of genius. It also helps that it's a long time ago, right?

It's like the podcast version of telling your kids the ice cream van plays music when it's

out of ice cream.

Listen to Evil Genius on BBC Sounds.

Hello, this edition of Freethinking is one of those devoted to a salient work in the culture.

We've done the satanic verses, we've done the singing detective, we've done

Alleriches de Tom Perdue, landmarks, we tend to call them, though it won't do for this

programme. This one's an expedition into dangerous waters. The work we're hunting is a film,

a film from a period in which the Hollywood studios had come to believe that spectacle and disaster were their best hope for survival.

And it's a book, too, the sort of book that sold so many copies that it became one of those titles that was always there in the charity bookshop or the jumble sale, the cloister and the half of the Jimmy Carter era.

Brody?

Not that chiselhead again with you.

Let Hopper take a turn.

Hooper drives the boat, chief.

Forty years ago, as the oil crisis chilled New York and Saigon was evacuated, the great white

horror of jaws surged into the

world cinemas, directed to do so by Stephen Spielberg and pursued on screen by a small

band of men.

Stop playing with yourself, Hooper. Slow ahead, if you please.

You heard him, slow ahead.

Matt Hooper, a hairy oceanographer, played by Richard Dreyfuss,

Quint, a harpoon-toting, whiskey-slugging fisherman,

...