Last week I had a rare opportunity to experience E.T. for the first time on the big screen. It was also my first viewing as an old married man–yet I was immediately transplanted back into the state of an earlier age. It’s a rare family film that asks adults to return to the frame of mind of a child. It asks children to simply be.
Only a handful of films have successfully achieved such a demand on its audience. There’s Disney’s Pinocchio, where we hearken back to the vitality of being “a good boy” and The Wizard of Oz, which touches the unabated motto “there’s no place like home”. In this case E.T. borrows the latter. The “home” , in this case, is a faraway planet. We never learn anything about it nor do any of the kids in the film ask about it. It doesn’t matter. The point is: it’s E.T.’s home and he misses it and wants to get back. Every kid understands that.
The film’s first five minutes begin with zero dialog. A spaceship rests in a desolate redwood forest. One of the visitors ventures far away from his spaceship. When a bevy of government “adults” approach, the starship escapes leaving E.T behind. We don’t see the alien save for long shots and angles obscured in shadow and foliage. But Spielberg constantly shows the world though E.T’s eyes. We hear him breath and moan and grunt with insatiable curiosity. When the humans approach, he screams in terror. Again, kids get it.
What kids won’t understand is the adult government agents who pursue E.T. Adults would guess that they hope to capture the alien and run countless experiments. But their true intentions remain ominous and mysterious. Spielberg adds distance by never showing the adults’ faces. The camera remains low; at the level of E.T. and Elliot. Other adults involved, including Elliot’s irate teacher and a visiting police officer are only shown from the torso down. Only Elliot’s stressed, but considerate mother (Dee Wallace) is revealed from the start. Eventually, we also view the face of a head government agent, “keys” (Peter Coyote). We only become connected to his character because he clearly understands Elliot’s innocent and humane compassion.
The attention to detail centers around the innocent mentalities of the three siblings who aid E.T. The children performers contain some of the best acting of any young thespians in cinema history. First, Spielberg allows them to act like kids. When Elliot brings the alien into his room, he shows the him his toys, explains the basic concepts of Coca-Cola, fish and Star Wars figurines. What kid wouldn’t do this? When Elliot’s younger sister first meets E.T., she asks “Is he a boy or a girl?” and “Was he wearing any clothes?”
There’s also the behaviors and dialog that the trio exchange: the constant teasing and harassment of the older brother, Elliot’s verbal counterattacks (“It was nothing like that, Penis-breath”), the brief ransom of Gertie’s doll to ensure she’s mum regarding E.T.’s presence, Elliot’s fake illness that involves holding the thermometer next to a heated lamp while smothering his forehead in a pillow. When Elliot’s elder teenage brother, Michael, is outside the range of adult ears, he curses–because that’s what teens do.
Henry Thomas, in only his second film role, carries most of the film; milking the special effect of his co-star–rummaging through a large scope of emotions: fear, curiosity, love, loss and finally the tearful heartbreak when he bids goodbye to his alien pal. There’s also the equally compelling turn of Elliot’s younger sister, Gertie (Drew Barrymore) who adds a lovely nurturing side to her alien companion; giving him flowers and dressing him in woman’s drag the moment Elliot is out of the house.
Spielberg described the initial conceptual design of E.T. as the face “only a mother could love”. Yet, E.T.’s hairless, coarse skin, and bizarre neck that stretches to the point where he matches Elliot in height, is surprisingly enchanting. The conception of E.T. was modeled after a amalgamation of Carl Sandburg, Albert Einstein, Ernest Hemingway and a pug dog. The Mars company balked at the design and pulled out its M&Ms candy brand, causing Elliot to use Reese’s Pieces instead to lure E.T. into his house. After E.T. premiered, the candy nearly doubled in sales.
My recent reviewing of E.T. was the original 1982 version. The special effects still work without any of the digital tampering performed by Spielberg for the 2002 theatrical re-release and DVD. There’s never one moment when E.T. doesn’t come across as alive. The large screen brought many of the intricate details to life, such as the pulsating veins, his dilating eyes. His voice was designed by a concoction of numerous contributors including actress Debra Winger and the brilliant sound effects design by Ben Burtt (The Star Wars saga). E.T. remains one of the most dazzling creations in cinema. There are moments when the proximity of the camera should reveal the gadgetry and effect, but all we see is a soul behind those large eyes.
E.T. works because our emotions never overtly manipulated. Spielberg never pushes us. Even John Williams’ soaring, brilliant music takes its time to reach an emotional apex. The film begins with ominous music and E.T. draped in shadow and mystery. Yet, somehow, Spielberg engages us to share Elliot’s feelings without overtly stating so. Spielberg reuses some of his elements from Close Encounters of the Third Kind, in which no final verdict is offered to us, but we’re given time to ponder over the evidence. We don’t know anything about E.T., but, like Elliot, we’re entirely curious. There’s Elliot’s first “meeting” with E.T. which is frightening. Their second encounter includes E.T. walking in fast paces directly at Elliot, whose fear and curiosity prevents him from running away. In a simple gesture, E.T. hands over some Reese’s Pieces. Again, kids get it.
As we learn more of E.T., we understand why Elliot becomes so taken by him. E.T. even has the power to share his emotions. Inevitably, the boy and his extraterrestrial friend escape the government in order to get E.T. back to his ship. The climax involves a chase with boys on bicycles outmaneuvering the government cars. The chases reaches a pinnacle when the bikes reach a dead-end involving a motor barricade and men bearing guns. For the 2002 version, Spielberg digitally replaced guns with walkie talkies believing the weapons sent the wrong message. He was wrong. For the upcoming blu ray (coming on October 9th), only the 1982 film is available with the guns intact. Watching the film again, the message of guns offers a bad taste. All that mattered was that E.T. got home. The arms only further vilifies the adult pursuers. And when E.T. causes the bicycles to soar over the armed barricade, the audience during my screening roared into applause–even 30 years later.
E.T. remains one of the finest films ever made. It represents Spielberg’s pinnacle in craft, sentimentality and genuine heart-string tugging. Even after 30 years, its impact remains unpoisoned by a our more sardonic, cynical world. There’s only a boy, who makes a friend and helps him go home. When the credits rolled, a young boy exclaimed “I love this movie!” With a tear rolling down my cheek, I couldn’t have said it better myself.
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