E.T. 20th Anniversary Edition
dir. Steven Spielberg
Universal Pictures
If you're no fan of Steven Spielberg's movie children, then you
may suspect that revisiting E.T. on the occasion of its 20th
anniversary will be a waste of time. Spielberg has made
some staggering miscalculations with the wee ones in his films:
Remember the precocious
sidekick in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom?
How about the imps in Jurassic Park, one of whom is able to
comprehend the park's computer systems in the blink of an eye? Anyone
nursing fond memories of Gwyneth Paltrow in Hook, chasing the dread Captain
Hook around his ungainly ship and bellowing, "You need a mother!"?
The problem with many of Spielberg's children is that they are sketched
to be remarkably savvy but also innocent and dewy, as the situation warrants.
They're subject to the whims of the Well Made Story, and unbelievable.
And E.T., a story told from a child's perspective, might make you think
you have good reason to be a bit nervous.
But the film still stands up. In fact, the movie's low-rent (by today's standards)
technical effects have more soul and charm than the additional footage,
which has been souped up with plenty of CGI. This film, whose pace has
nothing whatsoever to do with the pace of children's entertainment today (see:
the rapid-fire Shrek, The Emperor's New Groove and Nickelodeon's slate of
shows), can still quiet an auditorium of kids for two solid hours.
E.T. is the work of a director at the top of his game,
telling a story about the joy of discovery without the heavy syrup, and
featuring three children who are allowed to be children, warts and all.
It is easily one of the greatest children's films of all time.
Prince once said that his favorite songs feel almost frighteningly
familiar, as though the music had been in our collective unconscious
for decades and someone was blessed or lucky enough to find a way to capture and
record it. E.T. has that same quality; it has moments of such exquisite
beauty that you're certain you've seen them somewhere before, and not just because
you have — they seem to be taken straight from our collective imagination.
Certainly the bicycle ride Elliot (played superbly by Henry Thomas) and E.T. take
through the sky, passing by the moon, is one such moment. Lovelier still is
the scene when Elliot stands in his back yard, facing his shed, which glows with light
against the night sky, and nervously tosses his softball through its door, to
see what creature lurks within. Of course the ball comes back; it has to come
back. But this initial, wordless contact between Elliot and E.T. works on a level
much deeper than what is available in most children's fare. And it is far, far
removed from a young girl chasing a pirate around his vessel berating him for
not having a mommy. The audience confronts, with Elliot, the fear of the unknown,
but Spielberg doesn't try to iron out the ambiguities and mystery of what
we cannot understand. Nowhere in this film does he explain it all. He
merely allows the story to work on us.
Because E.T. is presented from the point of view of a child, the bureaucracy in pursuit of
the extra-terrestrial is therefore allied to no one specific agency — there
are cops, doctors, cars with "US Government" stenciled on the side.
Who are these people? Why do they want to capture E.T.? How did they know his ship
left him on Earth? The answer is a refreshingly uncynical "who cares?"
From the child's point of view, all that is important
is that they represent a threat. In fact, for much of the film these
enigmatic men and women are only seen from the waist down, and the ostensible
head of the whole organization is signified by a jingling set of keys attached to
his belt (at child and alien eye level). The story is more effective this way;
were the story told from the perspective of, say, an adult Elliot looking back
at a time in his life "when the aliens came," the distance would reduce the
discovery, and the journey would invariably be leading to The Message.
It's to Spielberg's credit that he's smart enough to stay away from delivering a
Message. This is a movie about discovery, and its sincerity is not maudlin.
It's pure, and it's enchanting. There are so many pleasures in the film that it's
difficult to single out a few. Drew Barrymore's performance as Elliot's
little sister Gertie is ridiculously adorable; a scene in which Elliot and his
older brother Michael (Robert MacNaughton) sneak E.T. out of the house in a
Halloween costume is sweetly funny; and a reprise of the bicycle flight in the
sky near the film's end is equally exhilarating. E.T. is two hours of wish
fulfillment. It's a timeless story, and well worth your time.
— Christopher Hickman (hickatz at mindspring dot com)
