E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial (1982) *****
Like many people my age, Steven Spielberg's E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial (1982) was a childhood favorite. I watched it many, many, many times. These days I only watch it about every 7 years, whenever it hits a new home video format or edition.
It's a film that still works for me, as an adult. Part of it is nostalgia, undoubtedly. There have been so many filmmakers that have attempted to tap into that same movie magic, that same tone that Spielberg conveyed in the 80s—his name became synonymous with a brand. Sometimes those filmmakers are successful, mostly they just feel like copycats.
One reason for E.T.'s longevity is that the film, at least for me, has remained untainted. In the age of irony and snark, where everything is a meme and nothing is sacred, it's easy to make fun of a film like E.T., whether because of the puppet's "peculiar" appearance or the sentimentality of the piece—though there are some dark edges, the film just chooses not to wallow in them. Each time I watch E.T. now, my experience is threefold—I'm transported back to my memories of watching it when I was young, I'm watching through my own adult lens (as I approach middle age—yikes!), and I'm ruminating on how films like these don't get made anymore.
I'm not sure if E.T. works for kids these days, as I don't have children of my own. You can bet that if I did, I'd want to introduce them to the film, but it's a mystery to me whether they would connect with it emotionally or if it would just seem antiquated (some of the f/x do look dated, but there's a charm that goes with that).
But there's a lot to appreciate: Henry Thomas's touching performance as Elliott, the boy whose bond with an alien goes beyond explainable terms; Drew Barrymore—adorable and funny near the start of her career; Dee Wallace—struggling as a single mom of three. And outside of the cast, there is of course the crew—Melissa Mathison's unforgettable story, Allen Daviau's moody cinematography, Carlo Rambaldi's incredible creature creation, and, of course, John Williams' beautiful score.
It's interesting to observe the way that adults and authority figures are shot in E.T.—for the most part, absent or mostly out of frame, as if to say this is the world of children and teenagers, where there are struggles, to be sure, but always from the kids' perspective. They, much like the titular character, feel like aliens on their own planet. Perhaps that's why E.T. still resonates with those of us that grew up with it (and perhaps some of this generation as well?)—it reminds us what's it's like to feel that way, to long to connect, to dream of being somewhere else, to gaze at the sky and wonder who or what is out there in that big world of ours and in other worlds.
You can find my Steven Spielberg Feature Films Ranked list here.
It's a film that still works for me, as an adult. Part of it is nostalgia, undoubtedly. There have been so many filmmakers that have attempted to tap into that same movie magic, that same tone that Spielberg conveyed in the 80s—his name became synonymous with a brand. Sometimes those filmmakers are successful, mostly they just feel like copycats.
One reason for E.T.'s longevity is that the film, at least for me, has remained untainted. In the age of irony and snark, where everything is a meme and nothing is sacred, it's easy to make fun of a film like E.T., whether because of the puppet's "peculiar" appearance or the sentimentality of the piece—though there are some dark edges, the film just chooses not to wallow in them. Each time I watch E.T. now, my experience is threefold—I'm transported back to my memories of watching it when I was young, I'm watching through my own adult lens (as I approach middle age—yikes!), and I'm ruminating on how films like these don't get made anymore.
I'm not sure if E.T. works for kids these days, as I don't have children of my own. You can bet that if I did, I'd want to introduce them to the film, but it's a mystery to me whether they would connect with it emotionally or if it would just seem antiquated (some of the f/x do look dated, but there's a charm that goes with that).
But there's a lot to appreciate: Henry Thomas's touching performance as Elliott, the boy whose bond with an alien goes beyond explainable terms; Drew Barrymore—adorable and funny near the start of her career; Dee Wallace—struggling as a single mom of three. And outside of the cast, there is of course the crew—Melissa Mathison's unforgettable story, Allen Daviau's moody cinematography, Carlo Rambaldi's incredible creature creation, and, of course, John Williams' beautiful score.
It's interesting to observe the way that adults and authority figures are shot in E.T.—for the most part, absent or mostly out of frame, as if to say this is the world of children and teenagers, where there are struggles, to be sure, but always from the kids' perspective. They, much like the titular character, feel like aliens on their own planet. Perhaps that's why E.T. still resonates with those of us that grew up with it (and perhaps some of this generation as well?)—it reminds us what's it's like to feel that way, to long to connect, to dream of being somewhere else, to gaze at the sky and wonder who or what is out there in that big world of ours and in other worlds.
You can find my Steven Spielberg Feature Films Ranked list here.
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