Alien Resurrected
By Michael Sean McGowan


Michael Sean McGowan looks at the 20th anniversary edition of "E.T., The Extra-Terrestrial," a saccharine piece of family fodder that wasn't quite done to begin with.


    It is a well known fact in movie lore that Steven Spielberg made his first movie (with a camcorder in his backyard) at the age of 13. What is not as well known or as well observed is that this is quite fitting, seeing that, for most of his career, Spielberg has directed movies using the mindset of an adolescent. It isn’t a simple matter of attention deficit that some more contemporary directors suffer from (yes, Simon West, I’m talking to you…), but rather the inherent qualities of a youngster to go for big and immediate rather than subtle and paced. What this says about Spielberg’s talents as a filmmaker is up to great debate, however, it is hard to argue with the fact that these qualities provide him the knack for giving the audience what they want.



    When E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial came out in 1982, it followed a long string of Spielberg successes, none of which have held up over time. Let’s face it, the Indiana Jones series only got good with the third installment because the first two had done the heavy work of carving its own separate genre-niche. The first one was all over the map, never knowing if it was supposed to be a satire or a throwback to classic Saturday matinees. And E.T.’s closest relative, Close Encounters of the Third Kind, now feels like a hollow lightshow- a pseudo spiritual stunt that tried to pack in the intellect of 2001 into the body of Independence Day. E.T. is no different- it is reflective of a phase of the director’s career when he, almost without apology, chose showmanship over substance every time out of the gate. Looking at it twenty years later, I can’t help but think that, if it had come out fresh today, the response it would meet would be cooler, if not tepid. Is this because audiences today are more jaded? Perhaps, but I think it is because they are also more aware of the mechanics of films and filmmakers and are more aware of when a movie that genuinely stirs the emotions and simple bottom drawer fluff. And no filmmaker has been more shameless at hanging large neon signs on moments that yank on the heart strings than Spielberg.



    It isn’t just the saccharine sweetness that gets in the way of E.T., it is also the fact that the director hadn’t, by this time, trained himself to tackle anything more challenging than providing spectacle. Refer back to some of the scenes between Richard Dreyfuss and his family in Close Encounters and notice how badly they are handled- Spielberg seems incapable of controlling the chaos of his own actors as the shouting of the kids in these scenes drowns out the most important dialogue. Nothing this blatantly FUBAR happens in E.T., but there is an obvious disinterest in generating any real curiosity or connection to the characters. E.T. is a hot air balloon- pretty on the outside, insufferable when you try to get deeper.



    The character of E.T. gives away the film’s disposition in a heartbeat. He follows the steadfast rule for aliens in just about any science fiction or horror film- the good aliens are cute little bundles of joy that inspire you to make plush dolls in their likeness. The bad aliens look like giant cockroaches. Just once, I’d like to see a good alien that still looks like something you’d normally take a can of Raid to. If E.T.’s inherent goodness was any more in question, there is the pot of flowers that he brings to live, and the crimson heart in his chest that burns whenever his family is near. Of course, by the time the movie is over and the little castaway is reunited with his own, we realize that we still know nothing about him or the world he comes from. The story is more about its human characters. There is Elliot, the misunderstood (natch) youngster who develops a bond with the alien that is more about his sense of discovery than E.T.’s. He isn’t an object for our wonder- he’s just a cardboard stand-in. Then there is Dee Wallace Stone, transparent as Elliot’s single mom (she would appear in Cujo after this- step up or step down?) and then the other gaggle of toddlers or pre-teens who talk in such a pre-fab kid speak one wonders if Spielberg jumped from age 13 to his mid-twenties in one year.



    The idea of re-releasing E.T. at this time is more than a little depressing. Normally, re-releases are touted as a way for directors to “get it right,” to present a film to audiences in the way they were meant to see them. However, the sum of the changes to this new edition speaks little of Spielberg’s faith in his audience or too much in his desire to rehash past success. The few added sequences are needless, reaffirming the rule that when scenes are cut from a movie, there is usually a very good reason why. There is also the much-talked-about altered moment where a pair of government agents hold walkie-talkies instead of shotguns as Elliot and E.T. whiz over their roadblock. Was this somehow an effort to make the movie even less threatening and more family friendly, as if it isn’t maudlin enough as is?



    I have nothing against movies that go for real emotions, but E.T is not one of these. I remember that marketing flood that accompanied the original version twenty-years ago and am anticipating another in “honor” of this re-release. But, and call this my own personal opinion, a movie doesn’t deserve the honors of a 20th anniversary celebration if it is as plastic and consumable as those items on the toy store shelves. C