When Steven Spielberg was a kid, his parents got divorced, an emotionally trying moment in the life of any child who experiences family break-ups. To cope, he retreated to his imagination and created a friend, an alien whom he could confide in and trust with his feelings. Though he grew out of his fantasy of course, the memory of that turbulent time in his life and the little imaginary alien that helped him get through it remained strong.
It’s debatable whether E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial is Speilberg’s greatest film, but it is without a doubt his most personal. Not only in how it’s heavily drawn from his own history, but also the unique way it understands childhood as only a director with a strong connection to their adolescence could. Because of this it’s also the directors’ most sentimental film, which has often been levied as a frequently unfair criticism against Spielberg in general. However those critics don’t seem to understand that there is a place for sentimentality, and in fact it’s of vital importance to a story like this, which we must experience from the perspective of a lonesome child. To not realize the value of this is to be incapable of relating to childhood itself.
Two lost souls, a peaceful alien and a boy named Elliott (Henry Thomas) come across each other when the former is accidentally abandoned on Earth and wanders into the latter’s San Fernando backyard. Though initially frightened of each other, they soon form a close bond and empathic psychic link. With the help of Elliott’s teenage brother Michael (Robert McNaughton) and little sister Gertie (Drew Barrymore), he keeps the alien, whom he dubs “E.T.”, a secret from government officials as the pair attempt to contact E.T.’s people and return him home.
What E.T. is really about is loneliness, family, and friendship, all siphoned through the point-of-view of children. It deals with children of a broken household, which hadn’t been much addressed in the cinema of a nation still just beginning to cast off the false impressions of the wholesome nuclear family ideal. Kids in situations like these have a lot of frustration and sadness they don’t know how to rationalize, which Spielberg knew well. And the movie allows you to feel their fracture and anxieties, particularly Elliott’s. Among this, E.T. becomes the stand-in for any unifying force.
Because these kids were given so much freedom to be themselves, they’re wonderful actors for this movie. Henry Thomas famously landed the lead role by drawing on memories of his dead dog to emote authentically in his audition; and over three decades later it’s still one of the most compelling child performances in any movie. A six year old Drew Barrymore was perfectly adorable -her impulsive sometimes insensible lines feel extremely natural. Likewise Robert McNaughton and the actors playing Michael’s friends come across as very realistic 80s teens, not limited to being casually coarse and mean to Elliott. Thomas and McNaughton each carry their respective coming-of-age character arcs too, the latter especially coming from Spielberg’s own growth into maturity.
As in Close Encounters, one of the central themes of E.T. is communication. Though he’s cute and friendly from the start, E.T.’s turning point comes when he learns to talk by mimicry. The verbalization of what he wants, “E.T. phone home”, makes possible the childrens’ ability to help him get rescued, just as the psychic connection between E.T. and Elliott facilitates their emotional understanding of one another. And obviously E.T.’s driven by his desire to contact his people. We see a staunch contrast between how Elliott approaches E.T. and how the government does. Though neither intends harm to the extra-terrestrial, Elliott’s form of communication is gentler, unimposing, and open. In contrast, because of how concerned they are with contamination and a fear of the unknown, the scientists’ response to E.T. is technical, procedural, or prepared for the worst. They refuse to be close to the creature, for example, quarantining him. It’s because of that lack of intimacy and empathy that gives them the disadvantage. E.T. rewards wonder and kindness, not caution and intolerance. And the friendship between him and Elliott is the former in the greatest sense.
That relationship has often been compared to that of a boy and his beloved pet, a story older than cinema itself. And indeed stories of that nature that have come since, like Free Willy, How to Train Your Dragon, and Lilo & Stitch (which especially owes a lot of its premise to E.T.) have borrowed more from this film than older examples such as Old Yeller or The Yearling. What made the difference for E.T., apart from the fact E.T. never had to die, is that both human and alien are equals. Each brings out positive growth in the other and are kindred spirits by their isolation. E.T. is simply the perfect companion for a dispirited ten year old. It’s the secret to why their friendship is so endearing. That, and the acting by both Thomas and the puppeteers. The design of E.T. is unique, focused heavily on the eyes and wrinkles to create a wizened look akin to Einstein, yet still playful and innocent. Spielberg and the special effects artists also allow him to move and act in increasingly interesting ways.
Then there’s the symbolism, most interestingly that of E.T. as saviour. There’s a lot of Christ allegory to his story, particularly in how he performs miracles, is raised from the dead, and finally ascends in his spacecraft. The framing when he reveals himself to Michael’s friends cloaked in white with a glowing red heart recalls numerous depictions of Jesus with the Sacred Heart, not to mention the Creation of Adam reference on the poster and promotional materials for the film. Even his parting words to the kids: “be good” and “I’ll be right here” can be read with these religious connotations.
Something else that keeps this movie alive is how well Spielberg knew how to astound his audience. Just as he’d done with Close Encounters, he created another of the great images in cinema: that of the silhouetted boy on his bike with alien in basket flying past a full moon. But while the former represented mystery and chaos against the mundane, this one represents magic and whimsy, though the mystery is still there. Indeed Spielberg chose not to make E.T.’s enigmatic qualities apprehensive in his second alien story –this isn’t an alien who abducts or causes chaos or misleads through cryptic appearances. His powers are all wondrous. He rejuvenates life by causing flowers to bloom (another Jesus parallel), he can psychically connect with someone on a non-invasive level, and he can levitate objects regardless of their weight to the point of literally letting children fly. Spielberg’s last extra-terrestrial movie built up an alien force that very well could have been hostile (it was a ray gun away from being Mars Attacks!). But he’s fascinated by and drawn to the unknown, and he wants us to feel the same way.
No discussion of E.T. would be complete without addressing the importance of two figures: the late Melissa Mathison and John Williams. Mathison helped Spielberg expand his idea of a friendly alien on Earth, and wrote what Spielberg and Kathleen Kennedy described as the best first draft of a screenplay they’d ever received. And it is indeed a fantastic script. She was also very active in the production, especially in coaching the kids on their dialogue. And Williams’ music on this film is some of his most joyous, emotionally resonant, and magical (even for a guy who would later score the early Harry Potter films). There’s no question E.T. is Spielberg’s movie, but he could never have realized it without these collaborators.
There’s a reason E.T. is one of Spielberg’s most enduring classics. It’s not just that his heart and soul is on every frame, but that it speaks in an incredibly fresh way to something deeply universal: the desire to find understanding and compassion in another, and the decency to protect and cherish the unusual. The friendship of Elliott and E.T. is one for the ages, still touching, mystical, and moving thirty-six years on. E.T. may be the most heartfelt legacy Spielberg’s left cinema; though his next movie, in fairness, would rip your heart out.
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