CHAPTER 9: THE MARKETING
Saul Pincus: Playing coy worked for this film. In 1982, it was possible for a general audience member or even die-hard science fiction fan to know nearly nothing about what they were about to see until the theater curtains parted and light hit the screen. It sounds quaint, but think about that: it meant that you weren’t in control—the filmmaker was. For Spielberg to keep us in the dark until we were literally in the darkness of a theater gave him the ability to control the total experience and its impact, and because he’s a master filmmaker, we were all the better for his efforts.
Steven Awalt: I can tell you it had an actual physical impression on my nine-year-old imagination and mind. I remember standing with my family (my mother, father, five siblings and I all went to see it, a rarity that our entire family of eight would go to the movies as one) on line to get into the theater to be seated for the movie. While standing in a completely packed theater lobby, we wound up spending a lot of time right next to this glorious cardboard standee with the film’s teaser key art—that mysterious, slightly ominous but magical image of dark clouds backlit by what surely had to be the lights of some sort of spaceship. Before the film, all I knew about it was that it was directed by the man whose work I was already obsessed with after seeing Close Encounters and Raiders of the Lost Ark, as well as the TV broadcasts of Jaws and 1941, and that like Close Encounters, it was about an alien. I stared at that standee, studying the image of the clouds and lights and let my imagination go for the movies I was about to see and still nothing could prepare me for the next two hours in that theater. I felt total bliss, heartache and elation by film’s end. I’m an empathetic sponge for movies and stories, but nothing has ever made me feel like I did that summer of 1982 seeing E.T. The memory of those feelings I had that day are still palpable to me now in middle age, forty years on from that summer. The marketing of E.T. was a beautiful mystery, totally evocative without giving a thing away. That’s an art, rare even in that era.
Brian Herzlinger: E.T. was the highest-grossing film of all time, until Spielberg’s own Jurassic Park took the title in 1993. I would say the movie’s marketing was the most successful in history at that time. Of course, I had multiple E.T. stuffed animals, board games, books, trading cards, toys, etc., so I’m a testament that the marketing worked just fine!
William Kallay: I do not recall a lot about the marketing. Once it was released in theaters, though, you could not escape it. Early that summer, Time magazine published a multi-page article about Steven Spielberg. The article was glowing about Spielberg’s talent and the fact that E.T. was going to be a blockbuster. The writer also raved about Poltergeist and that was the movie I wanted to see.
Mike Matessino: I really don’t like when the creature itself is used on key art. We all know what E.T. looks like but there is always another generation coming in and they deserve to experience some of the mystery and gradual reveal that the movie offers.
Mark A. Altman: It was very cagey not to give away the game. The teaser posters and trailers didn’t show much and that was super smart unlike today where they tell you everything in the trailer. It really lured you in. Of course, as a result there wasn’t much merchandise to support the film and when it became a juggernaut there was a mad scramble to play catch up and you end up with Atari’s E.T. game.
Bill Hunt: For me, the most extraordinary thing about E.T. was that I walked into a movie theater in 1982 knowing absolutely nothing about it, other than it was another tale about alien life from a guy who’d made three of my favorite films to date. The air of mystery about the project was complete and utterly compelling. And nothing could prepare you for the emotional wallop of the movie-going experience that followed. I went to the first screening at my local theater, and it was another week before most of my friends and family saw the film. I can recall how frustrating it was to try to communicate in words the feelings that E.T. inspired in me. “You have to see this movie!” was a phrase I used often that week. It’s so rare today that we get to have an experience like that; we know almost everything about a film before we ever set foot in a theater. I miss that pleasure of discovery in the moment.
CHAPTER 10: FIRST IMPRESSIONS
Mike Matessino: I was blown away. I saw the movie at a sneak preview on the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend and knew very little about it going in. I thankfully missed the Time magazine article that revealed the creature, which, famously, was because the Falklands conflict bumped it from the front cover, so I went in thinking that it might be really good but basically on the order of a Lassie-type movie. I honestly didn’t think it was going to be something I’d want to see more than once or twice, despite how much I like Steven Spielberg’s films. A lot of my impression of the movie was enhanced by the audience around me, all of whom seemed to go in completely cold as well. The response was overwhelming and it might have been the single greatest experience I ever had seeing a movie. The applause at the end continued all the way through the credits, and then we all went out into a world that didn’t know about this movie. The advance hype for films was not what it would start becoming by the end of that decade; to a great degree the success of a film was still very much reliant on the film itself. Buttons were handed out at the end of the screening that said, “I Saw E.T.” and, if you can imagine, most people who commented on it over the following week-and-a-half had no idea what it was referring to. It was surreal to sort of feel like I had this secret all to myself for a couple of weeks, but then when the movie opened the world just went instantly crazy over it. I went to see it multiple times over the first weekend and I particularly remember the packed house on Sunday afternoon as being a particularly powerful experience. That went on and on all summer.
Alison Martino (television producer and historian; founder, Vintage Los Angeles): I was eleven years old and I had just seen Poltergeist four times at the Plitt Theater at the ABC Entertainment Center in Century City. E.T. was released while my family and I were in San Francisco. I simply could not wait until getting home to L.A. to see it and so my parents took me to see it in San Francisco. I was so knocked out by it that when we did get back to L.A. my parents took me to the Cinerama Dome to see it several additional times. We waited two-and-a-half hours in line each time. I remember seeing Kristy McNichol, Leonard Nimoy and, believe it or not, Dee Wallace in line at random showings.
Mark A. Altman: It’s funny, it took me awhile to see it. The marketing was very vague and I thought it’d be too soft for me. I was busy seeing Star Trek II and Poltergeist over and over instead. One day after school, I decided given how much everyone seemed to universally like it, I should finally see it. I took a bus from school to a shitty theater on Nostrand Avenue in Brooklyn and fell victim to the spell it cast instantly.
Joseph McBride: I heard about the shooting under a dummy title, A Boy’s Life, but didn’t see the movie for about a week after its opening. A seven-year-old boy I knew had urged me to go see it, saying it was so wonderful. He was deeply moved. I went and agreed with him.
Steven Awalt: It hit me in a way no other film had or has still, not even Star Wars, The Empire Strikes Back, Close Encounters and Raiders of the Lost Ark before it, as monumental as those were to a boy growing up in that era. E.T. covers the waterfront of emotions it takes audiences through: apprehension, fear, curiosity, tenderness, bravery, loss, and above all, love—all wrapped up in a very exciting and humorous story.
Brian Herzlinger: I was six years old when E.T. was released in theaters. It was a perfect age to see it for the first time as my imagination and my willingness to believe in the magic of cinema combined perfectly with realizing I, too, could be part of this incredible filmmaking world. It was the first time I thought, “I want to grow up and make movies like this.” E.T. was immediately my favorite film when I left that theater in June, 1982, and now, as a filmmaker myself, E.T. is still my favorite film.
Caseen Gaines: I remember being mesmerized by the black-and-green VHS cassette tape and the stunning image of E.T. and Elliott riding past the face of the moon. I remember being a little afraid of the beginning, and maybe the scene when Elliott and E.T. are dying, but beyond that, I think I really just thought the movie was real life. It’s written and shot in such a believable way, I never thought for a moment that Elliott and E.T. weren’t real and that their bond wasn’t real.
James Kendrick: I saw it for the first time in theaters when I was in second grade. I remember being utterly mesmerized by it and emotionally absorbed. Most of the movies I had seen up until that time had been fairly action oriented, and what a lot of people forget about E.T. is that there aren’t a lot of big action scenes until the third act. The first half of the move is a mix of horror/suspense and interpersonal family drama, and even though I didn’t fully understand all the familial dynamics at the time, I still felt what Spielberg wanted me to feel with regard to the characters and their situations.
Ray Morton: My first viewing of E.T. is my greatest cinematic memory. I was a student in the NYU film school and a friend of mine’s brother was a film critic for Variety. He had seen the film in a press screening in L.A. and loved it. He wanted his sister to see it, so he got her on a list for a screening in New York. She was allowed to bring a guest and, knowing I was a big Spielberg fan, she invited me to go with her. This was several weeks before it was released. We went to see the movie and of course it was amazing. The theater was very large and as the movie reached its climax, we started hearing sniffles coming from the dark all around us. And then full on sobs. And then cheers of happiness at the end. That shared experience in the dark that cinephiles talk about when they talk about the movies? We experienced it that night—it really was the magic of the movies, courtesy of Melissa Mathison, Carlo Rambaldi, John Williams, and Mr. Steven Spielberg.
John Cork (co-author, James Bond Encyclopedia): I was a college student spending a semester abroad, and found my way to Cannes during the festival in late-May of 1982, and I had heard nothing about E.T. But there was a huge sign for it near the Carlton Hotel. How had Steven Spielberg made a film about which I, a film student at USC, had heard nothing? I didn’t attend the festival, but I was allowed to wander the film market, even meet with some of the filmmakers. None of the folks I spoke with had anything good to say about E.T. “I hear it’s a goofy kid’s film,” was one sentiment. Although the success of Raiders was still palpable, many felt that was due to George Lucas’s guiding hand. In the industry, many felt Spielberg was far too self-indulgent. Jaws had horrible production problems, as had Close Encounters. Many in Hollywood had been gleeful when Spielberg’s audience and critics abandoned him with the obviously bloated 1941. Many at Cannes were ready to see him fail again and be relegated to directing mid-level Disney films.
Joe Fordham: It took six months after he landed in the US for E.T. to arrive in the UK. At least, officially. As a card-carrying member of the Steven Spielberg Film Society, I was determined to avoid the pirate VHS recorded via handheld camcorder in the States and sold under the tables in pubs. Largely, I succeeded. When the creature first waddled out of the Taylor family toolshed, arms extended and light streaming behind it, that was the first time I laid eyes on him, and I gasped.
John Cork: I left Cannes before the closing night screening, but the word is that the cynics left the theater that night wiping tears away from their eyes. They knew Spielberg had done as good a job depicting single-motherhood in his science fiction film as Scorsese had done in Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore, that he had captured middle-American childhood, and the way children compartmentalize, fight, bond, obsess, and love in a way that no filmmaker has ever accomplished before or since.
Saul Pincus: I saw E.T. the second day it opened, a Saturday matinee. It floored me with its message, with the brilliance of its filmmaking and teases, how simply and purely it all went down. I still remember wondering why I couldn’t cry, until I realized I’d spent all my tears watching Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan the night before. Such was the richness of the summer of ‘82.
William Kallay: I remember enjoying the film very much. I was charmed by Elliott and E.T.’s friendship, moved by the broken family dynamic, thrilled by the action sequences and the flight across the moon. But being a cynical teenager, I refused to let myself cry; but damn, it was so hard! As the final scene rolled on that big screen, my dad, who rarely got misty eyed, was wiping tears from his face and sniffling. I had always respected my dad, but that gave me even more respect for him.
John Scoleri: I was twelve when E.T. opened in June of 1982 and I saw it in San Jose where, surprisingly (in retrospect), it was playing in the smaller “split” Century 23 Dome. But that didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the film. I was moved by it. Of course, at twelve I was the perfect target age for it. I could identify with Elliott (a fellow Star Wars aficionado), despite my having a better family life. Who wouldn’t want an extra-terrestrial for a best friend? The film is graced with what is arguably John Williams’ finest score. It touched me then, and still fills me with emotion when E.T. (spoiler alert) comes back to life, as well as during the goodbyes at the end. And I will freely admit that because of the film, I tried (and actually liked) Reese’s Pieces candy (though they don’t hold a candle to M&Ms—what were those guys thinking!).
Joe Fordham: The whip-smart writing, note-perfect performances, luminous photography, the deftness of techniques and transcendent score made E.T. pulse with life. Opening night in the Empire Leicester Square, December 9, 1982, I had no idea what made him tick. And he’s still somewhat of a mystery. William Kotzwinkle’s novel, The Book of the Green Planet, based on a Spielberg story, gave some insights into E.T.’s origins, also seen in the old Universal Studios ride—E.T. was part-vegetable, a junior botanist from a jungle planet three million light-years away, student of a much older sage whose ten fingers glowed. But the eggplant-headed gnome with an elongating neck, fat feet, and a ducky rump was a wonderful contradiction. Part suit and puppet, with dexterous performer hands, giant baby blue eyes in a wrinkled turtle face, was graceful and ugly, wise and young, and his illuminated innards proved that he was all heart. An inspired creation. I’ll love him always. Happy birthday, bald monkey.
CHAPTER 11: MEMORABLE SCENES
Mike Matessino: They are numerous, but if I had to pick one thing it would be the climactic bike chase and final scene. The movie was already so good that it almost didn’t need to go there in order to be great, but it shot up to a whole other level in its last fifteen minutes. It transcended itself and its own art form.
John Cork: The truest moment in the film is the look on Dee Wallace’s face at the end when she realizes the depth and profoundness of her son Elliott’s inner life, a life so separate from what she can share with him as his mother. She conveys just the right amount of wonder, longing, pride, and loneliness at getting a glimpse into this complex world of his that she had never imagined.
Caseen Gaines: I’ve always loved the first time we meet the Taylors and Michael’s friends around the dinner table. There’s something so natural and beautifully imperfect about that scene. However, as an adult, I really get choked up at the goodbye scene. I have always had trouble with goodbyes and there’s something really wonderful about all the performances, including Caprice Rothe, the underappreciated mime artist who manipulates E.T.’s hands throughout the film. The actors’ work, with Melissa Mathison’s wonderfully simple and honest writing, Spielberg’s direction, John Williams’ score, and great work from Industrial Light & Magic? I don’t think it gets any better.
James Kendrick: The best scene in E.T. and one of the best scenes in all of Spielberg’s body of work is the dinner table scene following Elliott’s first encounter with E.T. It is genuinely daring in the way it honestly dramatizes the emotional stress under which a broken family is living. The conversation at the table is already tense because it revolves around the rest of the family’s not believing Elliott’s claim about having seen E.T. the night before. Elliott is clearly frustrated and feeling isolated, and when his older brother gives him a hard time, he jumps up and yells, “It wasn’t anything like that, penis breath!” It is a comical moment—a brief bit of levity—but it is also clearly reflective of Elliott’s anger and resentment. “Dad would believe me,” he then says, and when his mother suggests that maybe he should call his father, he responds with absolute cruelty by saying, “I can’t. He’s in Mexico with Sally.” Elliott clearly intends for this statement to hurt his mother; we see it in his eyes, which flick up at her, and in his posture, which raises up with a bit of defiance as he says “with Sally.” It is a stark emotional moment, bursting with complex familial tensions that play out in the characters’ faces: the pain of a newly single mother being reminded that she has been left for another woman and disempowered by her young son knowing their whereabouts while she does not; the defensive cruelty of an emotionally angry child lashing out in ways he doesn’t entirely understand; and the subsequent divisiveness between siblings as Michael, old enough to recognize the emotional damage of Elliott’s thoughtless remark, angrily chastises him. The power of the scene and the manner in which it balances the emotional experiences of both the mother and the children undercuts lazy criticisms of Spielberg only seeing the world through the eyes of a child.
Brian Herzlinger: I have so many favorite scenes!!! The sequence where Elliott and E.T. are experiencing the same feelings—culminating in Elliott’s first kiss and the simultaneous liberation of the classroom frogs is a classic. If I had to pick one scene that gets me every time, I’d have to say the finale. Watching Elliott and E.T.’s unbreakable bond as they say goodbye will always be the most epic and intimate perfection.
William Kallay: The scene where E.T. drinks beer and makes Elliott drunk at the same time is my favorite. Like Elliott, I was a kid with a crush on a cute girl in science class. Granted, I did not have an alien visitor staying at home drinking beer to cause me to get drunk. However, I might have gotten the thought in my head to release the frogs from impending doom.
Joseph McBride: I found a college interview with Spielberg in which he praised the 1967 Disney fantasy movie The Gnome-Mobile (directed by Robert Stevenson). I didn’t see it until after I wrote the first edition of my biography. Then I saw it and found that the “little people”—gnomes, supernatural creatures like leprechauns or elves—appear in a Redwood forest like the one in E.T. I had always wondered why the Southern California suburb in E.T. was adjacent to a Redwood forest, a Northern California geographical feature. It’s because Spielberg liked The Gnome-Mobile.
Saul Pincus: I have many favorite scenes, but for me the standout moment is when E.T. comes back to life and Gertie’s flowers regenerate in simpatico as Elliott is pulled away. The audience reaction was indescribably joyful and loud—every single time I saw it, an auditorium of 700 people feeling exactly the same thing, their hearts beating as one. It’s what movies were made for, and a great marriage of music and image, too. Maestros Spielberg and Williams knew exactly how to send it home.
