They’re calling it the best film of the summer—Newsweek (it’s not), or one of the greatest films of all time—The Arkansas Gazette (and that it’s certainly not).  It’s that loveable little skin-headed roly-poly, E.T. (short for “Extra-Terrestrial”), in the film of the same name. What it is, is just another cream puff for the Star Wars Crowd—the newly pubescent teeny-boppers of North America: middle class, white, with one foot in innocence and the other in blooming libido; a super-saccharin bubble-gum morality tale which proves that even aliens are human.  And like the best of this genre, it’s a combination of all the wish-fulfillment “fly away from responsibility” kiddie stories you ever saw or read: “The Wizard of Oz,” “Star Wars,” “Mary Poppins,” “Mother Goose,” and even a bit of Goethe’s ”Faust.”

But most of all it’s a videogame “Peter Pan,” complete with little boys (the brother relationship is straight out of “Leave It To Beaver”), a little girl (so sweet, cherubic and All-American White se had to come straight from the pages of Better Homes And Gardens), a loving mother (fashioned in the Barbara Billingsly mold), a faithful dog (he doesn’t fly), an other-worldly 600-year-old little “boy” (he does), and the evil “pirates” (in this case some U.S. Army types who are out to capture E.T.).  In congress the good kids conspire against the evil world of adults (except for Mom, who proves she’s just one of the boys) (oh yes, and one Army “pirate” who convinces us that he’s still a boy at heart), literally fly over the obstacles in their path, see their wizened little friend off on a return flight to Never-Never land, and refuse to grow up.

What’s cuter than a life-size Pillsbury Doughboy?  Why it’s the eponymous E.T. hisself.  With coos and clucks and gurgles he insinuates himself into our hearts, proving that he can be more human than humans (this little blob of intergalactic ectoplasm even has D.N.A., believe it or not; one of the nurses in the medical scene tells us so, as if we hadn’t caught on to the “Everyone is Human” theme already: just another bludgeoning in this sensitivity mugging masquerading as a movie).  He’s got feelings (boy has he got feelings! The first alien able  to cry on cue), and he’s a fast learner, too (after one program of “Sesame Street” he’s calling the kids by their names, saying his ABCs. . . next time the kids will let him call out for the pizza; one more session of “Sesame Stret” and he’d be ready for college).  But most of all he’s got big blue eyes.

So, what the heck is this E.T. fellow doing on Earth and why doesn’t he go back to where he came from?  As far as we movie-goers can gather, he was part of a space mission to our planet collecting soil samples or some such (nothing as threatening as human life-forms: he’s a vegetarian).  Out on a geological assignment he is suddenly cut off from his space ship by the arrival (why now, they don’t say) of eight-or-so white adult males (where from, they don’t say) who immediately start to chase him (what for, they don’t say).  Meanwhile, back at the space craft (looking like some Christmas-tree-ornament-descended-from-the-heavens pasted onto a painted forest scene), his fellow Munchkins become alarmed by all the commotion in the wilderness and decide it’s time to weigh anchor and to heck with the lonely foot soldier lost out in the woods.  And this heart-tugging turn of events forces our little foreign friend to come face to face with the plot.

And the plot: creature meets kids and spends the rest of the movie alternately hiding, being afraid, drinking Coors (for which he develops quite a taste), watching “Sesame Stret,” being chased by “the evil men,” and generally just being his adorable, squishy little self.

But hold on.  This space-age Raggedy Andy isn’t the only thing wrong with the picture.  Galactic Heavens, no!  from cheap shots to shoddy effects, from poor plotting to plodding plot¸this film is as full of holes as a truckload of white bread. Take “the evil men” (please!). Not only do we not know who they are, why they’re chasing our poor, sickly homunculus, or what they’ve got planned for him, but these omnipotent malefactors can actually listen through walls–from blocks away! Yes, Virginia, they just plug in their super-duper eavesdropping device (it fits in an Econoline Van, too), turn it on and tune it into any conversation in any bedroom or garage they want (just wait ‘til the ACLU gets ahold of that one!). It’s the same new-old “Big Brother” device, except that George Orwell did it far better in 1984 in 1949. For scenarist Melisa Mathison to steal this number in 1982 may be only another piece of this eclectic crazy quilt to her, but for the rest of us it’s adding injury to insult.

And then there’s a heart-churning biology class scene which, even though the rest of the film is not edited quite as tightly as a Lite beer commercial, is still far out of place. It’s as if, in the middle of “War And Peace,” the French and Russian armies suddenly joined hands in a mazurka.

  And what about the capture of the E.T. home by “the evil men”? Garbed top-to-toe in white luminescent space suits, they suddenly appear: at the front door, in the kitchen, through the dining rom window (at least they don’t come plopping down the chimney). The scene is played just like a DePalma shocker, complete with a cheap-shot “Boo,” or something to that effect) from one of the space-suited people. We don’t even see a face until they’ve got everything nicely tied down in disinfected hospital gauze. For much of the film the only characteristic we have to relate to these bureaucratic hobgoblins is a jingling set of keys. Get it? Keys? Locks? Cells? Freedom and slavery? Who is really free? Etc., etc., ad nauseam. And again, as if a couple of brief whiffs of this pedestrian leitmotif weren’t enough, the sound of keys jingling becomes practically part of the soundtrack.

And speaking of the soundtrack, John Williams is back again. Yes, he of the pomp-and-circumstantial Music-To-See-Super-Spectaculars-By returns with yet another reprise of his greatest hit. This time, proving that anything that sells once can sell twice, Williams takes the first five-note phrase from the ‘Star Wars” theme and transposes it directly as the first phrase of the “E.T.” them. Well, even Beethoven was redundant at times, but then he had a lot more music to work with, too.

Spielberg also has a lot more to work with, except that he doesn’t use it. In almost every turn of the plot he takes the easy way out. For example, “the evil men”: we’re not allowed to see, far less get close to any of these enemies of the people until the movie climax, and by then there’s no danger of us relating to their characters. Spielberg proves himself in this a student of Madame de Stael’s dictum regarding conversance and compassion, “Tout comprendre, c’est tout pardoner.” He doesn’t even allow us to meet, much less understand, far less pardon these faceless menaces. And so all of our compassion is invested—has to be invested–in our favorite band of comely kids.

It would have been a lot harder had Spielberg allowed us to know the pursuers, to understand their motives and to feel for them as human beings: a lot harder, but far more effective, if well done. In the end his theme, “Everyone Is Human” proves self-defeated, for the only humans in the film are the kids and those, (as the Peter Pan riff goes, who are “Young at heart”). Reverberating through the movie, Spielberg’s message is turned around to read: “Not Everyone Is Human, Only Certain Kids.” 

If he really wished to succeed, he would have shown us the human side of the oppressors as well as the oppressed. But that would have involved a lot of hard work, one ingredient which distinguishes craft from schmaltz. So instead, Spielberg takes the easy way out, deals a stacked deck, and in so doing defeats his own purpose.

That is, of course, if his purpose is aesthetic. If it’s monetary, however, that’s a new ballgame entirely. He can deal from a stacked deck all day long and a lot of folks will still buy into the game. And a popular one it is, too: a world of pure white and black, god guys and bad guys. Why, Ronald Reagan’s been selling us that for a year and a half now. When the chips are called and our escape is blocked by a squad of crypto-military creeps, all we have to do is wiggle our left ear and up we rise into the wild blue hereafter. Just like Goethe’s Faust, we are graced simply through striving. Or in the cruder Peter-Pan principle, Wishing Will Make It So.

But wishing won’t help us to deal with the problems of our world, nor will it bring us closer to our fellow humans. In this world of economic and political depressions, though, it’s a heck of a lot easier to wish than work. So, Spielberg nods, come along with me to the land of Oz, where right is right and wrong is wrong, and you can tell who your friends are. It’s one more chord, one more theme, in the Reaganomics-induced symphony of escapist cinema, and Steven Spielberg wins my vote as the Busby Berkely of the 1980s.

By the way, I have it on god information that the R-rated sequel to “E.T.” will have our wrinkled little friend returning to Earth to strike up a meaningful relationship with Mom. The more explicit reprise will include the obligatory bedroom scene, as well as the now-familiar tear-jerking space-craft sayonara at the end. And the title? “Mother Knows Beast.”