E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982) Contains a Message We Still Need

Steven Spielberg’s E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial is a film that somehow eluded me for decades. Despite being a lifelong movie lover—and someone who talks about films on the internet for a living—I had never sat down to watch this beloved 1982 classic from start to finish. I'd seen clips, cultural references, and iconic moments, but never the full emotional journey. That changed this week, and I’m honestly moved that it finally did.

Released the year I was born, E.T. became the highest-grossing film of its time, dethroning Star Wars until Spielberg’s own Jurassic Park took the crown in 1993. It’s incredible to think this film was made for just $11 million and went on to gross over $700 million worldwide. The legacy it left behind speaks for itself, but watching it now, in 2025, reveals just how timeless its emotional core truly is.

Written by Melissa Mathison and inspired by Spielberg’s own imaginary childhood friend following his parents' divorce, E.T. is often framed as a simple “boy and his dog” story—only the “dog” is a gentle alien stranded on Earth. Young Elliott (Henry Thomas) discovers E.T. hiding near his home and, through empathy and curiosity, brings him into his family’s orbit. With the help of his older brother (Robert MacNaughton) and his precocious younger sister (a scene-stealing young Drew Barrymore), Elliott hides E.T. from the world—particularly from the looming threat of government scientists led by Peter Coyote.

Of course, any review of E.T. must mention the now-iconic Reese’s Pieces scene. Interestingly, Mars Inc. originally declined the opportunity to feature M&Ms in the film, fearing E.T. would scare children. Hershey said yes, and a legendary product placement was born.

The real magic of E.T. lies not in its plot, which is straightforward, but in how it’s told. John Williams' soaring, heart-tugging score paired with Allen Daviau’s warm, nostalgic cinematography brings a gentle, almost mythic quality to this sci-fi tale. Spielberg’s direction is masterful, letting childlike wonder take center stage. E.T.'s animatronics and puppetry, though dated in some ways by modern standards, are still incredibly expressive and emotionally effective.

Watching this now, I was struck by the film's emotional intelligence and empathy. The bond between Elliott and E.T. is deeply moving—so much so that when the two are finally separated, I found myself shedding a tear. Their connection goes beyond friendship; it’s spiritual, symbolic of compassion, protection, and what it means to offer someone refuge.

There’s also an undeniable allegory at play—one that parallels the immigrant or refugee experience. E.T. is a stranger in a strange land, searching for connection, safety, and a way back home. Only a child—still unjaded and open-hearted—can see past the fear and extend love to the unknown. Spielberg’s choice to center the story through a child’s eyes reinforces this beautifully.

Rewatching E.T. also made me reflect on how 1980s cinema often centered children with an unusual degree of independence—and danger. Elliott and his siblings essentially orchestrate a sci-fi jailbreak, all while shielding their struggling single mother. It's a trope we’ve seen in Stranger Things, The Goonies, and Stand by Me, all of which owe a tremendous debt to E.T.. That spirit of youthful agency, while nostalgic, also reminds us how much the world has changed in terms of what we expect from—and allow—children to do on their own.

Despite some occasional pacing issues typical of 1980s films (at least to a modern viewer), E.T. remains an immensely rewarding watch. Its heart is big, its message simple but profound: kindness matters, love transcends worlds, and saying goodbye doesn’t mean forgetting.

If, like me, you’ve somehow missed this film over the years—or just haven’t revisited it in a while—I encourage you to watch it again. There’s a reason it remains one of the most cherished films of all time.

Shaquanna Stevens is a film critic and cultural commentator focusing on Black cinema, community narratives, and stories that explore identity and legacy. Follow her at Her Reel Review