As an adult, imagine being outside at night. A slimy, screaming thing bleats at you and crashes around in the bushes. Does it seem like a good idea to bring this thing into your home?
Now I know, you’ve all seen E.T. and you know Elliott did the right thing by befriending a lost little alien.
This is the exception that proves the rule. Most of the time, bringing slimy beasties into your home results in, at very least, a series of painful, preventative shots. If the odds are not in your favor, something claws its way through your chest.
When I saw E.T., I was very young and I was in the theater. My parents were sympathetic to my fear and suffering, and tried to help me find ways of avoiding a meltdown. At one point, I faced away from the the screen but swore I could still see E.T.’s image reflected on the glass outside the projectionist’s booth (note: I couldn’t).
Somehow, I survived the film. When I figured out how magically wonderfully E.T. really was, I felt ashamed of my earlier fear. I tried to convince my entire family I actually loved E.T. Whenever I saw anything related to the film, and thanks to the power of Spielberg I was always seeing something related to E.T., I would pretend I loved the little bastard.
I didn’t. He’s creepy. And powerful. I’m still cautious.
I met Dee Wallace at a Crypticon and mentioned my fear of E.T. She confirmed other people had shared this fear with her, but she stated she never understood why.
I now suspect E.T. was waiting in her room, hiding in the towels, ready to jump out and bleat while kicking her if she violated the Code of Silence.
Be careful when allowing powerful, slimy things in your house. I stand by this.