Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)

You know, there’s not much you can say about this film that hasn’t already been said? Not that I’ll let that get in the way of writing. I mean, I’m probably one of the few people who hadn’t seen this till last night. Well, I’m not in a minority… 14,400 babies were in the last hour, so I have one over those screaming nuggets of flesh.

So, what’s the point in reviewing a film that countless people have already seen and has penetrated western culture like a hillbilly in Deliverance? Well, for me, whilst the film was superb and the acting sublime, its apparent that my 30 years on this planet have killed my joy gland. I think. I mean, there are things that I just can’t let go:

  • The sneaking suspicion I had that Steven Spielberg was pulling a fast one and the aliens would burst out of the mother-ship slaughtering everyone without prejudice.
  • Whilst its nice that Richard Dreyfus got to fly off with the aliens and everything; he was a bit quick wasn’t he? ‘Ooh, I miss my wife and children. Wait, no scratch that. I get to go on a spaceship! Well, hot damn! Fuck you family! I was copping off with other women anyway! Yee ha!’
  • Why did the French doctor only speak English when he had something profound to say? By the end of the film he became a Gaelic Silent Bob.
  • Why did everyone bring sunglasses?
  • It’s great that that the pilots of Flight 19 came back, but what if the Government hide them from the rest of the world? What if they’re cut up for experiments? What if they’re not cut up for experiments, but because of their 40 year hiatus they are unable to fit back into society? With loved ones old or dead, surely the only course of action is to snuff out their own pathetic candles.
Damn you Spielberg!!!


  1. Damn you prism of time! This is literally the only time I have ever read anything bad about Close Encounters. I’ll even forgive it for inspiring “Paul”. Oh wait, no I won’t.

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