Notice how [the film version of Close Encounters of the Third Kind] virtually stops once the giant mother ship arrives—half the shots are of people just standing there and staring. Their sense of wonder is what the movie is all about. The need, the anticipation, the whole sense of irresistible movement toward some goal is resolved when the mother ship looms into view. After that, the movie continues for another forty minutes, simply as a big clump of indulgence—like driving an hour to get a six-scoop ice cream sundae, then taking almost as much time to eat the thing. Little Barry Guiler first describes the spacecraft as "ice cream"; so does Roy Neary. Apparently audiences feel the same way.
Close Encounters in book form is more ice cream—packed tighter and flavored more sharply to compensate for the lack of cinematic effects. But there's more to reading the book than getting another scoop on the sundae. Certain themes are more apparent, and Spielberg is able to make a deeper and more complex statement. Reading his novel makes you want to see the film again, a new wrinkle in the economics of book-and-movie tie-ins….
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