NECA - E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial 40th Anniversary 7″ Scale Action Figure – Elliott & E.T. on Bicycle

From: NECA

Pete's Expert Summary

So, my human presents me with this... this *diorama*. It's a plastic sculpture of the loud boy-human and the crinkly alien from that moving picture that always makes her leak from the eyes. It's made by a company called NECA, which sounds entirely too formal for a purveyor of fine playthings. They boast about its 'display-friendly' box and a cardboard backdrop, both of which are frankly just obstacles between me and a potentially decent sit. The only feature that piques even a sliver of my interest is the 'pull-back-and-go action.' If this contraption can't provide a satisfactory, high-speed chase across the hardwood floors, it's nothing more than expensive dust-gathering clutter destined to be knocked off a shelf during a 3 a.m. sprint.

Key Features

  • Recreate the Flying Scene: To re-create the famous flying scene, you can attach the figure to a freestanding movie backdrop for an iconic image
  • Display-Friendly Packaging: This action figure comes in display-friendly 40th-anniversary window box packaging
  • Easy to Open: The packaging features an opening front flap to get the action figure out easily
  • Dimension: This is a 7-inch action figure
  • Other Feature: E.T. and Elliott on Bicycle feature pull-back-and-go action

A Tale from Pete the Cat

The human freed the plastic monstrosity from its cardboard prison with an absurd amount of reverence, arranging it on the floor as if it were a sacred offering. I observed from my post on the armchair, utterly unimpressed. It was a crude effigy, static and silent. She then demonstrated its one supposed virtue, pulling it backward with a grating *zzzzzt* sound. It shot forward, wobbling unsteadily for three feet before toppling over with a pathetic clatter. A "toy"? This was an insult to the art of the chase. I yawned, showing the full pink interior of my mouth to convey my profound boredom. Seeing my lack of enthusiasm, the human retreated, leaving the fallen bicycle and its riders abandoned in the vast expanse of the living room rug. For a long while, I simply watched it. It was an anomaly in my territory, an unwelcome piece of alien geometry. Eventually, my innate duty as supervisor of all household objects compelled me to descend for a closer inspection. I circled it once, my tail held low and twitching with critical assessment. The plastic smelled sterile. The paint job was… adequate, I suppose. I extended a single, perfect paw and tentatively prodded the head of the little brown creature in the basket. And that's when it happened. Not an explosion, not a sound, but a sudden, strange shift in the air. The scent of pine needles and damp earth filled my nostrils, overpowering the faint aroma of last night's salmon. I felt a phantom vibration, a low thrumming that seemed to emanate not from the toy, but from the floorboards, from the very bones of the house. I had a fleeting, visceral image of a vast, dark forest, of towering trees silhouetted against a moon so large it filled the sky. It wasn't a memory, but an echo—the echo of a desperate flight, of a shared secret. The feeling was gone as quickly as it came, leaving only the mundane reality of the plastic figure under my paw. I withdrew, shaking my paw as if to dislodge the strange sensation. The toy hadn't moved. The world was as it was. But something had changed in my assessment. This object was not a toy. It was a vessel, a silent storyteller carrying a weight I couldn't quite comprehend. It held no appeal for a chase, but it possessed a quiet, mysterious gravity. It was not worthy of my play, but it had, against all odds, earned a measure of my contemplative respect. I would allow it to remain, a strange, silent monument in my kingdom.