Roger And Me: Why Everybody Loved Ebert

It was a dark morning for movie lovers. Roger Ebert, already the best-known – and almost certainly the best-loved – film critic on the planet, passed away aged 70, just a day after telling readers via a lengthy, optimistic blog post that he was taking a “leave of presence” to again battle the cancer that had apparently returned. After falling ill a decade ago, he lost part of his jaw and his ability to speak; a hugely prolific writer, he harnessed his deep love of film and a powerful connection with his global fan base to continue writing regular online reviews, launch a personal blog and become a regular on Twitter (where the proud liberal often took gleeful swipes at the US Republican Party).

It’s no stretch — not even hyperbolic, really — to credit Ebert with instilling a deep love and respect for movies, as both intellectual pursuit and frivolous thrill, into the minds of millions of every age. During my childhood in 1980s California, no Saturday night was complete until my mum and I had eaten dinner and sat down to watch At The Movies, a weekly show featuring Ebert and his crosstown-Chicago critical cohort, the late Gene Siskel. The two would compare notes – and, in the better episodes, bicker angrily – as they summarised and sized up the week’s new releases from a chintzy, ersatz movie-house balcony. Awaiting their final judgement – that simple, elegant thumbs up or down tally that would run at the end of each half-hour – was the best kind of agony for a pint-sized cinema and video-store regular like myself. How could I possibly know which titles were worth my weekly allowance until Roger and Gene had rendered their verdicts?

Ebert’s style was deceptively simple – when you go back and read, say, the film criticisms of James Agee or Pauline Kael, bright as they may be, you’re still held at a distance. Not so with Ebert. Pick any review from the vast store of thousands on his website and marvel at how easy he makes it look. He never took on that omniscient voice of God; instead, his criticism reads like a friendly letter from an old pal, one who wants to share his excitement (or despair) over that new movie playing down the block.

Eccentric attention to detail was another of Ebert’s hallmarks, and not just when it came to movies: in 2010, he wrote a manual about rice cookers, of all things. His was an almost Zen approach. And he had a lyrical and sly way of whittling down a film and fitting it into the simplest of contexts. (On Titanic: “We know before the movie begins that certain things must happen”; on The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert: “Terence Stamp, in drag, plays an ageing transsexual named Bernadette, and it is done well, yet one is still surprised to find it done at all.”)

He was fair, and could appreciate a fine foreign film just as much as he could enjoy a stupid comedy – it wasn’t about how “great” a movie was, but how well said movie accomplished one central task: keeping him absorbed. Like David Stratton, Roger Ebert respected, cared about and espoused the importance of film history. But like Margaret Pomeranz, he also got off on the simple, time-honoured pleasure of sitting in the dark, munching on some popcorn, and just letting the damn film wash over him. (Also like Margaret: he’d want to go out afterwards to talk about it over a few drinks.)

I think that’s why he clicked with so many of us. He was the everyman’s critic, happily engaged with the minutiae of moviegoing and, throughout his reviews, finding a way of pointing out all the things the lay filmgoer doesn’t even know that they know. For instance, his 1997 bathroom reader Questions for the Movie Answer Man — a bathroom reader, written by a Pulitzer Prize winner! — addresses burning issues like, say, why movie chase scenes always seem to feature an overturning fruit cart. Think about it. He’s right.

Go see a movie tonight. Or if you’d rather stay in, grab your very favourite DVD from the shelf – you know the one, it’s probably scratched to oblivion – and watch it for the 1,001^st time. Recite every line of dialogue that you already know. Rewatch that one scene that makes you laugh/cry/scream/shudder every single time. Wait until the credits have finished rolling before pressing eject. Really enjoy the movie. Just as Roger taught you to.

ROGER EBERT: THE ESSENTIALS

Life Itself: A Memoir
A gorgeous, upbeat 2010 memoir that wistfully recounts Ebert’s all-American childhood, pays tribute to celluloid heroes like Robert Mitchum and John Wayne, memorialises his days of hard-drinking, and celebrates his inspiring marriage to Chaz, his beloved wife of more than three decades. (Salon have published one of the book’s essays: ‘I Do Not Fear Death’.)

Beyond the Valley of the Dolls

Ebert and schlock maestro Russ Mayer co-wrote this trashy “sequel”/non-sequel to the ridiculous, critically reviled 1967 hit. Unlike its predecessor, it was actually meant to be bad; and in a nice display of circular logic, it became the better-regarded of the two.

Rogerebert.com
Every one of Ebert’s written reviews, nicely catalogued and available to read. His encyclopedic film review books, of which he published dozens, are also still available for purchase online, or can often be found in used bookstores. (My recommendation: the three-volume The Great Movies series.)

‘Roger Ebert: An Essential Man’
Chris Jones’ beautiful 2010 Esquire profile is one of the finest pieces of long-form journalism you’ll read – in this year or any other.

Siskelandebert.org
A treasure trove for fans and a peerless historical archive – courtesy of the US Library of Congress, no less – featuring heaps of full, streaming episodes from the duo’s years of critiquing and cat-fighting on TV.

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Nicholas Fonseca is the acting deputy editor of Madison, and a (sometime) master of film studies student at the University of Sydney. Prior to arriving in Sydney, Nicholas was based in New York City, where he worked for a decade as a writer and senior editor for Entertainment Weekly.