Blind people develop a more acute sense of hearing. Deaf people can better notice events on the periphery, and comprehend the quick movements of lips and sign language. What about people who lose the ability to speak? We expand other ways of communicating.
There are three ways I can "speak." I can print notes. I can type on my laptop, and a built-in voice says them aloud. I can use my own pidgin sign language, combining waving, pointing, shrugging, slapping my forehead, tracing letters on my palm, mime, charades, and more uses of "thumbs up" and "thumbs down" than I ever dreamed of.
Click on image to expand
Another path is open to me in the age of the internet. I can talk with new friends all over the world. Writing has always been second nature to me, as satisfying in a different way as speaking. Maybe because I was an only child with lots of solitary time, I always felt the need to write, and read. I was editor of my grade school, high
school and college newspapers. I published the "Washington Street News" with a primitive Hectograph system when I was 9 or 10. I was a full-time newspaper sports writer and reporter (not an intern) when I was 16. I am a quick writer. It flows conversationally.
I know I could become fluent in American Sign Language, but the problem is, I need another person who speaks ASL. Selfishly, at this stage in life, I would rather learn to read a new language than speak one.There is one thing I can do as well as ever. I can write. When I am writing my problems become invisible and I am the same person I always was. All is well. I am as I should be.
After my first stretch in the Rehabilitation Institute of Chicago, I began to write again, a little. After my second, I returned to a nearly normal schedule. This spring during my third rehab, I was able to log onto a wi-fi network and begin writing much more. This year, which has included two major surgeries, I have so far written 170 reviews, 22 Answer Man columns, 28 Great Movie essays (not all yet published), and 37 blog entries.
In May, I began to sense a change going on. At first it was subjective. This autumn it has become undeniable. My writing has improved.
By that I don't mean it's objectively better from the reader's point of view. I mean it has expanded within my mind, reaches deeper, emerges more clearly, is more satisfactory. Sometimes I glory in it--not the quality of the prose, but the quality of the experience. I find myself writing more, because I will return to that zone longer.
I take dictation from that place within my mind that knows what to say. I think most good writers do. There is no such thing as waiting for inspiration. The idea of "diagramming" an essay in advance, as we are taught in school, may be useful to students but is foolishness for any practicing writer. The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before.
At first when I could not speak, I could not read easily, because sedation had undermined my attention span. I was depressed. I could turn on the TV, but why? My wife brought a wonderful DVD player to my hospital room, but I could not make myself watch movies. My life was stale and profitless. I would spend hours in a murky stupor. Knowing I had always been reading a book, my concerned wife began reading to me: Jane Austen, Charles Dickens.
Curiously, my love of reading finally returned after I picked up Cormac McCarthy's Suttree, a book I had already read not long before my first surgery. Now I read it two more times. I was not "reading the same book." I was reentering the same experience, the same occult and visionary prose, the life of Suttree so urgently evoked. As rarely before, a book became tactile to me. When Suttree on his houseboat pulled a cord and brought up a bottle of orange soda pop from the cool river, I savored it. I could no longer taste. I tasted it more sharply than any soda I've ever really had. When Suttree stopped at the bus station for a grilled cheese, I ate it, and the pickle, and drank the black coffee. I began to live through this desperate man's sad life.
Then movies came back, and then writing. Then contentment. I may have things to be depressed about, but I am not depressed. My remaining abilities have expanded to fill the empty spaces left. My life seems full again, almost. I am busy. I am useful. I am happy.
Cyrus Freidheim, the CEO and publisher of the Sun-Times, said he'd like me to try writing a blog. Didn't I already have enough to do? Apparently not. I started writing the blog in April. I looked at the comments. I became involved. I wrote, people wrote back. I started adding remarks of my own after some of the comments. I was in conversation.
Some readers are amazed that I read all the comments. Of course I do. There is no one else to vet them; Jim Emerson is too busy, and besides, after all, they are my comments. See my blog entry "Confessions of a blogger," written in a rush of pleasure about the whole process.
But this entry is not about blogs. It is about my mind and about writing. It is true I still "take dictation." But over the summer and autumn, my mind has started dictating before I am at a keyboard. Ideas and words present themselves at any time. My wife noticed me motionless, and asked if I would like to take lessons in meditation. I replied, "Actually, I'm very happy with my thoughts."
Of course I don't think only about writing. I spend time with my wife, family and friends. I read a lot, watch a lot of politics on TV. But prose is beavering along beneath, writing itself. When it comes time to type it is an expression, not a process. My mind has improved so much at this that it's become clearly apparent to me. The words, as e. e. cummings wrote, come out like a ribbon and lie flat on the brush. He wasn't writing about toothpaste. In my fancy, I like to think he could have been writing about prose.
Yes, I had that cummings line in mind before I began. I knew I was heading for it. By losing the ability to speak, I have increased my ability to communicate. I am content.
Firstly, I'd like a grilled cheese sandwich. And I'll take a pick with it, too. Thank you for that.
Secondly, while I am a regular reader of your reviews and now your blog, and while I read them in silence at my desk at work, this _feels_ like the first time I have truly _absorbed_ them in silence. The silence of my mind. And it felt more like real communication than just about any audible conversation I've had this week. Thank you for that, also.
Sincerely,
Jeff
"By losing the ability to speak, I have increased my ability to communicate."
HA! nice..
God-DAMN! This is one of the most powerful pieces of writing I have seen in a long time. I respect you sir, as a writer, as a critic and as part of the human race.
Thank you.
As a writer myself, the elucidation of your process was both familiar and gratifying. That's it exactly! I am pleased that you have found your way out of depression and back into contentment. I have admired your writing for many years, and always found joy in reading your reviews, even for films which I had no interest in or intention of ever seeing. I always particularly appreciated that regardless of whether you enjoyed or disliked a given film, through reading your review I could determine whether or not I would enjoy or dislike it. (That our opinions coincide more often that not makes it a little easier.) I couldn't be more pleased to have discovered your blog, and I hope you will continue to write it as long as you are able. From this most recent post, I expect that will be a long time, indeed.
Write every day, they tell us in grad school. Whatever you do, write every day. Doesn't matter what; just goddam do it!
I guess I always suspected that it was a smart thing to do, but maybe I was just waiting to hear from someone for whom it palpably made a difference. Thanks. I'm gonna go write now.
Thank you, Roger. I was truly moved by this post. It proves the point that your writing does indeed continue to *objectively* improve, at least from this one reader's perspective. Actually, I would have to strike improve and replace it with evolve, as I have never read anything quite like this from you before. Bravo.
I was quite moved by your comments and I must, respectfully, disagree with you, Roger, on one point: your writing is objectively better. Just how your writing is better is hard for me to pin down but I sense your writing is more honest and yes, it reads as if it were a conversation with a very fine conversationalist. I've always admired your writing style and I'm enjoying it more now, which seems perverse, given what you have suffered. I wish you could still speak, still taste and be restored to your prior self. I've kept you in my prayers and perhaps those prayers were answered, as prayers often are, not the way I wanted but in the mysterious way that is best.
Hope you remain well and I look forward to your conversations with all of your readers.
Mr. Ebert,
Ever since I began reading your movie reviews I have loved your writing style: so honest, witty, and articulate. Although movies are the subject of most of your articles, your regular readers will surely agree with me that taken together, your essays and reviews compose a disquisition on how to live a good and worthy life. Though I cannot now name each review in which I have found these things, I know that I have gained valuable insights from you on (most obviously) how to appreciate art; but also how properly to behave oneself in public; how to find hidden beauty in people, places, and things; how humility transforms the way one sees oneself and the world (inestimably for the better, I should say); how to laugh at oneself; what is worth crying over and what is not; how to find common ground with someone who at first seems to be one's polar opposite; how to treasure the differences between us all; that children are often wiser than adults; that excellence in any field is to be admired and cherished, for it is rare.
If your writing style is indeed improving, as you say, then we are all that much more fortunate. I always look forward to reading what you have to say, as I know it will be both edifying and engaging.
C.S. Lewis wrote of great art (perhaps in an essay called "Good Work and Good Works", though I'm not sure) that its creator's virtuous response is not false modesty ("oh, it's not really that good") nor arrogance ("of course it's great--it's by me") but appreciation of the same sort that he would feel and communicate were it created by someone else ("I am so pleased with how it turned out, and thank you for your very kind words"). I have always had the feeling that that is how you felt about your own writing, for it is indeed very good, and I sense that you are a virtuous man. This blog entry confirms that. You speak of writing not so much as coming from you, but happening to you, and you seem to appreciate it as one appreciates a present--with gratitude and joy.
May God continue to bless you and your writing--bless you through your writing--for many, many years to come.
HELLO ROGER
I AM MOVED MY YOUR COMMENTS ABOUT RECOVERING FROM A STROKE. I AM A SPEECH LANGUAGE PATHOLOGIST WHO SUDDENLY HAD SURGERY TO REMOVE A VERY LARGE BRAIN TUMOR A FEW YEARS BACK. SUCH IRONY. LOCATED IN MY LEFT TEMPORAL LOBE, CENTER OF MANY LANGUAGE FUNCTIONS. STILL CAN'T SPELL 3+ LETTER WORDS WITHOUT A POCKET DICTIONARY AROUND. WORD FINDING PROBLEMS AND MORE. I BECAME MY OWN THERAPIST AND KNOW I'VE COME ALONG WAY.
I IDENTIFY WITH YOUR POSITIVE EXPERIENCE. I NEVER EVER REMEMBERED DREAMS TILL AFTER SURGERY. WHO KNEW? UNEXPLAINED PANIC ATTACKS FOR SO MANY YEARS.
THE TUMOR GREW OVER 20 YEARS...
IN MY WORK WITH CLIENTS, I'LL ALWAYS KEEP IN MIND THAT\ SELF EXPRESSION IS TTHE MOST MEANINGFUL EXPERIENCE OF LIFE. IT CAN TAKE MANY FORMS.
I CONTINUE TO WRITE A JOURNAL AND LEARN SO MUCH FROM REREADING IT.
THE EARLY PAGES ASTOUND ME AS TO HOW FAR I HAVE PAST EVEN REHABILITATION. THANK YOU
Ebert: Your problems are so much greater than mine, but you obviously are still thinking at top speed. Please come back again if you care to. No comment will be too short, and U have my encouragement 2 use all the shortcuts U can think of!
Let me ask a question so that the words you have written can 100% permeate correctly into my mind(not that your writing isn't good enough). As of recently, when you write, you enter a so-called "writer's-muse" like zone. Do you think that this 'zone' is the same or at least the proverbial equivalent to the zone that other artists talk about (yeah I pretty much consider your writing and review art). Such as when Bob Dylan in "No Direction Home" talks about how back in the day he would just 'write write write' song lyrics? Or is it a 'zone' which is more so a perfect understanding between this arbitrary English language and your deepest understanding of what your trying to say? As a wannabe artist, I don't think I've ever found this 'zone'. But who knows, maybe I have and I don't know it.
The paragraph: "I may have things to be depressed about, but I am not depressed. ... I am busy. I am useful. I am happy." has turned on a light inside my thoughts; it has advised me to redirect my efforts to save me from myself. I am in my late thirties and still learning how to think. Thank you very much, Mr. Ebert, thank you very much.
I remember watching Siskel & Ebert at the movies with my folks when I was a kid, and I always loved the show, especially the repartee. I usually sided with you, at least partially because I was not bald, if you catch my drift.
More recently I have been a fan of your written reviews, because although I might agree with you and I might (vehemently) disagree with you, I think you are honest and insightful, and I can always use your review to determine whether I will enjoy a particular movie or not.
That said, I was very worried when you became ill and stopped writing reviews. I am glad that you are back, and that you are well.
A day ago, I would have written "well enough to review movies again" or maybe "well, given the circumstances", but after reading this blog entry, I'll stick with "well".
"The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before."
You are certainly aware this is true for creators of just about anything, including music (my forte, pardon the pun). The best of any field make it sound or look effortless. You are one of those people, good sir. Thanks for another fascinating read.
Out of curiosity, do you touch-type, or are you one of those career newsmen that never learned?
Roger,
As usual you have a fascinating gift for precisely describing your state of mind in your Blog posts (as well as your reviews and other writings). I'm curious for you to elaborate on your heightened state of awareness these days. Do you feel like your mind sees things in terms of words and prose now, such that if you were to observe people walking up to a hot dog cart, you would see the situation and the people in terms of a description of each? I like to think of my self as pretty good at the reverse, in which I read a paragraph or a book, and are able to clearly construct the situations into a visual movie within my mind. I don't mean to compare evenly the experiences you've been through in the last few years to my own, but I'm always interested to read what you have to say, and like many would have loved for you to start a blog years ago.
Thanks for indulging us...
"The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before."
You are certainly aware this is true for creators of just about anything, including music (my forte, pardon the pun). The best of any field make it sound or look effortless. You are one of those people, good sir. Thanks for another fascinating read.
Out of curiosity, do you touch-type, or are you one of those career newsmen that never learned?
I remember watching Siskel & Ebert at the movies with my folks when I was a kid, and I always loved the show, especially the repartee. I usually sided with you, at least partially because I was not bald, if you catch my drift.
More recently I have been a fan of your written reviews, because although I might agree with you and I might (vehemently) disagree with you, I think you are honest and insightful, and I can always use your review to determine whether I will enjoy a particular movie or not.
That said, I was worried when you became ill and stopped writing reviews. I am very glad that you are back, and that you are well.
A day ago, I would have written "well enough to review movies again" or maybe "well, given the circumstances", but after reading this blog entry, I'll stick with "well".
Along these lines I suggest you read one of my favorite short-stories: "The Persistence of Vision" by John Varley. And if you don't read it, I will just have to deliver you a copy at Ebertfest.
Thanks for sharing your inspiring story. I've emailed it to my loved ones in hopes that it will make their day as it has mine.
Thanks for sharing your inspiring story. I've emailed it to my loved ones in hopes that it will make their day as it has mine.
I've never commented on any blog before but since I visit your website every 2 or 3 days, I decided this would be the proper occasion. Mr Ebert, please remember that no fan of yours has been able to interact with you (whether to agree or disagree with one of your works) in such a quick (one on one), hassle free (no registering needed), simple way. I would like to know if you have pondered and compared the quality and volume of feedback throughout your career. What has this blog added that you haven't experienced throughout the decades? For me, I'll tell ya, it beats seeing you on the fast paced segments of "At the Movies".
I've never commented on any blog before but since I visit your website every 2 or 3 days, I decided this would be the proper occasion. Mr Ebert, please remember that no fan of yours has been able to interact with you (whether to agree or disagree with one of your works) in such a quick (one on one), hassle free (no registering needed), simple way. I would like to know if you have pondered and compared the quality and volume of feedback throughout your career. What has this blog added that you haven't experienced throughout the decades? For me, I'll tell ya, it beats seeing you on the fast paced segments of "At the Movies".
Ebert: I have never had more pr better feedback than on this blog.
I think what you are describing is an experience that I share in writing with you, but also in a surprising activity as well. I teach astronomy, and I do not need to plan what I will say. I have some slides, with images, and I just talk. Its a wonderfully external experience. I haven't the foggiest what I am going to say before I say it. I don't plan particular sentances, or expressions, I just talk. And my brain does the rest, I kind of just sit back, as curious as my students what I am going to say next. I recently started teaching daily, and it is the most bizarre progression that I have every experienced. At first, early in grad school when I taught a few short classes at a much less furious pace I had started to experience this kind of disconnect when I would lecture, but the recent increased pace is new to me. I open my mouth and two hours later I close it, and two classes have gone by. I am left with an exhausted and euphoric feeling, as though the muse has just left the bed of my mind. I would like to think that what I said had some coherence and structure that will lead my students to the conclusions about the natural world that astronomers have come to over the centuries, but, to be honest, I have no idea. I just open my mind, and the last 10 years of studying astronomy professionally come out, and hopefully some good humor as well. Even this post here is just a stream of what my mind is spilling out. But, I think I need to plug a cork in this dam for the time being, thought I would share a parallel experience to your's with you.
Roger:
I am peruvian and I like to think that I'm a writer. I have published a few articles here and there and I have a blog (marianoorosco.blogspot.com) where I've written about you and your work two times.
Of course, I've read many of your reviews, and, as I've told in my first post about you, I admire your prose and your hability to "connect" with the movies and with your readers.
Ebert: I am hnored to be read in Peru. A film I admire enormously is "The Green Wall," by Armando Robles Godoy, who I spent wonderful evenings with,=.
It's quite evident that you're not simply a journalist who writes about movies, YOU ARE A WRITER (please excuse me for the capital letters, but I know you'll read this and I'm very excited right now).
Well, I don't know what else to say. I hope you forgive my humble English. If someone you now speaks or reads Spanish, please tell them to read my translations of two of your best texts:
"What's your favorite movie?"
http://marianoorosco.blogspot.com/2008/10/cul-es-su-pelicula-favorita-todo-crtico.html
and your review of "Irreversible"
http://marianoorosco.blogspot.com/search?q=irreversible
And, to finish, allow me to use the same words one of your commenters use: "I respect you sir, as a writer, as a critic and as part of the human race".
Ditto.
Mariano Orosco Zumarán
Lima, Perú
Very cool. I have been working to become a better writer for a bit now. It is amazing how many people you can reach while writing online. I have run several blogs and my writing has been read by millions of people now which is kind of mind blowing. I am currently working on my technical writing most often working on articles for my company blog about programming and development.
Anyways it was a cool and inspirational entry here and just wanted to share that I enjoyed it. Hopefully it will keep me motivated on my goal of improving my own writing.
Personally, I think there should be at least one day a year when we are all required to shut up and just listen to others...I think the world would be a much better place for it. Bravo for having the bravery to speak so eloquently through silence. I think we are all truly HEARING you better as a result.
That was an amazing read Roger. I dont think Ive ever seen the writing process explained with such depth and fortitude. I commend you for speaking so personally about your struggles after your rehabilitation. As a writer (or someone who has considered himself one from time to time) Ive often confused the lack of inspiration with laziness. If I am a writer, it should be my daily practice, regardless of the outcome, and I thank you Roger for reminding me of that. Tonight I will replace my remote with a pen, as I have a bit of catching up to do.
That was one of the most powerful things I've ever read and I've gotta say, I was worried when I heard about all the surgeries you were going through and I wasn't sure if I'd get to hear you talk about movies anymore. Thankfully, you've continued to write and in the process, you've managed to create a blog where the posts and comments all have, for lack of a better word, substance. I look forward to more of your articles with this "increased ability to communicate!"
And as a postscript, your reviews of bad movies are hysterical, and with the exception of Stargate, I fully agree with all of them! The Resident Evil one you did where you described the "laser hallway" trap basically screwing with the characters had me laughing for about 10 minutes straight! THAT'S good writing, because that was far more entertaining than the parts of the movie I had the displeasure of seeing!
Not only are you writing, but you are writing words that will happily be eaten up by many, many readers. Whatever you write, I'll be there reading.
And you know, despite losing your literal voice, I can hear you, really hear you, when I read your blog. Literally and figuratively.
You know Roger, I've been reading your reviews weekly for about 5 years now? A while anyways... I would say that any increase in your power to write puts you, a person already at the top of American criticism to an almost unreachable pedestal. I find it very interesting that reading McCarthy was a changing experience for you. In my small opinion, McCarthy is one of the pillars of literature, I find his work and his themes timeless.
I would say your reviews have really gotten better recently. You do seem more natural and fresh as you write them. I honestly don't watch many movies. I often find reading your review is enough to satiate my curiosity about any flm. I'm almost positive that is something you don't want to hear, but I think you can understand. I do find that as I read your work, when I do see a film, I can better absorb and study them.
Thanks, Roger for sharing your thoughts on your thoughts :) I think many of us take for granted all the other ways of communicating in this world other than speech. It seems like the loss of speech hasn't hampered your ability to communicate your thoughts and inspire others along the way, and we are all better for it.
I was wondering if you thought there was some advantage to not having the ability to just blurt out your feelings through speech? Do you find that relying solely on written or typed communication has allowed you to more carefully consider how you feel about something before communicating your thoughts. Or, maybe I'm way off here and you can type as fast as you could speak? :)
Roger-
I don't read many blogs, to be honest with you, because to me they are, to quote the Bard, "Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing". Anyone can write one and anyone can publish one, but honestly, I'm not interested in 99% of the things I've seen people post in their blogs. You are definitely in that 1%.
The thing I love about your blog is that it's, in a lot of ways, almost like having a conversation with one of my heroes. I've read many of your books, I visit your site 2-3 times a week, I've purchased many of the films in my collection on your recollection alone, and I remember seeing you and Gene on PBS in my formative years. The great thing is that because of this blog, I know that you are reading something I wrote to you. It's a funny way to 'have a conversation', if you think about it, but like most of us here, I think we get a thrill knowing that you are seeing something we've written to you. A response isn't necessary- it's enough to know that you took the time to read something we wanted to share with you.
The other nice thing about your blog is that it shows your talent and skill as a writer. It's clear that you could have been ANY kind of writer, not just a movie critic. I've been in education for all my adult life, and every so often you meet people who you can tell are teachers because they are good at the ART of teaching, not just their content area. You could take them out of their subject area and give them a month, and they could teach a totally new subject because they know HOW to teach, not WHAT to teach. I see you as the same type of individual. Your blog has opened up these other areas, like politics, culture, and so on. It's fun to read, it's very informative, and yes, I actually enjoy reading the comments here. It's no wonder your blog got the accolades that it did when it came to comments.
I look forward to whatever else you want to share with us.
I'm mightily impressed by the fact that you read all comments. I skim! Are you a fast reader or do you choose your pace based upon the material? We had a high school English teacher who claimed a page (that arbitrary and inconsistent measure of text) should be read in less than a minute. 28 years later, thousands of books later, and I doubt I am any faster than 2 to 2.5 minutes a page. I think it's a fear that I'll miss something.
A story of compensatory skills: a friend in the software industry received an application from a blind programmer. The friend's first quandry: how do I administer our aptitude test? He contacted the applicant, who explained he had text verbalizing software that he could bring to the interview and exam. The speed of the 'speech' was manipulated by the mouse. The applicant sped through the text at a rate that, to my friend, sounded like electronic blips and beeps with a tone similar to Alvin the Chipmunk but completely incomprehensible - as if the speech were not 78 rpm's, but more like 780. The applicant told him he could 'read' (i.e. hear and comprehend) about 50 words a second. He was hired.
It is utterly fascinating to hear your thoughts on where the writer's voice comes from. I have been an avid reader of all of your movie reviews, like most who take the time to respond to your blog entry of course, for a very long time. And I am so grateful that you have continued to write these past two years. Wherever you write, I will follow.
Great article, Roger. I am very impressed that you read all of the comments on this board. I have marveled at your recovery and often think of the struggle you have overcome when faced with difficulties in my own life. Thank you, too, for making me realise how much I love to write about the movies. Your career's impact on me has been such that at age 22 I want nothing more than to be a movie critic!
"There is no such thing as waiting for inspiration. The idea of "diagramming" an essay in advance, as we are taught in school, may be useful to students but is foolishness for any practicing writer. The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before."
How true that is -- often when I begin writing even though I'm not 'feeling' it, I find that the inspiration just comes as I write. I like your Muse analogy a lot.
"The idea of "diagramming" an essay in advance, as we are taught in school, may be useful to students but is foolishness for any practicing writer."
When I was in secondary school, I hated writing and had no confidence in my ability. I have now come to realize I hated the processes that I was required to do before the writing assignment. Now, I am in law school, and while we are taught to outline papers before starting them, I start writing immediately when the idea comes to my mind. I now enjoy writing and am often complemented on my ability.
My question to you, Mr. Ebert, is do you think we change the way writing is taught in schools? I probably would have enjoyed my writing classes much more had I been taught a different way.
This blog entry reminds me a lot of Stephen King's book, "On Writing" (a loose how-to on writing, coupled with a mini-autobiography, and tied together with a passage about how writing helped him spiritually recover after his terrible accident).
I heartily recommend it, even if his fiction is not to your tastes.
Ebert; The wisest book I know about the craft of writing. I see him sitting on the washing machine, or staring into that corner.
Thank you for your thoughtful and inspiring blog. Since I discovered it a few weeks ago, I have been enjoying it quite a lot. I've been on a learning curve lately, learning about blogs, Twitter, Facebook,and RSS and Google Reader (That's how I receive your blog).
For years I've followed your movie reviews and find that I can pretty well predict which movies I'm likely to enjoy by reading your reviews. Thank you. I think it has to do with my enjoyment of movies (and novels) that offer multi-layered views or experiences of a story, especially when it includes a story that I'll relate to emotion-wise as well as thought-wise. Not sure that I expressed that as clearly as I would have liked. Seems that I too could use some regular writing discipline.
So glad that you are sharing your perspective on life in this blog. It is appreciated.
I've wondered if your inability to speak has hampered your ability to laugh. You have mentioned in many recent reviews that you have laughed during certain films but are these vocal laughs or internal laughs?
Ebert: I laugh to myself, and occasionally audibly slap my knee.
Thanks for the part about the Muse visiting during the process of creation and not before. That is completely true, and recognizing that brings me down to earth a little bit. I've wasted a lot of time waiting for lightning bolts of inspiration before writing, and you're right, it's not how writing works. You pointed out a simple truth and I feel great reading that. I feel freed up.
As far as your writing getting better, it absolutely has. I now read your weekly blog before the reviews. I look forward to them.
Oddly, I've found that in the process of screenwriting, the opposite is true. As I do more preparation, the work becomes infinitely more gratifying - in that respect, I think screenwriting may have a lot more in common with directing than with writing in the traditional sense.
Yes, I've seen shoot-from-the-hip directors, and known of many more. Some of them have produced works of staggering beauty. At the same time, for me, the space a director shares with actors is sacred, and that space requires attentive foundations. Showing up on set with no idea of what the shot list looks like means a director is always second-guessing his timetable, and there is no freedom to explore. In hustling to figure out what shots are rwquired, the director loses the ability to take time with his actors, and to capitalize on the accidents and inspired moments that invariably speckle a day spent between creative people.
Writing is the same, for me. In a way, this is my time spent with the actors before they become awakened to my presence, but the process works the same. By having an idea of the structure of a story, by knowing the history of my characters, and by having a good feel for the world the sotry lives in, I can allow each scene to live and breathe in my imagination. Perhaps the story will lead me off in new directions, and adaptation is a frequent requirement. Still, that refocusing has the support of context. Because I know what my character is doing, because I know the motivations and the most favored methods, I am free to sit back and watch the character grow.
Does this make me a poor novelist? Recently I had a script idea that's heavily grounded in the aesthetics of Heinlein and Clarke, and I'be been toying with the notion of writing it as a novel first. Clearly that kind of science fiction, where spectacular adventure takes a backseat to visual awe and mystery, is not as popular these days - even if the action is intense and involving. While I see the story clearly as a film (and my internal proto-actors have already begun their work), the story would find an intriquing life on the page. Is that route a mistake for me, do you think? I've been going back and forth on this for about a week.
Funny enough, as soon as the seed of this story began to take root, I thought of you right away. What a timely post!
As a professor I try to tell my students (and myself) that to be a better writer you must Write, Write, Write. Now I have the perfect ammunition to make the point. Thanks for such an eloquent essay!
I wonder if your post will inspire any aspiring writer to minimize one of their senses, to see if they will experience the kind of growth that you have had.
Actually, do you think that is a viable suggestion to anyone looking to improve their writing? I understand there are many different ways of finding inspiration, and this is simply one of them...isn't it?
Ebert: I hope not!
As I began to read this post, I thought of how I haven't been working on a book I've been writing. The words are in my head, but feel like a caged cat: they'll run around maniacally for a quarter-hour, complain loudly, then go back to sleep.
I started to feel guilty about not writing, and jealous of your facility (hard-won though it is) to lay words down, because I felt like I'd lost mine. And then I read:
The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before.
Thanks for your graceful prose, your thoughts on that prose and the films that inspire it, and a swift kick in the pants.
I debated with myself whether to post something. What came to mind was "How good to live and learn." I have never forgotten that as the motto of my high school, Lindblom Technical (L-I-N-D-B-L-O-M. Lindblom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom, boom.) Glad you're back on the beat doing what you do. I only wish you had recorded a commentary to North before you lost your voice.
Until the next time,
TL
Being very naturally shy and reclusive, my one favorite hobby has been writing out my thoughts when speaking them was too difficult. It's nice to know that somebody realizes that silence doesn't mean a person doesn't have anything to say, especially when my teachers have told me otherwise.
Thanks for this entry. It is personally a kick in the seat to begin writing again, to escape the procrastination and other lame reasons for not sitting down and knocking something out. Keep up the great work. You are in some sort of fugue state with your writing this past year or so.
Roger, your blog entries never cease to amaze and amuse me. Your intelligence and love of life shine through in your writings. Now I know why.
I'm going to mention something personal to me here. Many years ago, I had gone back to college; I was newly divorced, raising two kids, and actually feeling very alive and looking forward to the experience. I majored in art,drawing, ceramics, and glass. In my 'ethics & religion' class,the professor marked this as a remark on my first paper "...it appears you spend a great deal of time in your own head, maybe too much time". It was simply a paper on our own beliefs, and I included some personal 'musings' you might say. I can't remember all the details, it's been over 10 years. But, that's not the point. The point is - after having read your entry I feel much better about "being inside my own head". It's not a bad place to be! I've often wondered why he would even remark on something like that? Still don't understand the point. Funny how a person is reminded of things at odd moments?
I look forward to all of your postings Roger. Regardless of what they're about.
This is one of your best blogs Mr. Ebert.
Funny thing but for me, as one of your readers, what's must important is that your writing reassures us you are still you and you are still out there. You may give out too many 4 stars to movies or not (who cares?) but the point is, there is no other movie writer whom I have been able to familiarize enough, to accurately know what to expect from a movie and enjoy myself quiet as much in the process. The long period you were away meant constantly checking your website to see if you were back and after dozens (or hundreds) of tries, once you returned, your inability to speak felt very secundary. This doesn't mean I don't appreciate what you've gone through or don't regret not being able to listen to you as before, it's just that your writing has filled the void you left for so long, very well.
Something about this post makes me want to salute.
Great living in the future, isn't it? You can lose a sense (and I think of speech as a sense because what else is it?) and gain three replacements for it without overmuch trouble.
Awesome, moving writing! You're the coolest critic on the face of the earth. I don't know if you've ever addressed this before but will you be able to speak again?
You reveal so much about yourself, and you express it so well. How gratifying that you've met struggles with such self-awareness, enrichment, and contentment. How interesting to hear how you think and write and feel. To extend a thought, your words hit the Roger Ebert place in my brain, and you speak to me with the voice and personality I've known from TV. When your blog posts pop up in my reader, it's like getting a personal message from you -- someone I imagined as a friend, and now in a way, is. Your conversational writing becomes a conversation to me, and when you said that you read your comments, well, I wanted to say something back.
I am 42 years old, and I watched you on TV with my family since you began. For many years now, I've lived about 60 miles from my family (parents and two brothers). On Sundays, I'd often come home to visit, and cap the day by watching your show. Movies, and our opinions about them, have always been a big part of our family dynamic, and closeness. In recent years, while you've had your illness, my wife and I had our first child, my father went through the end phase of Parkinson's, and my mother was diagnosed with, and underwent aggressive treatment and surgery for breast cancer. My father died, but we still have so much, and we still have you. I wish I had your gift with words, but I will say this: Your writing is a gift to me; to all of us. Thank you so much.
Roger I have been reading your reviews for a few years now.After every movie that I watch I log into IMDB and then read your review about the movie.I was very sad when I heard you were going into the hospital a lot and couldn't write a new movie review because you had your operations.I'm just so happy you came back from "the clutches of death" and hope by some miracle you get your speech back.
I am very thankful that we have a critic working today in your status, please continue doing what you do best, you should know by now that ever since your mishappen, you somewhat placed a grey cloud over all critic's, starting with summer of 2006 it is as if you've turned the switch off on all critic's who somehow look up to you, I a film geek(buff) for nearly fourteen years now, film & theater student, should know that, and I'm bearly thirty years of age, I've noticed the lagging in their reveiw's and it stood out big times (I'm a big time reader), that period when you where hospitalized, will be known to me as the (dark year)
Thank you again, Sir.
A neurologist who treated me after my head injury told me that visual language and spoken language were different processes that use the same tool.
I'm not completely without speech, but I can't speak fluently or understand speech as well as I used to. Not only have I found prose richer since my accident, I've also for the first time in my life been able to understand the imagery of poetry. Strange, isn't it?
Roger: I have read and loved your reviews for years. As a professional writer, I completely understand that voice speaking within. I am so busy that I do not have much time to listen. When I write, I get what I can from the voice and keep going. So I really understand that when you have nothing but that voice, how you can clear away the obstacles and have it flow more fully than ever.
I have truly love to read your blog. It feels so personal, and I love the balance of your thoughts. As an Eastern Orthodox priest, I feel we might disagree on some things, but I fully endorse your philosophy of judging movies on how they say, rather than on what they say. It is something few religious people understand. For instance, I am a big Tarantino fan (for the most part; I could do without From Dusk Till Dawn and other Tarantino misfires), because I understand that with Tarantino it is all about "how."
Thank you for sharing yourself with us.
Ebert: Hey, I love biltong, too. Ate a lot of it in South Africa, then found the reindeer equivalent in Finland. Wouldn't have a clue how to make it. You Canadians. Do you shoot the biltong yourself>
Hello Roger,
I've been reading your work online and in print for so many years that I feel like I know you personally. When you were out sick, it was perhaps one of the hardest times for me to take film criticism as seriously as I had in the past. Sure, I read other critics; but to me, you were always the final (and best) say on a whether or not I would give a movie a chance.
Through the years, you have provided such valuable insight into movies old and new, across all genres. Your Great Movies essays will continue to be invaluable to anyone who would like to watch profoundly beautiful works.
But I digress (or did I start with digression?).
The reason I write this message is because I definitely understand and agree with your statement that an inability to speak can make one a better writer.
Trust me, you may have noticed something different about yourself as the writer, but we, your faithful readers, have noticed a change as well. More than anything, what I now experience from your pieces is a greater comfort level and heightened lucidity (perhaps into your true feelings).
While some readers and fellow journalists have sometimes asked you to stay "objective" while reviewing movies, it seems like folly. You, like every other person, are an emotional creature and have a unique sense of self that deserves the freedom to be articulated.
And now that you feel like you are able to express yourself better, I think it would be a travesty not to.
Mr. Ebert,
I don't know if this is of any importance to you, but in my mind when I am reading your blog or movie reviews, your image and your voice are the same as before. I can clearly hear you, see the gestures.
Mr. Ebert,
It was with relief to read your blog this evening, for if truth be told, I have been worrying about you for a long, long time. I love your incisive commentary on movies and relish the memory of your shows with Gene Siskel so I was very unhappy to follow your battles with cancer and to learn of the progression of your illness. However, I see you are a hero who has wrestled with illness and come out the victor. I have noticed the sensitivity in your reviews as well as your blog. It has been apparent to me that you reveal so much of yourself and your personal story. Sometimes I have been moved to tears at the frankness of your revelations, sometimes I have thought of your comments in the light of a life well lived and been absolutely delighted with your honest dialogue, i.e. the Pallin blog. What better use for your years of experience in the world of moving images to capture the essence of plot and character, to strip away the artifice and show the images of our own 1984? Twists of words, twists of meaning BLACK IS WHITE AND WHITE IS BLACK, jarring dissonance as a constant and the smirks of self satisfaction dominate the chatter and the frame. I am happy tonight because I now know you are the same guy on the tube who helped us plan our weekend movie excursions. You write from a different place with an intensity and clarity that is a sheer pleasure to read and savor. THANKS! Judy Shuster
Roger,
I take a certain measure of pride in telling my room-mates that I've read close to 90% of every piece you've ever published. I visit your site daily. You are a frequent topic of conversation amongst friends my close friends. I will be first in line at at your book signing at Barnes & Noble on November 8th, but Rog, I don't want you to sign my copy of "Scorsese." Instead, I'm going to print a copy of this blog, bring it with me to the bookstore, and ask you to sign it. I don't want you to think I didn't like your book, because I did. I want you to sign a copy of this blog because, having read most of your work, I sincerely think this is the finest piece you've ever written.
Any writer would agree.
I'm sure you've read it, but I wold say Isaac Asimov's Gold is the single best examination of science fiction, particularly the process of writing it.
Incidentally, I'm a nineteen year-old British History student and wreck-head, and last night I convinced my similarly wreck-head friends to watch Casablanca. They all loved it. Tonight is 12 Angry Men. It still amazes me how a few films can have such power in a social set so diffrerent from their target audience. I'd like to thank you for your cumulative work persuading me to watch, and then persuade others to watch, some truly brilliant films.
I will always converse with you. You lifted me out of a similar place a long time ago, I mean it's not comparable, I could talk. But I couldn't express myself. It was like if Rose had married Cal in Titanic, about five years into that marriage. Your Compuserve forum was the first place I started posting online in earnest, and it felt so odd and freeing to be able to say what I wanted to say, and more shockingly, be respected for my opinions. Most freeing of all was that you, someone so famous and someone I valued so much, took my opinions seriously. That hidden freedom of conversation in that forum with everyone, carefully hidden from my husband, was the snowball that started an avalanche in my life.
I have such freedom now. I'm myself instead of someone else. That said, I turned out to be a pretty big oddball, all things considered, and it's easier for me to make friends and converse online, where I can find other oddballs and we can be sympatico. This has lead to the odd sensation of feeling my voice stronger in my fingertips than my tongue. Almost all of my serious adult conversation (as opposed to my childrearing), is typed with people I have never seen. I'm not quite at the point of the constantly texting young folk, but this online life can be very satisfying.
Roger, I've been enjoying your blog, but this one really hit home for me. I've just finished a major (academic) writing project, and understand completely getting to that point in which the writing flows, the creation is in the moment, and the satisfaction and confidence in knowing that the creative ideas are percolating there under the surface, and lack only the opportunity and the time to sit and type and jump back into the writing space again. When it's like that, I can't wait to return, and can't imagine many things that could feel better. Ok, well maybe a few.
Perhaps this is the whole purpose behind writing a thesis. It's such an extended writing project that forces you to reach that depth and that facility. It's wonderful to read how you are, even at this point in your extended writing career, finding new ways to write and to take joy in the activity.
My quick question is about what else this could presage? I recently read Stephen King's book On Writing, and found it to be cogent, delightful and possibly the best book on writing I've ever encountered. Have you considered doing something similar? Based on reading the blog entries above, you seem to have struck a chord with your thoughts. I'd buy it if you did!
Thanks so much for your wonderful reviews over the years, and your continued work. I must say, I usually detest blogs, and yours is the only one I actually have read and liked. Seems you only write when you have something to say.
As a writer myself, I could relate to, and was moved by your words. You say that writing is second nature to you. I would go one step further, however, and say that I better express myself with my pen (actually it would be a keyboard but it sounds less poetic) than my mouth. It is interesting you mentioned McCarthy because it is he who said in his Rolling Stone interview that he doesnt outline his novels because writing is a discovery. Obviously you know this as well. Besides, how else could you have written a full review based on eight minutes of a movie! Ha!
Before the comments grow so phenomenally on this blog that you are unable to read everyone (as they will, I am sure), I thought this was a perfect time to comment. Even if only to echo what everyone has said so many times above. I have been reading your reviews from Trinidad and Tobago for years, even though I am not generally able to see so many of the movies you recommend. But I persist, because I have enjoyed your writing and what is essentially commentary on life and people. Whether I agree with a review or a point of view has always been irrelevant, because I could enjoy the review as a good piece of writing, and being honest enough that I could rely on it to guide my decisions on a movie. If your writing experience has improved that can only be the better for the reader. I am so glad that you started blogging so that you could expand the scope of the writings available for me to read!
Roger, this is one of the things that keep me coming back here, you’re honest and you’re open and knowing that you read all the entries really makes posting here worthwhile.
I like the phrase “The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before”. That’s a lesson for me. I use to try and gather the framework of what I was going to discuss before I sat down in front of my computer. Now I start writing and keep on writing, and eventually it clicks. I figure the more I write and rewrite and rewrite, eventually it will all come together.
There are times when I become afraid to write, afraid to begin the process for fear that I will run out of things to say and leave a review half-written. I have reviews that are unfinished because I just can’t put my words together. That’s the point where I end up staring at the page and end up playing Tetris to clear my head. The Muse is like the parent who lets go of the bike after the child gets going; only sometimes I fall in the ditch.
Oddly enough, my best writing comes in the middle of the night when the house is dark and the rooms are quiet and my head is a little bit weary. A weary head breeds confession.
I’ve been working on a book about the movies that I felt should have won the Academy Awards for about 15 years. I’m nowhere near finished with it and I may never finish it. When I am struck by the writing bug, it becomes my private time, my private sanctuary where I can write about something I know about. Subconsciously, for that reason, maybe I don’t want to ever finish it.
I apologize; I’ve been talking about myself. This is your blog. I’m impressed that you’ve come so far. I am impressed that you’ve gotten so introspective. I don’t think your reviews have changed, I think it’s the same as it was before your surgery. It is still conversational, still informative, still great. What has changed is that you’ve opened up to those of us who read your stuff. We could learn a lot about you from those reviews but this blog gives us a chance to converse with you, to share our insights into what we learn from you. Even if you don’t response personally, at least we know that you are taking the time to read our responses. For that, we are content.
I am glad that you were able to come to terms with this aspect of your circumstances.
The only non-speaking that people I've known who were not born deaf were a grad school professor of mine who had lost his ability to speak for several years, and Autistic children who had never become verbal.
The professor became despondent and suicidal, but found solace in film. Eventually, he regained his ability to speak. By the time that I came along he had started a tradition of ending his lectures with his own film reviews, even though film was not related to his specialty. (You may have heard of him since he's quite prominent, but I will leave his name out of it.)
The children displayed a gift for music. That's something of a cliche with Autistic kids, but it's amazing to watch when you are just sitting around with a kid and watching them listen. You sense a sixth sense. One of my relatives is Autistic and his musical tastes, while impeccable, tend toward the classical. I was babysitting him when he was around the age of four and Prince's "Purple Rain" came on television. He sat captivated throughout the film, and he was not the type to follow a TV program. I think that he truly appreciated what he was hearing on the soundtrack, and the fact that it was genius.
P.S. Your post reminded me of "John Doe No. 24," which is one of my favorite songs. If you've never listened to Mary Chapin Carpenter, you might check it out if you are in need of music. It's based on the true story of an Illinois man.
Roger,
I have followed your work since I was a small child in the early 1980s. My father started watching Sneak Previews when I was in Kindergarten (1980-1981). I started collecting your video companions by the end of the 1980s. The problem is that I only knew who you were as a film critic, but I did not know anything else about you. Even when the internet came around, we could still only read your movie reviews.
Your blog is wonderful and I am happy you are doing it. By communicating with your readers, you are letting them know who you really are as a person aside from a film critic that works in Chicago.
I no longer have to tell people that Roger Ebert is a film critic that loves Martin Scorsese and Robert Altman. I can now tell them more about you. I can say that Roger Ebert is one of those people who feels that reading and writing can make a person's life meaningful, and believes it has made his life worth living. I can also say that Roger Ebert is not one of those 60 somethings who want to retire, close the door on the learning process, and pretty much end their life. Roger Ebert is still willing to grow and change as a writer, and would be open to changing in many other ways.
I hope I am being accurate.
Roger,
As a person born with a profound hearing loss, I wanted to say that I relate to what you wrote. I think having a disability gives you an additional insight and understanding, a new way of looking at the world. I think you also bring a new sort of enlightenment to what you see and experience, whether it's a movie or just life.
I should also say that when I lived in Germany for a year after graduating from college, I would read your reviews online every Friday (or any day that I missed reading something in English)! Your writing was a way for me to connect to "home" here in the US, to English, and was always thought-provoking and interesting to read. And even after I came back home, I would read your reviews (and particularly relished the ones that reviewed movies I saw while I was abroad, such as "8 Femmes" or "Amelie"). For me, your writing is something to always look forward to or even to revisit (I love reading the archived reviews of movies).
Thank you for sharing your experiences, and thank you for your great writing!
Your reaction to Cormac McCarthy's descriptions of eating various foods reminds me of the time, long ago, when I read Hemingway's "Big, Two-Hearted River". His description of a cheese-and-onion sandwich made my mouth water. I went to the refrigerator, cut four rectangles from a brick of sharp cheddar cheese, arranged them on a slice of bread, cut a circle of onion from a large half-onion (as described in the story), laid it on top of the cheese, put another slice on bread over it, and took a big bite.
Gaack! I had to spit it out. That's my definition of a great writer, though - someone who can convince you to try a cheese-and-onion sandwich.
My favorite McCarthy piece is the one about the two brothers asking a local for directions in a small town in Mexico. I'm tempted to quote the whole thing here, but I'll resist. It makes a world-class short-story all by itself, inside a good novel (All The Pretty Horses if memory serves, as it sometimes doesn't).
What joyously emerging toothpaste!
Roger, you were always a great writer but, I agree, your work as of late has become transcendent. I wouldn't dare call what you write 'a review' anymore. They seem more sacred to me these days. I don't follow any religion though it could probably be said I am religious about film. I hope you take this in the best way when I say that every Thursday you are a preacher giving a sermon I'm very excited to hear (err... read).
It seems to me that so many critics have become cynical and negative, disgruntled by any film that isn't a groundbreaking masterpiece. ('This week's example: a 'rotten' consensus on Rotten Tomatoes for Changeling because it's 'too conventional'...) Critics are thinking too much and becoming devoid of simple human feelings. Nothing seems to move anybody anymore. We're becoming a bit like that clerk that Poppy encounters at the beginning of Happy-Go-Lucky.
Yet, every Thursday I can count on you to be direct, sincere and unafraid to be open, intellectually and emotionally. I think your emphasis on emotional reaction might be what is allowing your mind to flow so freely. Reading other critic's reviews, the prose gets bogged down by the criticism. They're lost in scrutinizing and explaining. It's amazing how straightforward your approach is in contrast. Amazing because it feels heavier than their lengthier reviews.
"If there is a saving grace, it may be that Bush will never fully realize how badly he did. How can he blame himself? He was only following God's will."
See, a lesser critic would explain the meaning (or meanings) of that. And that critic would be dictating, not having a conversation.
I am glad to hear you're content. You should be. Your work has inspired many lives and continues to encourage people to step out of cynicism and guarding against feeling. Of course, your work has also always respected your reader's intelligence but it's the focus on feeling that allows it to get through to people. Other critics have the intelligence but not the feeling.
I must quote it everyday but Woody Allen knows best: "The brain is the most overrated organ."
Hi Mr. Ebert,
Like many people here, I grew up watching you and Gene Siskel. Then, later, I found your website. I had always thought you were eloquent, but I didn't realise the depth of your eloquence until I started reading your reviews. I appreciate your writing and the well thought out reasons you give for liking a film or no.
Writing always seemed easier to me than speaking as well. I enjoyed reading and finding out that I am, in some small way, similar to you regarding the writing process - it assures me I'm doing something right.
During the time you were in hospital, I checked your site daily, hoping for news. I'm glad, most glad, you're keeping in touch more often by way of the blog. I hope you continue to feel productive and useful.
Some people have the ability to see Russia from their houses, while others have the fortunate ability to see your voice from theirs.
Not a bad trade-off.
Although Roger is being much too modest about sometimes slapping his knee to suggest laughter. What most people don't know about his episode in Toronto is that he was really getting into the "OH SNAP!" thing with his hand raised enthusiastically over his head with his fingers snapping.
That's really why he was attacked with a phone book!
I used to check in twice a week to Roger's site when I was a student: on Friday's for the new reviews, and then on Sunday's for either the Answer Man or the Great Movies column.
But now I check in daily to keep abreast of everything, and read what is the most thoughtful and overlooked blog on the internets.
I think the reason why I felt a conceit at the end of that first review of "Tru Loved" is because your writing feels even more considerate than before. Like swirling wine or cognac around in a glass; like you're not only relating what you saw to us, but laying things out in a more naked way as to how it's swirling around upstairs. And I think that's why you needed to admit later on that the key thing was that you were relating your "thought process". Precisely. The writing is growing and even more internal and searching.
It's so gratifying to see in someone who could, frankly, be content at being stuck in their ways and relying on past achievements.
A great big "OH SNAP!" for you, Roger.
Roger,
I commented once before noting that I felt I had gained by your loss. Even tonight, I was thinking "oooh maybe Ebert has a new blog entry, now that he writes so much more." I was so excited to see one. There is no one I enjoy reading more. Your writing makes MY life more fufulling. It is such a joy to read your words. I am so sorry that you have experienced loss. But I hope you really understand how much the rest of us have gained from you "talking" to us so often. Thank you for everything!
It's great to hear that you're getting back to your old self. I've been reading your reviews for about 12 years now, starting when I was a adolescent horror fanatic. Though I disagree with you a lot -- two stars for the original Texas Chainsaw Massacre?! -- I've always admired your writing.
One of the great things about your blog is that it comes off as your raw thoughts that haven't been signed off on by an editor. The occasional typos only add to its charm; they're the result of your brain working faster than your fingers. Thanks to your blog, I check your site several times a week now instead of just on Fridays.
Hello!
Your attitudes regarding your illness give me hope that my life will be OK. Thank you.
I fancy myself an "aspiring writer", but I have some terrible block in my mind that prevents my thoughts from becoming words and parking themselves on paper (or a computer screen for that matter).
I have ideas, I like to think I understand (thanks to you and many others) story structure, characterization, dialogue, etc...but there's...there's just something I don't "get".
You've devoted your career to writing. This is a desperately important task that I believe bears witness to the human condition in a very profound way.
Please help if you can.
Ebert: Actually, maybe I can help you. There is nothing you don't "get" because there is nothing to get. You are the writer. What you write is what is written. It is exactly right because it is exactly what you wrote. If someone else doesn't think so, fuck 'em. There is no objective goal, no objective right or wrong. Only the process. Your mind will set itself down in words. Do not criticize. Do not look back at every sentence. Just write. You have no idea where you are headed. Your words will lead you. This above all: Nothing is ever completed until it is started. Start. Don't look back. If at the end it doesn't meet your hopes, start again. Now you know more about your hopes.
Roger, it's good to see you in such a state of contentment. Thanks for the great read.
As far as your blog postings go, I think this ranks up there with "Confessions of a blogger." As a fledgling writer myself, it's always interesting to see someone writing about the craft of writing. I hope to read many many more from you, whether they are articles, blog postings, Answer man columns and whatnot. Take care.
Congratulations on the awakening of your prose. Back in high school, I wrote a short story in the first person about a character who takes an extended vow of silence, and what an interior life I found there! Sometimes I think nothing gets in the way of clear communication quite like speaking.
"The foolish man seeks happiness in the distance, the wise grows it under his feet."
-James Oppenheim
Roger, I first want to say that you, along with a Netflix account, have introduced me to movies about 5 years ago. I'm 22 now. Before then I had seen comparatively few movies. Soon I was watching movies and enjoying reading your reviews afterward and thinking and admiring your fine prose. If I'm a movie buff now, it's largely because of you.
Anyway, not only are you an excellent writer, but you are also a great spirit and an inspiration. I missed your reviews while you were going through hard times, and reading your new reviews (which, miraculously, are more personal and more numerous than ever before) reminds me of Raymond Carver's poem "Gravy". I hope his estate doesn't mind me quoting it here. Of course, your circumstances are different from the poem's protagonist, but I personally feel a similar feeling of gratefulness that you're back and it seems to echo your own gratefulness that despite your immensely difficult circumstances, that somehow you have entered a special place your life and craft. Thanks for your noble spirit.
Gravy
No other word will do. For that's what it was.Gravy.
Gravy, these past ten years.
Alive, sober, working, loving, and
being loved by a good woman. Eleven years
ago he was told he had six months to live
at the rate he was going. And he was going
nowhere but down. So he changed his ways
somehow. He quit drinking! And the rest?
After that it was all gravy, every minute
of it, up to and including when he was told about,
well, some things that were breaking down and
building up inside his head. "Don't weep for me,"
he said to his friends. "I'm a lucky man.
I've had ten years longer than I or anyone
expected. Pure Gravy. And don't forget it."
Ebert: Good lord. I read "Gravy" at a memorial service for a friend whose life had certain similarities to Carver's. Then I didn't think of it for a long time. Then, while I was writing this blog entry, it came unsummoned into my mind. I'm feasting on gravy right now.
Roger,
I have had a severe stutter all my life. While I can still speak and communicate to a reasonably acceptable degree, I have always been burdened by the fact that I cannot fully express my thoughts and feelings through speech. I have often turned to writing to relieve the tension that accumulates from so many painful moments of wishing to convey something but being unable to. In any case, I certainly empathize with your situation. In your review of Michael Mann's Heat, you write: "Of the many imprisonments possible in our world, one of the worst must be to be inarticulate - to be unable to tell another person what you really feel." Even though you were probably not thinking of stuttering (or any type of speech impairment) when you wrote that, that sentence has really stuck with me. You are clearly all too familiar with the hell of not being able to communicate through speech, and this blog entry shows that you have, miraculously, found ways to deal with it. You are continually a source of inspiration to me. Thank you for that, and I wish you luck in your recovery.
Ebert: I was always able to speak easily. Some would say to excess. Now it would be precious to be able to stutter. But it would be a torture also. Let me guess something. What drives you crazy is the look of expectation shading into impatience as you attempt to communicate. When I want to communicate something or answer a question, I try with my notebook to do it as quickly as I can and yet print as clearly as I can, because no one can read my cursive. I may have a lot I want to say, but I have to use as few as possible. Even then people will something finish what they think are my sentences for me. They're in a hurry. I'm desperately scribbling. The conversation has moved on. My response no longer applies. These people can't even remember what they said that prompted my note, and say they don't know what it means. I feel bottled up and frustrated. In my head I am talking rings around them. Here is a piece I wrote some time ago expressing how I feel: http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20071002/PEOPLE/71002001/-1/RSS
In briefly perusing the comments section of this entry, I find that my sentiments have already been expressed many times over. However, this being a post about the joys of writing extolling the virtues of letting words fall to the page I will say my piece just the same.
Thank you so much for your writing. Your reviews and blog entries are like like so many gifts. When I open up GoogleReader and check to see what blogs have been updated, I always perk up when I see that you have a new entry up.
I have been actively reading your reviews for about 5 years now, at first just casually to see your thoughts on current films. Then as a means of thinking about films I love in new ways. Now I read your reviews as entertainment.
I have noticed a shift in your writing over this period of time. In your more recent work it is very clear *who* is writing. You are far more revealing of aspects of your own life and how that influences the way you perceive films and the world. It is a pleasure getting to know you.
This reminds me, though in a much less perverse way, of "Perfume." The poor protagonist (protagonist? Maybe.) was matched by no other in olfactory perception, though he himself was deprived of a scent. Of course you are no spawn of the devil, but isn't it interesting to think that being deprived of a basic function of the human experience heighten the need to exercise it?
I think I see what you mean. You were always a very good writer, I have often read your reviews simply for the pleasure of reading them, but now there is a kind of crisp immediacy to your work. It's no longuer verbal speech translated into the written word, but the written word itself used as speech. You don't edit as much either, there's a kind of flow in your writing that's hard to miss to a trained eye. When you edit often (like I do, sadly) you break that flow and it doesn't feel as natural.
I also can see how much joy writing gives you. It's as obvious in your words as a smile on your face. You're in the "zone" often and I have to admit, I'm envious. You go easily to that perfect secret place that only writers blessed with a cooperative muse go to. I've been there quite a few times and there's almost literally nothing like it. It's hard to explain to people who don't write but it's almost (but not quite) like being able to perfectly remember everything you ever experienced in your entire life all at once. Time stops and there is suddenly nothing else in the world except for you and the page, and both of you are in perfect harmony.
Congratulations Roger, you may have lost your speech but you haven't lost your voice.
I am amazed with your candor. You have always been an inspirational person to me, mainly because I wish I could review movies or be a writer for a living (I am not a great writer). Whenever I write, what is in my head rarely makes it onto the paper as I have foreseen. I am always in awe of people who can do things I can't. Not only are you overcoming great adversity, but you have expanded your literary vocabulary. I have been reading your blog since it started, never commented before, but this time I felt the need. I just want to say that your work, from great B movie scripts, to excellent, thoughtful reviews have always been a part of my weekly reading. I was shocked to hear of your predicament but excited to here you can still write. I continue to enjoy your thoughts and pros, and I hope to continue on enjoying them. Keep up the good work. It makes me happy that you take as much pleasure from your writing as I enjoy reading it.
A long time reader,
adam
Roger, it goes without saying that I enjoy and benefit from your thoughts. But what strikes me right now as even more impressive are the gracious and supportive comments of your respondents. It feels so good to find people being appreciative, people being sincerely expressive, and people sharing their thoughtful ideas with good will. Reading what is written here makes me feel happier to be one of us humans. Why is there so little of this spirit elsewhere in the media?
Roger, I've read and listened to you for years and I've always maintained that, like a good Cabernet, you just keep getting better. I'm so glad I now have your blog to read as well as your reviews.
Keep writing and remember, November is NaBloPoMo -- National Blog Posting Month (http://www.nablopomo.com/). It would be great if you took the pledge to write a blog post a day for a full month!
In journalism school, long, long ago (maybe not that long ago), we had a graduate seminar on the same floor as WTTW in Chicago. You and Gene spoke to one of our classes on criticism one evening before our instructors (Maury Posley and Jack Fuller, I recall) took us to Billy Goat's (heady stuff for newbies). All I remember wondering was what the allure of television was...you were one of the better writers on a bigtime paper...but you were doing pioneering work on PBS.
I'm clearly no expert, just a fan, but I think your writing now reflects a new level of maturity, a sense of gravitas. It's better than ever and a pleasure to read after a long week.
Maybe it's because you're not on TV and that part of the cerebral cortex which controls written communication is being used more often and in a different way. That circuitry is being reinforced repeatedly now, at least that's what they taught us in med school (sayonara, newspaper deadlines). Maybe Oliver Sacks could weigh in. I'm sure your friendly local neurologist has a few thoughts.
Lastly, with a lot of my old journalism buddies having been laid off in the last few years (e.g. restaurant reviewer becomes blogger only part time, others "asked" to take early retirement in their early 50s), I wonder about the future of arts criticism in general. At some papers, the theatre critic has either been let go or now operates from the blogosphere almost exclusively.
I agree that there is no such thing as ‘waiting for inspiration’ in writing. I am a 21 year old budding writer and I wrote this a few years ago ..
“Writing is not about discipline .. writing is not even about inspiration .. writing to me is about desperation .. the words assume a reckless urgency .. too volatile to rest .. they have to be let go .. change form constantly .. build and destroy .. until they reach the zenith that is expression.”
I laugh when I read this today. I laugh because I see naivety. I laugh because I remember the time I wrote it. I was in my room, completely and utterly mesmerized by the ‘ghost song’ of The Doors. And I felt an urge to be poetic, perhaps match up to Morrison. Unnecessarily poetic. And so I wrote something that I probably did not agree with in its entirety.
There have been times, when I have felt ‘inspired.’ And it could be the littlest thing. The sound of the wind. The chuckle of a child. The moon of course. Or watching ‘Baraka’ as I did yesterday (After finding your review. I wonder how it would be to watch ‘Baraka’ in a theater. Guess I will never know. The better ones never make it to a theater here in India.) But those moment are few and far in between.
And now that I am working on a novel, I do know that to be a good writer, I need hard work. And not just a psychedelic experience.
I do not know that I can express to you my admiration for you without using expresion-dulling cliches, but I am compelled to try. It is remarkable, Mr Ebert, how well your voice carries on through your writing, and remarkable, Mr. Ebert, for how clear and refreshing your voice is.
Thank you! You are a hero to me; the humanism, humour and love that is in your writing and in your ideas are all too rare these days, and I think the world would be a better place if there were more folks like you.
thanks for the post!
I think that it's great that you are happy in your thoughts and have a place to express them to others. I am currently working on my own writing projects and have found that concentration is the key for me. I've noticed that when I have freedom, and money and time, I am not able to concentrate fully on writing because I'm thinking about other things, going out, being with friends, my next vacation, etc.
But now times are tougher financially, I don't have these distractions anymore and I find myself writing more freely, faster, the muse visits more often, as you put it. I heard a quote once, I forget who said it, which goes something like, "Nothing brings you closer to god than sustained concentration"
As a writer myself, I found this blog particularly fascinating.
This line, especially, grabbed me:
The idea of "diagramming" an essay in advance, as we are taught in school, may be useful to students but is foolishness for any practicing writer. The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before.
I agree and I'm glad I'm not the only one who writes this way.
With that said, I also come up with a collection of ideas - a rough draft of sorts - in my mind before I actually put pen to paper (or more accurately, finger to keyboard). Even though I'm not writing in the technical sense of word, I'm still engaging in the process. Is this how you work too?
1)i was surprised that a writer of your stature could make a sweeping generalization like "the Muse visits during the process of creation,not before".My English teacher once remarked that John Keats would relax in the cool shade of a tree and siphon out a lyrical ribbon so spontaneously while Thomas Gray composed his famous "elegy written in a country churchyard'by waiting a whole day for one worthy line to weave itself.Flaubert similarly laboured and his writing was born of considerable rumination rather than automatic collusion between quill and cellulose 2)your heartening account here also brings to mind Lance armstrong's book where he contends that his illness deepened his faculties to the point where he won 2 tour de france titles 3)Considering the terrific treatment the Coen brothers gave to the cinematic version of McCarthy's novel,why dont you request them to see if "Suttree" is a possible project for them?..The suggestion might amount to nothing,but then again, you Sir,of many, would know about optimism in life..
I wish you could know what your writing means to me, to all of us. When I was fifteen I listed you as one of my personal heroes, and now, at 19, "hero" doesn't quite express the effect that your prose had on my life.
Just tonight I was at a frat party of all things, and your name came up in conversation. For over an hour we discussed your work, your life, how much you've shaped our understanding of cinema. Someone mentioned your review of "Pineapple Express," and a then one guy admitted that he's a passionate and devoted fan of David Gordon Green, but would never have even heard of him if it wasn't for you.
The reason I'm writing this comment is because I want you to know that not only have you sparked a flurry of conversation on the internet, but also in dorm rooms and college campuses across the country. I'm a film major at Emerson College, and every time you post a new blog or review it automatically becomes a leading topic of conversation. You're review of "Tru Loved" resulted in a wonderful debate about the role of the critic and the affect a critic can have on the both the success and effectiveness of a film. On the other hand, your review of "The Duchess" more or less resulted in a debate about whether or not you'd actually seen the film ;)
More than anything I feel like right now, at this moment, you're work is coming to an incredible crescendo. And I'm so glad to be here for it, experiencing it with you. This is your time, the culmination of you knowledge and experience, you're perspective and your pain. I'm blown away by your passion and your insight. I love that you love movies as much as I do. I can't wait for your next review, and I'm so proud to call you my hero.
Dear Roger,
I have been reading your prose for eight years now. My copy of your 1998 Video Companion is one of the most worn out books in my library. When you couldn't write, my Friday and Sunday mornings seemed less fruitful. I missed looking forward to a new addition to the Great Movie archive. It's funny, December isn't complete without your yearly round up of favorite films. That is why I don't take your time and writing for granted. I am overjoyed that you reap so much from your productivity.
Here's to your art.
I am glad that as one door closed, another door has opened, or at least widened, in your life.
I can relate just a tiny bit to what you are going through: two years ago, I lost my voice for six months from a frozen vocal cord. For most of those months, I wasn't sure if it would ever come back. I ended up communicating mainly through written notes and, like you, was very grateful that the Internet existed so that I could still communicate with family and friends. (I wonder if you are experiencing the same syndrome that I did, which is that sometimes in stores if I showed a clerk a note that started: "I have laryngitis, could you please...," the clerk would move to take the pad from me to write back, even though I had made it clear that only my voice was affected and not my hearing!)
You have always brought much joy and knowledge to the world through your written reviews and I hope you have many long years to continue doing so.
I recently bought the Blu-Ray disc of Dark City, which includes interviews and feature commentaries by you, and I want to think that this isn't a thing of the past. Will there be new avenues for endeavors like these?
"Life exists in a moment. The moment flashes by like an arrow and becomes the past. The future becomes the present in the same moment. Thus, life exists only in succession of moments, and even eternity is no more than the continuation of moments. In any given moment we can feel happiness, misery, hope or despair"
To paraphrase from George Herbert Palmer's impossible to find book"Self Cultivation in English":...of Patrick Henry, the orator,he would throw himself headlong into the middle of a sentence trusting to the Almighty to get him out....so must we speak.....must not decide at the beginning the end of the sentence......if we do who will care to hear the end?
I am very happy that you learned to overcome this handicap and even managed to grow during the process.
Your blog entries have this unique quality about them... they're so straight-forward and honest. As a reader, it has been a great pleasure for me to read them all and learn so much about your thoughts and even things I didn't know about movies or aspects of the world.
A friend of mine who is mute once told me: "People usually speak before they think, but since I communicate in other ways, I have time to think before saying anything."
You may lack your physical voice, but now you can give your mind and heart a chance to develop.
Know that you've reached someone's heart across the ocean, right here in Portugal. :)
Years ago, I saw in theater a monologue about the russian ballet dancer Vaslav Nijinsky; it accompanied him in his later years, interned in psychiatric hospitals. In one scene in the midle of the play, he sat at a desk and started writing in his journal, saying the words out loud. I do not remember his lines. What I do remember is, the movement of the pen over the paper became the movement of the hand, the movement of the hand that of the arm, and the writing found shelter in the body as a whole, and became dance - as spontaneous as a conversation. I just thought I'd share the image, and then retreat myself, and reflect on what spontaneity truly means.
mit herzlichen Grüßen
F.
Ebert: Could that have been "The Diaries of Vaslav Nijinsky," by Paul Cox? I saw it at Toronto, a few days after 9/11. Some members of the audience were not in sympathy. Paul Cox walked to the front and castigated those who had walked out. I never loved him more. To hell with convention. Say what you feel. He contrasted his film to mainstream commercial cinema: "At least when you walk out of the door you have not become a more disgusting human being."
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20020726/REVIEWS/207260303/1023
Dear Roger,
I looked up a review of Cormac McCarthy's "Suttree", having not read the book, since you mentioned that it helped renew your desire for the pleasures of life. Jerome Charyn of the N.Y. Times wrote on Feb. 18, 1979, "Suttree himself is a lost creature who can find no real hook into this world. The language licks, batters, wounds - a poetic troubled rush of debris. It is personal and tough... Cormac McCarthy has little mercy to spare, for his characters or himself. McCarthy won't soothe us with a quiet song. "Suttree" is like a good, long scream in the ear."
But your harsh and painful path was not of your own making. You reclaimed your balance and then reshaped it, exploring your gift of writing and sharing it with us. It challenges me to better use the abilities I have. And it ignites my curiosity about how you will employ your extended power...
P.S. For the past 15 years my Swiss father-in-law has usually responded to the question of "How are you?" with the words, "I'm content" (zufrieden). I like that the root word in German comes from peace (Frieden). In this culture to wish for more is somehow extravagant. During my first year in Switzerland I couldn't understand or respond to language much, being effectively without it except when in the company of my husband. It takes years to master a new language, especially when you are over 30 and the local dialect is not taught. It is clear to me how little use you would have from ASL as it is not widely used.
Anna Maria
I must say that up until two years ago I had never read any of your reviews, I had only seen you on the occasional TV show. Then, my older sister took a film class and she started reading your reviews on a regular basis. Because we live in a one-horse town my sister and I would have to search for the titles that were recommended by her film teacher and we would always come to you for the reviews. Your review for the movie Once was simply beautiful (as was the movie!). Thank you for your work- you touch lives that you have never seen nor met!
Amanda Blanton
Roger Ebert,
I have witnessed what is happening to you in others. It's a crystallization of purpose as the result of a brush with death.
Curiously, it happens also to some extent to people within the victim's circle of influence. I'm not just talking about the "I'm going to be a better person" scenario. And the irony is that so often a key attribute of their personality, from before, is lost, but what is gained in it's place becomes what they are truly remembered for. John Lennon said, "Life is what happens to you whilst your busy making other plans"
So go with the flow Beautiful Boy.
Roger, What a great piece of writing! My wife and I have followed your work for years now, and even had our pictures taken with you on a visit to Madison, WI (though we certainly don't expect you to remember us among the crush of well-wishers). Your piece today moves me to comment because of the emotion that comes through it to me. We're so glad to hear you're happy. When we heard about the TV show ending after so many years, we were concerned about you ending up at loose ends. This post proves that you've got so much more to say and new and better ways to say it all. Thanks for sharing with all of us through your blog! Best wishes for the future.
Now, I need to go and make myself a grilled cheese sandwich.
Bob K. wrote, on Stephen King:
I heartily recommend it, even if his fiction is not to your tastes.
In his The Green Mile review, Mr. Ebert compared the best of King to Dickens. Just letting you know.
Mr. Ebert,
There is so much I'd like to say, but I will be brief. Your intelligence, humor and wit has brought countless hours of enjoyment over the years. You are a National Treasure, and I hope that your health improves so that you can continue doing what you do for many, many years to come.
From the bottom of my heart: Thank You.
I am a better person in prose: more judicious, more empathetic, friendlier. Writing has always been an important spiritual discipline for me. To carefully edit words is to make careful judgements--how *should* I think of this person or situation. The books I treasure most--Steinbeck's, Hugo's,Morrison's and more recently Robinson's, Gilead--make me gracious.
ps. i love the phrenology chart you used for an illustration!
You know, Roger, Cormac McCarthy made some fascinating comments about the role of the unconscious in writing when Oprah Winfrey interviewed him. He would agree with you about the muse, that it shows up in the act of creating, in this case writing, not before. Did you catch his whimsical suggestion that the unconscious might be a committee, one which knows what we will say before we say it? One which mulls over when we might be ready for some particular insight?
Isn't Suttree something? I had never read anything by McCarthy until I stumbled across a review of The Road in late 2006. That deceptively simple little book haunted me for months. I couldn't stop talking about it--to anyone who would listen--and friends were known to dive down the nearest alley way to avoid me on the street for fear that I'd start talking about The Road again. I began to read his other works, but it wasn't until this year that I read Suttree, which has now become my favorite book of all time, the benchmark by which I gauge my reaction to all other literary works. There's something about Cornelius Suttree that seems very familiar to me, as though he were someone I've known. Some of it, I think, is because McCarthy is the same age my father would be if he were still living, and there's a quality to Suttree's speech and thoughts that reminds me of conversations I overheard between my dad and his friends and relatives (ditto with the father in The Road; the speech patterns were eerily familiar). But most of all it's McCarthy's ability to write in such a way that you and I and all of his readers can believe we are there, experiencing those things ourselves.
I always think it's fascinating to know which writers my favorite writers particularly enjoy. Barbara Kingsolver likes Doris Lessing, James Herriot liked Charles Dickens and Arthur Conan Doyle, and you, whose writings eclipse those of just about anyone I can think of, are a fan of Charles Dickens, Jane Austen, and Cormac McCarthy. Of course our writing is influenced, even if only subconsciously, by the work of writers we love, and I've come to the conclusion that when something about a writer's voice sounds familiar the first time I read his work, I think it's those other voices I'm hearing as well.
I'm so glad we have you and your voice, adding to what one of my college Lit professors used to refer to as the ongoing conversation. I majored in English, and reading your thought-provoking, informative reviews each week is like being back in the class of some particularly well-loved professor, one who uses the vehicle of film to teach us what it means to be human.
Ebert: So much is written and said about McCarthy, yet "Suttree" seems not to be often mentioned. There it stands, weaving a little, shaken by a muffled boom from far below the city, in its uniqueness. I don't know if it's the greatest novel of the century. I wouldn't know what that means. All lists are absurd. Okay. Moving on. A writer who has had an enormous influence on me is Shakespeare. No, I have not lost my mind. Let me explain. He has influenced me by his brazen freedom. He will write anything. He confers freedom on every writer who desires it. Once I was writing a review and I happened to use the word cauliflower. Cauliflower. Cauliflower. It is an hilarious word, don't you think? The review never returned to the movie. It helplessly listed other funny words. You can see Shakespeare's influence at work right there. A log of people probably missed it.
Roger,
I briefly worked at a video store back in the 1980s. During an idle moment, I noticed a pair of your books sitting near the counter. One included your reviews on a variety of films and the other was "A Kiss Is Still a Kiss." I read both of these and was stunned by the emotion and spirit of your writing. It went beyond the normal review and your features on a variety of actors, Lee Marvin, Charles Bronson, Robert Mitchum, revealed these iconic men in such fascinating ways as to be flirting with literary greatness. I was not a regular viewer of your television show as it never aired in the Dallas-Fort Worth market during a convenient time. I was first exposed to your talent through your written word. I had read other film critics (including Kael, whose head-scratching opinions were sometimes dipped in far too much vinegar), but it seemed like for the first time I had found a writer who was in tune to the magic and possibilities of the film medium. I will not say that you write for the common man, but you relate to film in a manner in which I could relate to. Your references to your own past and childhood were warm and enlightening. I visit your website on a daily basis and during my lunch breaks, while noshing on a sandwich, will read your Great Movie reviews and worlds will open up before me within the cramped interior of my office. It is beautiful, extraordinary writing. Friends often ask me who my favorite writers are, and I mention several obvious choices and will include you. It surprises people, who only know you from television. I say, "You don't know Roger until you read his work." During your absence, I felt as if I had lost a friend. I am genuinely happy that you have returned to continue to inspire all of us, and this blog I consider to be one of your most inspirational. In many ways, moviegoing is such a solitary experience, where worlds come alive, often times created by artists long since past. I believe your writing removes the solitary aspect of moviegoing, and in many ways the isolation that comes from a deep love of an art form. It speaks for so many of us.
Writing is the only thing I've ever wanted to do. My earliest memories involve finding odd or unusual or wonderful words and phrases in books and reading them to myself over and over just to taste them as they rolled off my tongue. To this day very little gives me more pleasure in my day-to-day than learning a new word or a new use for an old word. Language (and the ability to make proficient use of it) is everything.
I just wanted to tell you that I can completely understand when you say that being able to write has adequately compensated you for being unable to talk. I manage to write for an hour or two, three to five days per week. And aside from my wife and children, those few hours a week spent 'taking dictation from my mind' are the clearest and most powerful moments in my life. Those moment make everything else better. They make the world's colours brighter and its sounds and smells cleaner and more immediate.
When I think of writing and the effects it has on the rest of my world, the words that I keep coming back to are the words you wrote in your review of 'Hustle and Flow.' You said:
What we see in the "Hustle & Flow" is rarely seen in the movies: the redemptive power of art. Djay is transformed when he finds something he loves doing and is getting better at. To create something out of your own mind and talent and see that it is good: That is a joy that makes the rest of his life seem shabby and transparent.
My life is neither shabby nor transparent. But the act of writing (or the creation of any art I would suppose) is the act of allowing the mind to operate at its highest and purest level. And if it is done with honesty and humility, it cannot help but colour the rest of one's world with the same brush.
Thank you, Roger. For everything.
PS: I facilitate creative writing 'seminars' for High School kids (or 'have facilitated' anyway, as I haven't done so in a while) and I always told the kids that the most important advice I could give them was yours, that if you want to write, you have to WRITE. Inspiration happens DURING the process of writing, not before. It always went over with a heavy, considered silence. Just thought you might like to know.
Wonderful! Thank you. My daughter has Down Syndrome and she speaks very little (she says a lot, but what she says is mostly incomprehensible to us). She is bright, funny, mischevious, and it has been quite a journey learning how to communicate with her(I so understand your comment about ASL, we sign some but it's tough to learn it when there's no one fluent around). As you've learned, there are a lot of different ways to communicate what you want!
I'm glad that you can, and also intrigued at how these recent events have changed you, your work, and your relationship with your audience. Thanks for not giving up, or giving in, and most of all sharing it with us.
It is an interesting subject, the mind. I took a psychology class in college (okay, community college) that delved briefly into how the mind works, and in a video someone said something I never thought about. That the mind had developed ways to pick and choose it's subject matter. That if it hadn't, driving would be impossible. If our mind didn't prioritize properly, our attention would be on every movement, and sound, and not concentration on driving correctly. In National Geopgraphic recently, in an article about memory, it told of a woman who has perfect memory. That, due to her condition, she can tell you exactly what she was doing at 7:15 pm on August 23rd 1987.
Your brain has suffered a loss in one area, and has made up for it. The brain must detest atrophy, and does what it can to overcome it. Is your speech predicted to return? If so I suspect you will speak less, as your mind will be more pleased by your writing. I drew voraciously as a child, and well into my twenties. Once I entered the world of photography, and discovered the limitless capabilities of Photoshop, that became my preferred outlet of creativity. Now, having recently looked at some of my old drawings, I am left wondering 'Did I really draw that?' My ability to draw well is at least at the present, gone. I find myself inking over some of my old drawings in Illustrator and thinking I might have been a pretty damn good artist if I had stuck with it.
The key is to throw yourself into something. Having suffered depression I know that it stifles all desires and can cause atrophy in everything but the function of breathing. What's in us is always dying to come out, even if it's not the way we are accustomed to, or even prefer.
Roger: something you might not have thought about is how your personal journey is impacting the people around you. I grew up with a blind mother, which meant from an early age I had to express myself verbally. The "screwed-up" face of childish anguish had no effect; I had to say how I felt. So all the men in our family are much more verbal than we would otherwise be. Likewise, I grew up describing the world to my mom, a woman who is insatiably curious about the world. There's no doubt in my mind that this helped me become a writer. 4 novels (and 2 sold to Hollywood) later, I see how living in proximity to my mom shaped and molded me for the better. I suspect the same is happening to the people around you. As the people who love you adapt and learn new ways to "listen", they are growing in ways that will take years to reveal themselves. How this has worked out in our family is complicated but beautiful. Enjoy the ride as you can, friend.
Ebert: I like this observation of yours: "I had a fine life as a record producer until I went a little nuts and became a full-time novelist." Only a true writer would understand that you don't have to be a little nuts to be a record producer.
"The idea of "diagramming" an essay in advance, as we are taught in school, may be useful to students but is foolishness for any practicing writer. ***** The Muse visits *!*during*!* the process of creation, not before *****."
Absolutely true !!!! It is the same process as the "bootstrap" in the booting sequence of an operating system, but with some 'free-wheeling" dimensions added. No school can TEACH you that but the shame is you still have to endure school time even though you realized it early : Ivan ILLICH is right when he plans on "De-schooling society".
I guess that one basically write for oneself : sometimes, there is a market for it, sometimes not (Chamfort on "public taste).
I discovered you and your writings rather recently (less than 12 months ago) and I enjoy reading your comments - your prose soars above the usual usarican gibberish. I wish you many more pages of that meaningful and elegant style.
I appreciated your "8 minutes review" stunt - the first and the second one : not many true individualities in the USA - you kind of matched "Cool hand Luke".
Roger,
I'm sure that your writing skills have improved from making the blog, but I hope you are aware that our reading skills have improved as well.
As a Seventh Grade English teacher, I am always telling my children to find things they enjoy reading. If there was a blog for 13 year old kids that was as engaging to them as this is for me, I would love to know about it.
The interaction between you and your readers is such a joy. I wish I could find something like this for teens.
Brian "Mr." Franz :)
As a fellow writer, I resonate with your description of the writing process and appreciate your articulation of it. Your writing has indeed become better from the reader's point of view, a comment I made yesterday after reading your review of The Secret Life of Bees and before reading this blog.
May you live long, write well and often.
roger,
i've noticed (doesn't take a "sherlock" to notice) that you answer only a small percentage of questions posed in these blog entries. i'm curious if it's because:
1. you just don't have enough time
B. there are a great many entries with questions, and sometimes they slip by
III. you just don't have an answer to every question.
i'm a teacher. when students have questions, it's a wonderful thing. when someone wants to know something, and they come to me for it, i feel grateful that they would expect i might be able to help. but please don't think i'm suggesting you're not grateful for the time and deserved attention. we know that your life involves much more than sitting at a laptop and answering questions from fans with too much free time.
therefore, i'd guess the correct answer is A.
happy new year
ps. i do not expect an answer to my question because more worthy questions have gone unanswered.
I've been reading your reviews for years now, and when I heard about your health problems I always made sure to keep up to date on your situation. After reading this entry I'm glad to hear about the silver lining in this cloud; it's good to hear about the additional enjoyment you're getting from doing this.
I'm looking forward to reading more, as always.
Roger, it is absolutely wonderful that you have been able to find joy in this form of expression and make a career of it. Congratulations to you on a life lived well... with more chapters yet to write.
You've always encouraged us to expand our minds. When I was a child, I sat glued watching you and Gene Siskel on television. As I got older, and frustrated with one formulaic movie after another, I started searching backward through time for films I'd never considered watching before. Your Great Movies list was a tremendous help. When I got tired of reading the same banal critiques by writers who feel it is their job to merely reinforce how much "stuff got blowed up real good" rather than analyze whether the film works or not as art, I started reading more critics. The mark of a great critic, I think, is when they use their knowledge of art not to condescend to the reader but to persuade them to broaden their tastes. You encouraged me to see more films and seek better criticism. I learned about critics like Ed Gonzales, Manohla Dargis, and the master of persuasion, Pauline Kael whose scathing criticisms of "2001" and "A Clockwork Orange" forced me to concede, as much as I still find them enjoyable to watch, her criticisms are valid.
Through your reverence for so many artists other than yourself, you have directly or indirectly inspired so many minds across two or more generations to grow intellectually and aesthetically... and this can only be a good thing in a culture where we are increasingly dumbing down everything from films to education to politics.
I have always loved movies, and I have always found it easier to express myself through writing. On paper I have the ability to collect my disorganized stream of thoughts and edit them before I "speak". I studied, among other things, the language, history and technical process of theater and film, and I always formed an "academic" opinion (whether the film "works" or not as a narrative) of every film I saw (except perhaps "Zarkorr: The Invader"). So it was only natural that my friends encouraged me to try writing film criticism.
After asking several people how to go about getting into it, I settled on starting my own website. The site never really got anywhere commercially but that was never my intent. My real intent was simply to become a better writer. When I felt like I had achieved what I set out to do, I let it go and moved on to something else. I don't think I'm good enough to make a career of it, but I can look back at my reviews and be both embarrassed by how terrible they were and incredibly satisfied by how much better they were at the end.
At one point when I thought my writing was stagnating, I became quite frustrated. I felt like I was spending too much time what the movie is about. I felt like I was one of those characters in a superhero comic, narrating the action out loud (What would Mamet think?). And then I remembered your adage that what makes a movie great is not what it is about, but how it is about it. That reinvigorated me and challenged me to write in ways I never had before. I know this sounds all elementary but, let's face it, to a hack these are some major revelations!
What I am trying to say (and here I go narrating my own thoughts), I guess, is that it's very pleasing to know that writers even with your degree of experience and recognition still take the time to look inward and strive to keep improving their writing. You have given us 40 years of great critiques, Roger, and because you're not merely content to do the same thing the same way, your greatest writings are yet to come. As the French dramatist Jean Giraudoux once said, "Only the mediocre are always at their best."
Thanks for sharing your thoughts.
Adversity's sweet milk--philosophy!
Thanks for writing this Roger, I have to disagree respectfully though, your writing has shown marked improvement from an objective standpoint. It reminds me the slightest bit of Hemingway (Especially "A Clean, Well-Lighted Place" his best short story in my opinion, also possibly one of the best short stories ever written) I'd suggest you eventually try to write some short stories, even if the quality isn't great it's wonderful mental exercise.
And writing is something like exercise for the mind, write everyday and eventually you will show improvement, no matter what your level of writing is and it does help expand the mind.
I've been watching you and your partner (Siskel, the real partner to me) for as long as I can remember. I know that life has to move on, I get all that, but sometimes late at night, I just wish i could push back time, even just 20 years, when everyone that influenced me in their various ways - you both for instance - we all strong and healthy. When our concerns for tomorrorw were all about what tomorrow would bring, instead of what tomorrow might takeaway.
I'm not trying to be grim here, really I'm not. It just that change can be such an uncomfortable skin at times. Thanks for still speaking to us.
Here's to tomorrow; damn the torpedoes.
Hoss
Deadbooks.com
"The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before"
How apt.Out of nowhere the gears mesh and the ribbon gushes forth.
Strangely,this is proving quite a learning experience,and you are parting with valuable secrets.
So amazing... Over the last months my feeling about your writing is that it is richer with suggestion for the reader of Roger Ebert. You recommend a certain book on film I buy that book, you create a satirical list of arguments for creationism and I memorize it, and now you illustrate the sensation of writing well and I will try and achieve it independently. For a long time now I've read almost each word published by The Man of movie criticism because I am interested in more than just the movies, he's become a way for me to feel as if I am participating in something civilizational; through all the fuss of University I leave time to read him. To know that a disability in his ability to communicate has only spiked his syneathesiac powers, I can only count my blessings in this great time to grow up.
Ebert: I Iooked up syneathesiac. What an encouraging word.
Must be words are living beings--like stone,paint,musical instruments and celluloid?
Must be words are living beings--like stone,paint,musical instruments and celluloid?
To Daniel Rosa,I think miracles are unneccessary---what miracle more than life?
Unfortunately, I always read that "other paper" so I knew you more from your TV career than your writing career. (And I miss you!) But I'm discovering that part of you and I'm wondering if I don't like that better? I know I've never enjoyed anyone else's reviews as much as yours. I'll be bookmarking your blogs.
As for communicating via writing: have you thought about taking a speed-typing class?
Ebert: As any newspaperman would tell you, it would slow me down. There's nothing like a deadline to teach you speed-typing.
More miraculous than an indominatable spirit ?
This blog entry is another example of your finest writing. You are inspiring. Words are inadequate to describe my thoughts and emotions. I'm so thankful you are writing again and have survived a horrible ordeal. I'm also thankful to have this opportunity to "talk" with you.
I have been reading your reviews, articles and books and watching you on the tube since I was attending Northwestern and living in Evanston from '68 to '72. I remember reading your reviews in the Sun-Times back then. It was early in your career, but I admired your writing, thinking, knowledge, passion and especially your empathy and compassion. I wasn't surprised at all when you won the Pulitzer. You are much, much more than a movie critic who is a great writer. You are a great thinker and writer, period.
Over the years you have had a profound positive affect on my life and I thank you for that. I am a better person and this world is a better place because we have been blessed to have you with us. I pray you will be with us for many more years.
Your writing has always made me feel like I was your friend and we were sitting together talking about whatever the topic was.
Peace, my friend.
Patrick
....like Edmond Dantes?
Thank you for sharing this very personal process with us. You just keep getting better and better Roger. I am sorry I asked if you ever posted on Chowhound. I didn't know that you lost your sense of taste.
Speaking of writing and communicating, it might be interesting for you to know that recently I've been printing some of your reviews for my 12-year-old son to read after he's watched some film or other. Why? A couple of reasons. He's been moving through a terrifically neat stage of development the last year or so. He's not a little kid anymore, sitting and digesting The Lion King. He's choosing his own films. The last three, for example are 2001: A Space Odyssey (which he read beforehand), Mad Max: Beyond the Thunderdome, and Sphere (with Hoffman, Stone, Jackson).
Regardless of the quality, I think those are pretty good choices for a boy his age. Best of all they're his choices. But what does he get from watching them? I'm not sure, but I think he's both entertained (or not) and edified. He's continuously storing up small formative experiences that shape him or nudge him this way and that. And we all know that those things happen insidiously, for good or ill.
I hope that having him read some of your thoughts on the films will expand his experience and maybe (although I could be kidding myself) help him move beyond passive ways of looking at the world, to this new place he's headed, where he thinks about what he just saw, and reacts as himself. In other words, your writing is modeling behavior for him that I think is worthy of emulating when's he's all grown up.
PS - I don't make a big deal of this to him. If he doesn't want to read a review, I drop it. It's enough for him to know that there are people out there watching, thinking, judging, and writing/communicating their thoughts. And doing it well, I might add.
I can only add my own appreciation of how eloquently you stated this. It touched me deeply.
I actually wrote a short story (unpublished) entitled "Speak To Me", consisting only of dialogue, with a character who could only "talk" through a computer keyboard. I wanted to explore how people react to such a person. Do people ever raise their voices to you, for example? Or slow their speech?
I am so grateful that you've resumed your writing and created this blog. You've definitely improved your communication.
Roger,
Allow me to open with a simple word: bravo. I enjoyed this post so much because it destroys Gustave Flaubert's famous argument regarding critics: "One becomes a critic when one cannot be an artist, just as a man becomes a stool pigeon when he cannot be a soldier." In this post, you have given a sterling example of the critic AS artist. Without revisiting the territory you already covered in "'Critic' is a four-letter word", it bears mentioning that too many people fail to realize -- much less understand or appreciate -- what critics go through when producing their work. The fact that you're so open about your process makes your writing all the more enriching.
Your thoughts on inspiration reminded me of something I read in Stanislavski's "An Actor's Handbook" when I was 18: "Give up chasing this phantom, inspiration. Leave it to that miraculous fairy nature." What you said about the Muse visiting during the creative process was spot-on. Inspiration is a tricky creature, I've learned. You can't fool yourself into feeling inspired for the thrill of it, (there are writers who work that way and boy, does it ever show) but at the same time, you can't sit around all day waiting for inspiration to hit you. The tightrope that must be walked, I've learned, is finding that which inspires you and exposing yourself to those stimuli on a regular basis. It could be a piece of music, a poem, a nature scene, or the irresistible aromas of an Italian kitchen at Christmas time. The e.e. cummings line you adduced is a perfect example of this habit at work.
Thank you for this post. Though you may not have the ability to speak at present, I can hear your voice more clearly now than ever. You are, dare I say it, an inspriation.
Respectfully,
JG
Mr. Ebert,
I have always enjoyed your reviews even if I don't necessarily agree with your point of view. Who cares if I agree? What writing is for you, debate and discussion are for me, and even a one sided argument with my PC is enough to get the juices flowing and make me feel more alive than I do while plugging along at work or vegging out in front of the TV. What your blog has provided me is a sense that I now know the man with whom I've engaged in countless debates about the movies in a more personal and intimate way. Your blog has not changed my opinion of you as a writer; it has expanded and enhanced my opinion of you as human being and intellectual. I am grateful to your paper for suggesting that you start a blog and thankful to you for diving so completely into the process. You have been an inspiration to movie lovers for years, helping us to feel more legitimate and confident in our belief that the movies are art and those of that enjoy them to the point of obsession are no less than the critics that scour museums, theatres and libraries seeking the ability to appreciate the beautiful expressions of the creative among us. Through this blog you've expanded your ability to inspire beyond the cinema-crazed art lover to millions of people around the country, and the world, that struggle with illness and physical challenges. You've opened up the possibilities for anyone to continue to pursue their passions through adversity and encouraged all of us to persevere and always follow our voice... whether that voice is spoken aloud or not.
Roger—
Cyndi has known you and Chaz for some time. I met you briefly and virtually as an editor at Yahoo! Internet Life and, in the meantime, in Telluride.
This post is extraordinary. For that and more, we both send you warm thoughts.
the more i read your writing the more i realize that you are not a only a critic but an artist too, i often find myself observing things throughout the day and start to wonder "what would roger ebert have to say about that?" one thing i know for sure is it would no doubt be witty and profoundly true
Dear Mr. Ebert. There is a reason I spend so much time at your website, reading reviews for movies I have never seen. You are the author of some of the finest prose I have ever read, and along with Wodehouse or Dickens or Twain or Doyle or Pratchett, one author I can always rely on to move me, to entertain me, and to teach me what writing is all about. I discovered your website only 3 years ago (I live in India, so I have never seen your show), but now you are a part of my essential Friday reading. Someone in your blog once commented that when Roger Ebert decided to become a critic, the world lost a great dramatist, or scriptwriter. That may be so, but he is still a damn good author, and thats all that matters. After all it was a wise man who once said it's not what it's about, but how it's about what it's about.
Ebert: After a screening at a big movie palace at the Calcutta Film Festival, I walked around the block and found a little English language bookstore. I mean little. It was the size of a medium closet. The owner had to step out when you stepped in. Every space was jammed with new books. No used books. Mostly paperbacks. I thought to myself, here is a man with no room for inactive inventory. I asked him, "Who is your most popular author?" He didn't pause to reflect. "Oh, far and away, P. G. Wodehouse." I thought about that and ultimately arrived at a conclusion I hope you will accept in the spirit in which it is given: The reason Indians love Wodehouse is because India and Britain are crazy in exactly the same way. It's not that I know so much about India and Britain. It's because I know Wodehouse.
Roger, where should I write to get permission to reprint a class set (30) of this journal entry for use with my students? Also, a previous comment compared your musings to Stephen King's fantastic On Writing. I've wondered for a long time: When are you going to finally write a book about writing?
You are one of my favorite writers -- have been all my life. When I lived in AZ, I cancelled my newspaper subscription after they switched from publishing your reviews to those of a local critic; your reviews were the only prose worth reading among the pages. I am thrilled that you're writing so much these days.
Ebert: Just go right ahead, and thanks.
Roger,
Just last week, I was thinking to myself how you seem to be at some sort of a creative peak. There was a time when I feared your output could never, would never be the same as it had been, simply because of your absence from the tv show.
But now, with the loss of your voice, I can paradoxically hear your voice clearer than ever. I visit your page every single day, and, if it is lacking an update, I find myself browsing older reviews to get my "fix".
I don't know if your readers, and yes, your "fans", thank you enough for what you do, so I would like to be one who does.
Thank you for sharing the gift of your writing with those of us who get satisfaction from reading your words!
It has definitely been inspirational reading this. I have been deaf most of my life, so I understand a little about the struggles with verbal communication. I probably don't read and write as much as I should, and after reading this, it makes me want to focus more on all things that I can do, and hopefully the other stuff won't be as much as a handicap.
As a reader, I say kudos to you on your transcendence and for wanting to share it with us.
As a (would be) writer, I'd say you nailed it. Well done.
As a nurse, I say how wonderful for you and yours. Progress is measured in many ways; may yours continue smoothly as you hone your strengths. Well done, indeed.
Ebert: I know this will sound like a cliche and yet not really be heard: The last two years have developed within me a respect for nursing beyond any other vocation. Does anybody, even members of your own family, realize how hard it is? Do you yourself even understand how you keep coming back every day with the spirit to do it well? In four long hospitalizations in two hospitals and the Rehabilitation Institute, I never encountered a bad nurse. And nurse's aides (or "patient care specialists") are shamefully badly paid and man the front lines.
Hey Roger,
Your experience sounds a bit like Sam Fuller's. He didn't say a word for the first five years of his life, and then he becomes a master story-teller. There must be something to the religious notion that silence leads one toward something greater.
And concerning Stephen King's On Writing- years later I still can't shake the image of the doctor's needle puncturing his eardrum. Talk about the opposite of silence!
Greetings from Iceland!
I just wanted to send a short message of astounded admiration. I am an admitted movie lover and have read every single review of yours since I first wandered onto this world wide web in my early 20's (I think the first review of yours I read was Men In Black).
I have always enjoyed your writing because wether I agreed with your opinions or not, yours was a calm and cool voice in an increasingly loud world, full of soundbites and bullet points. Many of your Great Movies articles have filled me with curiosity and driven me to aqquire older masterpieces (The Life And Death Of Colonel Blimp being one of my recent favourites) and your determination to resume writing following your illness is nothing short of remarkable.
Anyways, thanks so much for your contribution to the worlds of cinema and literature and the dark corners where the two meet and give my best to your wife Chaz who definitely deserves all the praise in the world :)
From the cold rock in the North Atlantic,
Stefán Halldórsson
Reykjavík
Iceland
It is infrequently at this point in my life that anything moves me to tears, but this entry was absolutely beautiful.
Living with a husband who is mostly deaf, and yet refuses to learn ASL, I have a real understanding of what you mean when you say that "I would rather learn to read a new language than speak one". My husband is very similar in his argument against the effort to learn ASL. Beside that, we already communicate perfectly; there seems little reason to worry about a probably futile attempt to talk to strangers.
Having spent the last few years falling out of practice with my writing, I know exactly what you mean when you say that your writing has improved this year. ("I mean it has expanded within my mind, reaches deeper, emerges more clearly, is more satisfactory") I'm having trouble even articulating what this means to me, but at times in my life when I've had more time to write, it has come to mean so much more to me than it seems to mean to others.
I've only in the last few weeks started reading your work; blog, books, and otherwise, but I believe this article has made me a true fan, Mr. Ebert.
Thank you.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
I'm writing this in great haste and disparity. I am a college student living in Manhattan and I have just seen Charlie Kauffman's brilliant first film as director: Synecdoche, New York. I find the film to be enlightening, challenging, cerebral, and surrealistic...did I mention challenging? However, the critics, at large, have completely dismissed the film, almost without a second thought. One critic, who I will not mention by name, but who I have never held in high regard to begin with, considers it the worst film ever made. Really, a film of such grand ambition and soul searching insight is the worst film ever made? I know your review has yet to appear (on the assumption that the film has not opened in Chicago), but I need at least a sign that you have at least some minimal appreciation for this great masterwork (or was the great movie selection of Adaptation. that exact sign?)
Ebert: Why, you must be referring t Rex Reed, who wrote: " Oy vay. I have hated every incomprehensible bucket of pretentious, idiot swill ever written by this cinematic drawbridge troll. But nothing that has belched forth from his word processor so far—not the abominable Being John Malkovich, the asinine Adaptation (Meryl Streep even worse than in Mamma Mia!), the artery-clogging Confessions of a Dangerous Mind (Chuck Barris from “The Gong Show” a secret operative for the C.I.A.?), not even the jabberwocky of Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind—prepared me for a bottom feeder like Synecdoche, New York. It is extremely doubtful that you will sit through all two-hours-plus of this obnoxious drivel—in fact, the fool producers who actually put up the money to finance it owe you a prize if you do—but even if Hollywood bought the myth of Charlie Kaufman, the latest Hollywood example of “the emperor’s new clothes,” as a writer … whatever did he do to convince sane people he could be a director, too? His directorial feature debut reminds me of the spiteful, neurotic brat kicked out of school for failing recess who gets even by throwing himself in front of a speeding school bus."
Unquote. When Gene Siskel was asked to autograph one of my books, he wrote: "I disagree with every word in this beautifully-written volume."
Hello, Roger -
Thank you for this. I was blessed when I was younger with a didactic (photographic) memory. I became used to this as if it were another sense.
However, when I was 35, I became severely ill. One of the treatments (which turned out to be unnecessary because I had been misdiagnosed) severely damaged my memory. Now, I have a difficult time pulling words, remembering things as simple as where I am driving when I'm already in my car and what I was doing five minutes prior. There was a time when I did not recognize my wife or children at times. Unfortunately, the damage is permanent.
I'm not really sure why you have struck a chord with me, but you have and I thank you for the resonance.
I'll get back to work on my book now...if I can remember what it is about...(sometimes you just have to laugh).
Lovely, Roger ... just lovely. You're right, of course: your writing has become better and we've noticed it as well. While some could cope with the trials you've gone through, not everyone could triumph from them. You have, and we benefit ... the world of film benefits.
On a lesser note, I had been eagerly awaiting your review of "Righteous Kill." (Which I have not seen.) Did you avoid it because of how painful it would have been to slice 'n dice Pacino and DeNiro? I wondered if your review would have been one of those I enjoy, where you're one of the few critics who seem to get "it," whatever that may have been in this case (e.g., it's perfectly okay to make a B movie with big stars the way they used to).
Roger, it is a testament to your character that you have been able to turn the severe disadvantage of being unable to speak into such a mind-enhancing, life-affirming advantage. You are truly an inspiration to those of us who are struggling to overcome far lesser disadvantages.
Your description of the creative process has crystallized an abstraction that has long escaped my grasp. While I don’t pretend to have your gift as a writer, I have often had the experience of wondering where the words I have just written actually came from because they expressed thoughts or ideas that I didn’t even know I had. I now know not to wait for inspiration before writing but to just do the hard work of writing while hoping that the Muse will visit.
I'm dominican and a huge fan of you, and I wish you all the very best in your recovery. I've learned from you so much. As Mariano from Peru said, you are more than a film critic, you are a writer.
Just wanted to say THANK YOU!
Bayoan
Roger Your reviews, for so many years, have so enhanced my love and enjoyment of the movies. I am glad you have found peace and contentment, and you are obviously beloved by your wife and your fans. I too have been going through a life changing challenge and I am amazed when I look back over the last few years and reflect on how my perception of events has changed from suffering to enlightment to contentment. The events did not change. This evolution was assisted by reading Eckhart Tolle who teaches about living in the now. It sounds trite but I found his writings about the subject to be profound. "There is no past or future, they don't exist." He asks "What is your destiny? What are you doing right now?" This simple idea helped me so much.
Every week, I look forward to your teaching and insight regarding the movies. My brother recently asked, "what's up with No Country For Old Men? What was that about?" I sent him a link to your review- It was the best thing I could offer.
Hi Mr. Ebert,
I'm a 23yo Italian student. I have been reading a lot of your reviews. They're so witty. I admire you a lot, you're a great man. Thanks.
This is a truly amazing description of the power of writing. I've respected your criticism for a long time, but when you began this blog, I feel like I really began to understand a lot more where you are coming from. It's inspired me to start writing again: a blog of my own, and a novel. I am a student-teacher in a high school English class, and I think this blog could be a great way to show students how wonderful writing can be. One of the most important things we can do as educators is to get students thinking and writing, and i think this can show them why writing can help us as individuals. So thank you!
I was unable to speak until later in life, and it was funny in that I became eventually, quite a gregarious fellow. But I still prefer writing to talking with people, and I find that the better my writing becomes, the better my conversational speaking (and public speaking) becomes. I know EXACTLY from where you are coming. Peace.
May I be frank about something? I've noticed the difference in your writing style and I see how in some ways it has gotten better but I honestly personally prefer your previous work.
Maybe it's that I've been reading your reviews regularly since I was 13 years old and that's what I'm used to from you. Or maybe it's that you are more succinct in your reviews than in your blog, so that you say more and better in less. Or maybe it's that your biggest strength is in writing about movies and you've been blogging about all sorts of topics lately.
I'm not saying I'd trade the new Roger for the old one but I do miss the kind of writing you did before.
Roger,
You, are and always have been, an inspiration. There are good writers, bad writers, fucking awful writers, great writers and then there is another kind - the special writers, who may not fit into any of these categories, but who seem to be able to express our own thoughts and feelings better than we can ourselves. They are different for everyone. I'm sure you have your own. For me, I have two: the Japanese Haruki Murakami and well.. you. And I know for a fact, having spoken to others, that I am not the only who thinks of you in this way.
Keep listening to your unconscious. And thank you for this post. I think I speak for a good chunk of your fans when I say that we have never been prouder of you. If it makes sense to be proud of someone you admire, anyway...
Though I am only recently buddhist I would say you ARE meditating. Meditation is not "not-thought" but awareness. The expansion of your awareness has enhanced your insight. Meditation comes in so may forms. Namast.
Damn. Once again, tears well up. Such a beautiful piece.
One of the things you're getting at is that the act of writing (or more generally, creativity itself) is therapeutic for any and all recovery: physical, emotional, spiritual, or otherwise. For you, it certainly wasn't just about therapy; returning to writing was about embracing your first love again, rediscovering the thing that makes "[your] problems become invisible." Incredible that creativity has that power to return (or introduce) us to our true selves, to equip us to combat our demons, and to make us as we should be. Your having achieved this gives hope to those of us who have merely scratched the surface of or perhaps have never uncovered who we truly are.
I relish what future gifts your Muse will bring!
Reading through the comments so far, I see that several people have already commented on your quote on how diagramming is something that is foolish for a practicing writer. So as to not bore you with another similar comment, I'll try to make this brief. I was blessed with three different great English teachers during my Junior and Senior High days. While I did well in all of those classes and have always felt at ease while writing, I always loathed being required to do all those "pre-writing" exercises. I've always written my best work when I can just sit down and start writing.
Even though I have always enjoyed how it feels to really get in the groove while writing, the thought of this process has kept me away from really pursuing it...perhaps one day I'll pursue it, but who knows. It's great to hear that you still are able to find joy in the process of writing and that it isn't in any way wearing on you even after doing it for so long. Also, I'm glad to hear that you are diligent in reading the comments we give you on your blog entries. This type of conversation that goes on is also something that I enjoy. I often don't bother commenting on blogs, as I am skeptical that a comment I make will even get read, so it is certainly reassuring to know that you enjoy hearing what we have to say. I hope you continue to get better and are able to continue improving your experience for years to come.
I've been enjoying reading your reviews on the website for the past few years, and have found them a worthwhile stop when pondering my next rental, but strangely, I've found myself thinking lately when reading your newer reviews and your blog...THIS is why I was an English major. It forms my thought processes and informs my speech and writing, but for the most part, it's not especially relevant to my daily existence, this subject I studied so intensely years ago. Your recent writings remind me of the quiet pleasure I take in well written observations, and clean phrasing, so thanks for giving that back to me! I remember your voice from At the Movies, but you know, your writing speaks louder and clearer. And since I'm never a commenter, but rather a contented lurker, I suppose I might as well, since I'm here in the comment field, say "Thanks" for all you do! I appreciate your work and your knowledge and I learn new things from your reviews. I missed you when you were away and am so glad you're back!
I think I understand what you mean. I have a degenerative eye disease, and I was very depressed as it got harder and harder to read books or anything else. Then the computer and blogging came along, with the ability to make all the fonts huge so I could read again online, and I started listening to audio books as well.
Thanks for your movie reviews and the blog - I enjoy both very much! :)
This is a useful exploration into the mind of your technique, especially your reflection on the Muse. Here's a question that I implore you to take seriously: Have you ever considered writing a book on the craft of writing? I know that a thousand already exist, but each one has a unique quality to them that offer something new to the table (King's "On Writing" was particularly good). I honestly think that you could really offer something unique. I often encourage my students to read up on your reviews to get a good idea of how to summarize plots and weave that information around their ideas and opinions. You also have some of the best descriptions around that would work very well in fiction (in your review of "The Others," you masterfully describe the gardner as a man "so ancient that for him planting a seed is an act of wild optimism." I imagine you leaning back in your chair and grinning to yourself with the creativity in that description, as you very well should).
Think about it. A book on your musings about the craft of writing itself. Think of the fun that would be.
Ebert: I believe Stephen King has already written it. Also Frederick Exley, as only Ex could.
I feel I'm missing out on something, after reading this blog post. I feel that there's another world, unknown to me and my perceptions, that I feel I'll never connect to. The way you describe your new mode of thinking and writing makes me envious Mr. Ebert. I wish I could write as well as you are writing now.
I am glad, however, that I have my grandmother's old typewriter. I just don't feel content writing at a computer- I need another extension of my self for my outlet of writing. I will be ordering a ribbon for it this week so I can start writing my first screenplay soon. It's about two retirees, a man, and a woman, who meet on a vacation to Portugal. They talk about their past lives, and unknownst to them find out they both dated the same woman at different times in their life. It grew out of my inspiration from the Three Colors Trilogy, specifically Red, which I would have never picked up without your Great Movie Essay. I look forward to more, and my Netflix queue is ever expanding based on your Great Movies...
It moves me greatly to see that you've not only returned to writing, but have embraced blogging. Like many of your readers, I've been pleased to have these insights here.
I've been buying your Movie Yearbooks since 1988. Growing up in northern Iowa, I didn't have access to the Sun-Times. It's almost amusing to think about how, back in the 1980s, I would have to wait a year to read some of your reviews. I lived in Japan for several years during the mid 1990s, and during that time my family sent the latest editions of your Yearbook. They got almost completely worn out, being read and re-read, and passed around to friends. When I finally hooked up to the internet after returning to the United States, I discovered your reviews were online. It was a startling change, being able to read your work in this way.
While I continue to access your site routinely, I still buy the books. There's a need I have for posterity, and for the experience of reading the words on the page. I hope that these essays you have here will also be compiled in print form, old-fashioned as it may be.
Thirteen years ago, I found myself standing behind Stephen King during an event in the library at Ole Miss. When the presentation was done and everyone started to leave, I stopped him -- not for some fangirl nonsense like an autograph or a photo op, but to thank him for a line from the novel Misery, in which he says a character "fell through the hole in the paper." A lifelong-journalist-turned-English-teacher, I completely understand that line.
It surprises me not at all to learn that you do, too. Thank you.
Ebert: Oh, yeah. A lot of my pages have holes in them. A sentence will pop through and stand there taking bows, and I'm applauding from only a fair seat in the balcony, wishing I could do that myself one day,
This is my first time commenting here, but I just wanted to say... this post in particular struck a chord for me. I'm a writer myself, and the ways you've described your writing here are some of the most accurate accounts of the process I've ever read. "I take dictation from that place within my mind that knows what to say" -- that's really just about the perfect way to describe it. It's funny (and a bit annoying, really) how I sense I sometimes do my best writing in my mind when trying to fall asleep at nights, when that little part of my brain seems at its most uninhibited and rambles on from one random subject to another.
And I know exactly what you meant about the e. e. cummings line at the end -- I often write something only because I've thought of a line I enjoy so much, I don't want to waste it.
I've always enjoyed reading your work, but more so, I've regarded your work as one of many influences on my writing. To see you enjoying the craft now more than ever is an inspiration.
Ebert: Just now wrote a whole blog entry because I thought of the line, "Is America ready to elect a black grandmother?" To be sure, I had a good idea what the blog would be about, but when I got to the line itself, it just didn't work. The wise Chaz, called in for a consultation, was baffled. Her verdict on the entry as a whole: "Well...it's very Roger..." I consoled myself that at least I knew what the line meant. I looked at it harder. I didn't have any idea what it meant. The entry stays. The line goes. Currently, the entry has no final line.
You are now and forever a member of my personal pantheon of Writing Gods: those authors of prose so tasty that one can chew on and savour it, and cannot mistake it for the work of any other. Paddy Chayefsky. Neil Gaiman. Aaron Sorkin. Stephen King. John Steinbeck. David Milch. Don McKeller.
Roger Ebert.
As tragic as it may seem to us, if your loss of speech has truly allowed your writing skills to fully flower, it may well be our final proof of the existence of God. The Babelfish notwithstanding.
Wow, what a truly blissful entry. First let me say, I've been reading your column since the mid ninety's. As a high school dropout, I too, bought into the belief that being learneded was an elitist arrogance. Then one day I found you and that changed, I use to think my love of film was just a hobby, I never realized film is art, till I learned it so, first from you, then many other great artist on the subject. But you were the gateway.
Just when I feared my favorite living artist, might be (sadly) at the end of his great journey in writing. Not that I've seen a decline in you work... just that I was worried about your state of mind. Was he depressed? Will he keep up the good cheer for long? Just when I doubted your strength, you strike back with your brilliant blogs, this being the most insightful into your personal state of affairs. How Ebert of you, to have these events lead you to a higher plane. To be in touch with your Muse, without much struggling, is a great feeling.
Happy with one's own thoughts, not that your smarter than another, or even a better writer, but more in tune with yourself, and content with your playground, understanding it's dimensions. That is a truly sunny day. I am very happy for you.
I too, believe that the Muse is visiting during the creation, not in the design, nor preparation. In essence we mostly create the Muse just by the act of doing, and not searching. The minute we stop and try to get a good view of it, it's gone. The more clear a grasp, we try to get of "it", "it" in turn blurs accordingly.
And remember she (the "Muse") rules all! Even logic. This might sound funny, But understand this: The Muse is you, and you are her, because the Muse is the muted, muddled, wants of your, subconscious. The part of you, that knows what you want, but you can't always establish communication with. Understand that by sensing it, is all the understanding you get, so write accordingly so, but just write, for when you stop, it's most likely gone. Like trying to understand your thoughts by looking in the mirror. Just as we don't see the wind, and no matter how hard you strain your eyes, you never will. But you do feel it, and you can enjoy it just on those terms.
Your mind is yours, only you know It! "It" being what ever you need to, say/express/Inspire. "It's" the subject your muse is getting at.
P.S. Wouldn't it be grand if there was something titled akin to "Roger Ebert On Writing". How brilliant would that be. A dash on life, a pinch of early days, a chapter or 2 on the "incident" that has lead you to where you are, some writing on writing, film always in the margins, and then just plain ol'inspiration. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this seems right up your alley.
Dear Roger (or Mr. Ebert? am I too young?)-- the written word is so wonderful, it does so much. I know you've watched The Diving Bell and the Butterfly, and I thought of it immediately when I began reading this entry. In your writings, I see the human spirit! and its marvelous ability to thrive, thrive, thrive!
I'm not sure if you've ever come across a project called NaNoWriMo, but you should participate if you have the time. Basically you get the month of November to write a 50,000 word novel about whatever you want. And the purpose of it is exactly as you said, to make people realize that writing often comes from just writing, and it's not necessary to sit around waiting for a muse. Here is the website for your perusing pleasure: http://www.nanowrimo.org
Please never stop.
I am so sorry that you have had to endure such a treacherous path these last years, but I am so glad that you have not only endured, but persevered. I do not always agree with your analysis or opinions, but I very much appreciate the spirit in which your thoughts are shared, and they always challenge, entertain or enrich me. I am always interested in what my friend Roger has to say, and I am grateful, whatever the cause, that you have chosen in these circumstances to expand, rather than contract, my opportunities to share time with my friend.
Bravo! Your insight of the "muse" is dead on. If you have not already read it, Benedict Careys' Sept.5th article in NY Times Science, is a must read on memory and new insight into brain function.
As a sculptor, in down times I must continually remind myself to not "seek" the muse, that even in depression I will be found.
It is a wrenching experience, but knowing this is ones salvation.
Once you have held it, it belongs only to you, always.
Be well.
::I know I could become fluent in American Sign Language, but the problem is, I need another person who speaks ASL.::
Honestly, ASL is one of the hardest languages in the world. It's not just signing, but use of facial expressions and so much more that goes into it. I wanted to be an ASL interpreter after having successfully played Helen Keller in a production of The Miracle Worker. I did a lot of research for the role, and went to the Braile Institute to study among other things (I didn't know they have Playboy magazine in Braile!) I attended several classes with multiple teachers, and figured I'd have a facility with the language due to my highly expressive hands and ability with other languages and communication. Yipes! Extremely difficult. It can take years to master, and even then, it can only come with incredible passion and dedication. If you do take classes, I recommend going with a deaf teacher. I actually learned more from her than the speaking teacher or the hearing-impaired teacher. Having to communicate with the deaf really thrusts you into the learning process, immersion is definitely the way to go. I completely agree with you as to the power of writing. I have always used writing as a way to express my most inner thoughts, and I've always found I'm so much better at it (and prefer it) to talking. Roger, thank you for your inspiration and for being YOU. I've read your reviews for years (my childhood best friend John, who went on to write some film reviews for CNN, was obsessed with you since he was a boy) and your life is so incredible. Thanks for staying strong, and for being true to yourself in life and love (Chaz rocks!). Wishing you all my best. Enjoy the movies!
Ebert: So there really are people who read it for the articles!
Usually, when I occassionally have a profoundly deep reaction to something I feel it in my body the most, with some brain tingling as well--experiences that make you feel alive. Every blog you write is better than the last (there's is a feeling that you are one step ahead of your readers, or at least me, like a good movie0, but I had one of these profound experiiences a couple days ago after I read the blog. I didn't feel it in my heart or gut or the cells of my body as I often do, although I was shaking a little, but it seemed to be an entirely in the mind deep experience that had a minimal natural high feeling in it...but a kind of pure thought (it forced me to think like nothing ever has, and your reviews usually say something that makes me think "oh, really...sounds true) that was a new very distinctive kind deep feeling that I felt almost solely in my mind, if I weren't shaking. I was scared that I might lose my mind after about the 2 minute of this thinking "have I lost my mind?", but it was also exhilarating. Next comes this blog about how your writing has gotten better, which was the first thought that came into my head after that experience, as well. It was like your writing forced me into a confrontation with some madness that was dwelling in my head and exorcised it away. The power of Christ compels me...haha.
Usually, when I occassionally have a profoundly deep reaction to something I feel it in my body the most, with some brain tingling as well--experiences that make you feel alive. Every blog you write is better than the last (there's is a feeling that you are one step ahead of your readers, or at least me, like a good movie0, but I had one of these profound experiiences a couple days ago after I read the blog. I didn't feel it in my heart or gut or the cells of my body as I often do, although I was shaking a little, but it seemed to be an entirely in the mind deep experience that had a minimal natural high feeling in it...but a kind of pure thought (it forced me to think like nothing ever has, and your reviews usually say something that makes me think "oh, really...sounds true) that was a new very distinctive kind deep feeling that I felt almost solely in my mind, if I weren't shaking. I was scared that I might lose my mind after about the 2 minute of this thinking "have I lost my mind?", but it was also exhilarating. Next comes this blog about how your writing has gotten better, which was the first thought that came into my head after that experience, as well. It was like your writing forced me into a confrontation with some madness that was dwelling in my head and exorcised it away.
I am so glad you wrote this piece. As someone also struggling not only with cancer, but the devastating effects of treatment for that illness, your analogy comparing your experience of your writing post-illness to the blind and deaf having other senses heightened is encouraging. I have often felt over the past few years much as you describe; skill with words and doing handicrafts, the two things by which I most defined myself, have fallen victim either to the disease itself or the powerful drugs meant to control and hopefully, one day, cure it.
I am not certain it is depression I feel, but perhaps a very natural grieving for these things that may be gone for good or forever altered, and sadness and no little anxiety that alternatives have not yet presented themselves. Your words have made me remember how resilient the human body and mind are, and how hopeful the spirit can be if allowed. It is a good thing to remember in dark times.
That said, I have been catching up on your current reviews and your posts on your new(ish) blog with relish. The first movie item that popped into my head upon reading how your writing experience has changed was a scene from A Day at the Races, where Groucho Marx dances while singing out "I knew it all the time!" Given how many of us wondered if you would return to your profession after the darker turns in your own recovery, I'll leave it to you to decide whether the rest of the line works here.
Ebert: That was a good joke on all of us, wasn't it?
I used to walk home from school with my head up, saying hi to everyone I walked pass. I met this homeless pregnant woman, and her boyfriend. We talked casually almost everyday and I considered them to be my friends. They were trying to get at least $60, or about that much for traveling money. That was three years ago and since then I have fallen ill, partially recovered and gotten very depressed. If it weren't for people I call my friends and family, I probably wouldn't be alive writing this letter to you. I walked for my head down even with all those wonderful people around me. I don't like being sad, it weighs you down, almost rewires you. I didn't see that couple again, a week after meeting them, they had only a few dollars saved up and they just disappeared. I'm glad that there's a movie like this out there.
Ebert: The important thing is that depression is a treatable disease, not a permanent dog in the night. That is however no consolation. Even though I knew it, I was still depressed. Oddly it was by reading one of the most depressing novels ever written that I began to turn around. It was written so well that it lifted my spirits. A wise man (me) once said, to someone complaining about "depressing" movies, "All bad movies are depressing. No good movie is depressing." I certainly do not think Suttree will work for you as it did for me. Something or someone will. Seek someone who knows about depression. Never, ever, ever, consider the permanent solution to a temporary problem. As you probably know, William Styron went to the bottom of the pit and climbed back out again. http://community.seattletimes.nwsource.com/archive/?date=19911008&slug=1309647
I had a theology class in college, a decade ago. My professor, Jess Moody, was a 73 year old, world wise codger, and pastor. He was friends with Dennis Quaid and Burt Reynolds, and he wrote a book that year of short stories from his life, titled "Club Sandwich: Goes Well With Chicken Soup," for which Dennis Quaid wrote the foreword. He was criticized by other professors for his unorthodox approach to teaching us. He didn't follow the rules- at least not the modern rules- and I loved him from day one. Every day, at the end of class, he would tell us collectively "I love you. Now get out of here." But the irony was that, unlike professors who were eager to flee the classroom, after saying "Get out of here" and zipping his briefcase, he would walk with us, sometimes individually, outside along rows of palm trees, and school fountains, still deep in thought about anything and everything, as if he hadn't concluded class at all. What I seem to remember most often, was the day when he gave a particularly meaningful "lecture" about the value of our lives, and about what he expected from each and every one of us. He pointed his finger and swept it from one side of the room to the other very slowly, and spoke Jesus' words "Greater things than these shall YOU do." And if by the improbable chance Jesus didn't quite mean them, Jess Moody sure did. He repeated them, and the words continue to trickle their inspiration, and trample their mockery of my failure, against my soul. Greater things than turning water into wine? Greater things than walking on water? Greater things than those, I want to do. Greater things than those, I haven't done yet.
In 1995, I was named Literature Student of the Year at my high school. There was a $100 prize, to be spent at a bookstore. I purchased "Roger Ebert's Movie Companion 1995," "The Guide to American Film Schools," and "Where the Wild Things Are." Life was ahead of me. In 1995 and in 1996, I was more creative and more productive than I have ever been. And then, I allowed insecurities and criticism, and just plain rotten life events to slow me down. In 2001, things fell apart for me. My sister was diagnosed with a glioblastoma (I believe the same cancer that took Gene Siskel.) I began writing a novel that I had planned for several years, and I read her the beginnings of it. In 2003, she died. I feel that my muse and my sister had always both sat on the same shoulder, working in conjunction with each other. No one had inspired me to be what I was made to be in this life more than she had. There lay my novel, much of it already written, and much more to write. I keep finding excuses to let the dust accumulate. Not on the pages, because it was typed and saved to a computer file. But accumulate on my spirit, and block the writer and the dreamer I always knew I'd be.
I feel like I'm slowly remembering what it is to be a writer, greatly in thanks to your journal entries. Not just this one, but all of them. I am thinking again, and when I respond, I am writing again. I often miss being in a creative writing class, and in a way, I am in one right here on your blog, surrounded by those who care about what I care about. I am in my element again. Maybe part of me gave up because I felt that without my sister, there was no one who would be there to read what I wrote. But here I am, writing, and it appears that one of my favorite writers is reading this. I hear those words again: "Greater things than these shall you do." This time, they're leaning toward the inspirational side.
PS. I would like to paste the following, for a blog scanner who might have missed it. It shot sparks into me, and I'm going to tape it up on my wall. There are times when I don't read every single entry, but I wouldn't have wanted to miss this.
Ebert: Actually, maybe I can help you. There is nothing you don't "get" because there is nothing to get. You are the writer. What you write is what is written. It is exactly right because it is exactly what you wrote. If someone else doesn't think so, fuck 'em. There is no objective goal, no objective right or wrong. Only the process. Your mind will set itself down in words. Do not criticize. Do not look back at every sentence. Just write. You have no idea where you are headed. Your words will lead you. This above all: Nothing is ever completed until it is started. Start. Don't look back. If at the end it doesn't meet your hopes, start again. Now you know more about your hopes.
Ebert: I mentioned Daniel Curley in one of these comments. I took a short story class from him. (A fellow student was the great writer L. Woiwode.) Curley sent in his graduate assistant, Corky Crandall, on the first day of class. Corky, who worked with me at The News-Gazette, later told me, "Curley wanted me to let it slip what a bastard he was, what a tough grader, and advise you all to drop the class." On the second class meeting, Curley told those of us who remained: "There is a theory that no aspiring writer has much more than 250,000 words of bad writing in him. The purpose of this class is to extract 40,000 of those words. If you write them, you will receive a C. If they're any good, I will grade accordingly."
Hello Mr. Ebert. I really enjoyed that quote from E. E. Cummings that you used. It seems we both share a great fondness for him. I was wondering if you were aware that his publisher (and not Cummings himself) donned his name with his decapitalization? Here's Wikipedia's entry on the issue if you care for the details:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/E._e._cummings#Name_and_capitalization
Thank you for so much for all that you do. You are a true inspiration, and I wish you the very best.
Ebert: Well I'll be damned. I first heard of cummings--I mean, Cummings--in English 101 at Illinois, in the first of many classes I took with the man who would become my mentor and friend, Daniel Curley. I can (or could) recite a dozen Cummings poems by heart, from the naughty "she being Brand New..." to the sublime "anyone lived in a pretty how town / with up so many floating bells down..." That poem is even closer than Wordsworth ever came to writing music with words. "my father moved through dooms of love" is its equal. Observe the impact of the words beginning "and if some Why..." Anyway, from that day to this, I thought the poet's name was downstyle. So did a whole lot of people. It was never once flagged when I used it that way. Copy editors thought it was correct. You know what? In the process of writing this, I have decided to ignore the fact that you have corrected me. cummings loses something with Cummings. It feels wrong. I'm going to keep on writing it downstyle. Dan Curley, by the way, introduced e. e. when he came to Illinois to give a reading in the early 1960s. A small bald man walked on the stage and announced, "I will read for half an hour or 45 minutes. Then I will stop. Then I will come back out and read some more. There will be no questions and answers. Certainly no questions." Then, without making the slightest effort to adorn his words with "performance," he held the audience in joy and awe. You have to read cummings aloud to understand one of his poems, which appear typographically bizarre but make perfect sense. Curley told us, "His typography is not simply an exercise, but an instruction about how the poem should be read. Consider it like the notes on a score." In another class, we read cummings' The Enormous Room. As a freshman, I knew no French, and there's a fair bit of French in it. Curley said something I was recycled countless times: "Don't worry if you don't know the words. It's not the words, its the music." Of course Mark Twain said a woman should never swear: "She knows the words, but not the music." From Twain through Curley to me? To you. This is how a meme passes.
I actually prefer writing to speaking. When my mobile phone rings I wait till it stops, then text the person back. For some reason my mind is clearer when I write, I come across as more 'intelligent'. Heck, I even *feel* more intelligent.
And Mr Ebert, I hope you get this, but you have inspired me and affected my own writing, and affected my spirit, too. I regard you as somewhat - via the route of film reviewer - a philosopher. Thank you so much. (from the UK)
Dear Roger;
I can't seem to find the right words to describe your recent blog entry. And yet, the more I try to communicate something of sheer eloquence, the more often I find myself posing empty rhetoric and convoluted adjectives to the point of no return (see what I mean!).
I don't know if you even consider yourself to be a saint, but you've managed to make yourself into one with these many recent blog entries. Your thoughts and comments have allowed many people to see a whole new side of you. A side they perhaps always realized was there, but have seldom had the opportunity to acknowlege. Your recent thoughts and writings have been quite wonderful on so many levels. Suffice it to say, they are a bright light in an otherwise dull day.
Reading your most recent post, I am reminded of how often we manage to shut off the world around us, in exchange for a more dreary existence of going through life like a drone. And still, at my young age, I am often shocked as to how most of our daily lives is comprised of useless jargon, empty conversation and condescending rhetoric when it comes to the people we meet. Behavior which manages to somehow isolate ourselves, rather than fuel meaningful relationships and the conquest of ideas. For if language is the last great frontier of exploration, they could've fooled me into thinking that the absence of speech is far more useful. To paraphrase a quote I once heard: "Words are strange, they allow people to say things that they don't really feel."
And yet, it seems that if we strip away all the clutter, our real thoughts can at last come blindingly into the forefront.
I have admired your many books, reviews and essays over the years. Like most great authors, they are works which do not hope to shine a light on the author's reputation but instead, make you understand and appreciate what is around you. Recently, my father and I had a long converstation about the nature of things. He is a conservative religious man, with many great thoughts, I a more liberal-minded youth of seemingly limitless imagination. We have our rough spots, our quabbles and differences; however, what it always seems to come down to is this anaylsis of good vs. evil. We live in an imperfect world and that world is often full of people who lie to themselves. They lie for many reasons. Some of which are to look cool, to get ahead in the game, to make friends or to appear as something they know they're not. As young person, I am often frustrated with how many people I come across who are not themselves, but rather a shadow of themselves. In a way, they put on a fake show, trying to show the world what they are. At once, they are occassionally lost, slipping into a mode of temptation where the illusion of power blinds their most honest qualities. Qualities for generosity. Sharing rather than taking and listening and learning rather than devouring the scenery. Imagine if we could shut ourselves off for just a minute, simply observing one another in wondrous silence; we'd see how foolish we really are and proceed to share ideas with one another, honestly. I'm overjoyed that there are still a great deal many people out there, who share their thoughts and ideas openenly, without fear of negative reprisal. We could use more people in the world like that.
I for one am not drawn to power or false image or representation, greed or lust. Rather I am drawn to creativity, honesty, ideas and generosity in its many forms. Its forms of people, ideas and art. Conversation and writing. Actions and truthfullness. I admire those qualities which you have as a person and as a writer, though we've never met, I'd like to believe its true.
In a way I feel compelled to tell you my true name, judging by the way you were so forthright and honest with your last entry. If you'd like to know, my name is Steve and I'm a 24 year old College Student from California, studying film and education. I have been a fan of your show "Siskel and Ebert At The Movies" as well as "Ebert and Roeper" for much of my life. Your many writings and insights were always a huge inspiration for both my love of film as well as my present career path. I hope someday to be a film maker, though I'm pretty flexible these days.
When I first learned of your condition, my first thought sprang to that wondrous film "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly"; though I'm sure you've heard that comparison and have been somewhat annoyed by it. Moreover, it is certainly not a good representation of your situation in terms of the physical, rather it is an excellent one in terms of how people find discovery and joy in seemingly trying situations. I admire and appreciate your keeping yourself busy these days, loving what you do in your daily life. I can only hope that you make more discoveries, meet new people and continue to change peoples lives in any way you can. I know I'll try and do the same.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
Sorry I've wanted to write to you for a long time, but maybe your blog is the best place to start. I just wanted to thank you for about 15 years of great reading of your reviews. I am 24, and I think when Cinemania 94 came out, I first came into contact with your reviews. I always loved them, would always get your "take" on a movie I had seen. Basically, I value your opinion over other critcs, even if you are the most "famous critic in America" (I am Canadian though). Since reading your GREAT MOVIES essays, my movie knowledge has expanded ten-fold. I love foreign film now with a passion, in fact all great movies. Bergman, Welles, Hitch, Fellini, Kurosawa, all of them.
So you helped me really fire up my passion for movies of all kinds, all eras, and I am very grateful to you sir. I eagerly await each new GM Review, and though therre are some that I had seen (like Winter Light for example), Bakara?? I'd never heard of it. But I am fascinated and want to watch it. So thanks you again. It's ashame most people my age only want to see movies of the last few years, how do you change that??
And in your blog you have shown a great faculty for exploring various subjects, not simply movies. You share my love of reading classic novels I think, which is wonderful of course! And I am so glad to hear that you have recovered, mentally, and perhaps emtionally from your loss of speech. It shows how strong a man you are. And in some ways, I can perhaps understand what you have gone through, somehow, and how writing keeps you alive.
Keep up your passion for movies and for life, and thanks for creating a lfelong movie-lover!!
OK, I'm gonna be picky here: it's an urban legend that E. E. Cummings wanted his name to be all lowercase, and it's such a wide-spread legend that in fact I've seen countless poetry anthologies with the error.
But I loved your piece. Your insight is amazing.
This article really struck a chord with me because I've had my own small but similar experience lately having started writing for a university paper after a while hardly writing at all.
To start with I had just a 500 word article to write. The first two paragraphs took half an hour, the following 4 just 5 minutes. Whilst like you said it's gratifying having that structure in your head, there's also something nice about losing yourself in your writing and realising it's flowed from you in a direction you had no idea was coming and having to adjust your conclusions accordingly.
Incidentally, my very favourite piece of your writing is your review of the virgin suicides, which I'll quote now:
"The worship the girls receive from the neighborhood boys confuses them: If they are perfect, why are they seen as such flawed and dangerous creatures? And then the reality of sex, too young, peels back the innocent idealism and reveals its secret engine, which is animal and brutal, lustful and contemptuous."
There's something about that writing where I can imagine it tumbling from you organically and heartfelt, and not only that, it's insightful even after watching the film repeatedly. The whole piece is like that, but that's my favourite bit. I don't think I can fully express the admiration I have for you without brownnosing - but I don't care. You're great.
Roger, You've been my movie guru for 25 years.You realize that theres tons of people out here who consider you as an important friend/movie mentor. That your alive and well and writing is wonderful. I rejoice in your intelligent, often insightful musings in this new journal. This medium is even better then just sitting in front of the camera. Your fans can talk to you and you might even read this!
Back in the beginning of your tv career.
You and Siskel were true originals. What a combo! Maybe the first glimpse of reality tv. I miss Gene,but your reviews were/are so in depth, how can the imitators compare. Im really glad I've found your blog. I caught the new 'At The Movies' on tv last week. Its a cheap imitation of the original and I cringed when I saw it. OK, so Richard Roper was a little too thumbs up happy, but at least I still felt connected to you and could catch your reviews online at the same site. I wondered as I watched the newest version of 'At The Movies' what you might have thought of the quality of the reviews being given? P.S. Im hooked on this site. Dan
Mr. Ebert,
I have been reading your reviews and essays since I was ten years old. I savored your discussions with Gene Siskel while I was growing up. I credit you with helping to develop my love of film - they are profoundly the central preoccupation of my life. I am now in film school and struggling with writing scripts and structuring outlines.
This entry is an inspiration and reminds me why I am doing what I'm doing. Thank you for your courage and your work.
Rob
Dear Roger,
I concur with the overwhelming majority of respondents that your latest blog is profound and artful. The circumstances you have passed through in the last two years should not have happened to a worst enemy, let alone a trusted friend.
You and I are members of the same generation (I'm 66), so I write with a knowledge of the world at least similar to yours.
Far from wanting to denigrate your obvious epiphany, I would like to open the possibility that you would have had it anyway- your talent and intelligence would see to that. I think it was- at least partially- a function of maturity dragging wisdom along with it. (Kicking and screaming maybe...) My wisdom has microscopically increased now that I am resting on the shady side of 60. Not even close to the extent that yours has, but mine has grown.
To skip extraneous praise already contained more eloquently in previous entries, may you become the Stanley Kauffmann of Chicago.
Fritz
p.s. Let us both pray for stem cell breakthroughs.
Hi Roger, the link to this blog and the one to your review of "Finding Forrester" I sent to a friend in Pittsburg. My friend wrote back to say that this latest blog entry is a powerfully written one and that you're an awesome man.
Your blog entry made me cry, Mr. Ebert. I feel like we came so close to losing your voice during your recent medical travails, and the world dodged a bullet that you have recovered so beautifully. I know I write on behalf of thousands who look forward to your reviews more than we look forward to the movies they represent. Through years and years of reading your work, I feel I've grown to know you. I look forward to Fridays because that's when your new reviews generally come out. I annoy my friends and family by constantly quoting from your reviews. "Oh, I would never see that. Ebert didn't like it." With rare exception, I like the movies that you like (although I strongly disliked "Eyes Wide Shut," which I found ponderous and unconvincing).
I'm so glad that you are better, that you are happy, and that you are writing. I'm glad for you, because you seem like such a warm, wonderful and smart guy. I'm glad for your fantastic wife Chaz. And I'm selflishly happy for me, because I need you in my life. We all do.
This was wonderful to read, but I do wonder-
Would you trade it back? Without considering what has happened since as an indirect result of losing your ability to speak, would you rather be as you were?
For some reason this feels like an insensitive question, so just know that I hold the utmost respect for you and have for years loved reading your work.
Ebert: Two Irishmen were marching down O'Connell Street by the light of the moon. "Wait!" said one. "When did we lose Paddy?" "Saints preserve him," the other said, "he must have been locked inside O'Rourke's after closing time." One was an electrician, the other a plumber. They had gone to the pub straightway after work, and were still wearing their tool pouches. They returned to the pub to rescue their friend, first by disabling the alarm system, then by cutting the bolts. They tiptoed inside using only the streetlights shining through the window, and could not see their friend. They sat down and poured themselves out a nice glass of Jameson's, neat. "Paddy?" the first cried out. "Are you here? Come out now, boy-o!" No reply. "Maybe he's measured his length in the road," the other said. "We should go out and search for him." The first poured himself out another glass. "F**k him," he said. "Let him look for himself."
"In the reproof of chance
Lies the true proof of men: the sea being smooth,
How many shallow bauble boats dare sail
Upon her patient breast, making their way
With those of nobler bulk!
But let the ruffian Boreas once enrage
The gentle Thetis, and anon behold
The strong-ribb'd bark through liquid mountains cut,
Bounding between the two moist elements,
Like Perseus' horse: where's then the saucy boat
Whose weak untimber'd sides but even now
Co-rivall'd greatness? Either to harbour fled,
Or made a toast for Neptune...."
Troilus and Cressida
Roger, I've just now read this--was busy all day yesterday in Overlooked Film Festival territory, Urbana-Champaign (my son was in a state-wide marching band competition: many many percussive young people running roughshod over the U. of I. campus)--and I wanted to thank you for speaking with us so eloquently. As others have noted, I hear your voice in your writing--what more could an essayist want?--and it has always been honest (with a touch of irony) and enthused, sometimes even surprised at what it says. And that's your muse peeking out at us, Roger, letting us see the two of you take a run at a movie, an idea, an experience. I teach academic writing, but I too am opposed to "diagramming." Instead, we find an idea worth both the writer's and the reader's efforts, and the student writes a draft. When all goes well, by the end of that first effort the real idea emerges, created while creating.
But don't be such a hog; you're already the master of film response; do you have to be a great teacher, too?
It's strange to me in life, how when I seem to make a certain decision that I feel is right, the memory of that whole process seems to fade away, such as my reading your reviews for the first time. I knew I had made the right decision and quickly did away with how it all happened. I love when I have these moments when I give in to the moment so much that I will not have a recollection of how it all happened because there is too much to be discovered for afterthoughts. May you ride many giant waves of the present.
Oh please people. Roger has a forum, my Mother, like most people don't who have gone through worst medical simulations didn't. Someone called him a saint? Why, because he writes words or pulls something out that someone else wrote? The guy was a movie critic. Gave 5 stars to anything in sub tilted or foreign. People who thinks they need him or his know it all, nose in the air partner, to see a "MOVIE" is nuts.
"I can type on my laptop, and a built-in voice says them aloud."
I remember reading that you first chose a British voice for your computer voice, then switched to an American one. I wonder if you could create your own built-in voice database using words and phrases taken (ripped) from your thousands of television appearances. Then when your computer says what you've written, your own voice would come out. You could set it up so when you start to write a word or phrase, a menu pops up allowing you to choose from a list of often-used Rogerisms. Put your best computer person on this. If it works out well, maybe you can return to TV with your own voice! You could even market your own voice to others. Perhaps there is already a company doing this type of work.
Ebert: Some computer whizzes at the U of Illinois are playing with the idea.
Having read some great books and seen two hundred and odd "great" and not so great films over the last half decade or so--for his assistance in which I have to acknowledge a debt to Ebert--I at times wonder if I overdid it,or how and if it made me a better person.I cannot resist quoting Faust:
Ah! Now I’ve done Philosophy,
I’ve finished Law and Medicine,
And sadly even Theology:
Taken fierce pains, from end to end.
Now here I am, a fool for sure!
No wiser than I was before:
Master, Doctor’s what they call me,
And I’ve been ten years, already,
Crosswise, arcing, to and fro,
Leading my students by the nose,
And see that we can know - nothing!
Roger - I have to give you "Two Thumbs Up" for every breakthrough you are experiencing from this new journey. Your article and style of writing can be as thought provoking as anything Cormac McCarthy writes. I will have to pick up his book that you referred to in this article. I am drawn to anything you have reviewed and rated with your ever present "Two Thumbs Up". You are a treasure and I do hope that the current path you are heading down brings you many wonderful experiences as you have given to me as a movie fan. I always look for your seal of approval before seeing a film. Please check in with us, your fans, as you make new discoveries while you heal.
Now, I want to experience the feeling of eating a grilled cheese sandwich with all of the "sides" .
God Bless!!
In regards to your comment about outlining being useless, I'm am a screenwriter, and aspiring journalist, and I find outlining an invaluable tool. While writing and re-writing can become frustrating, outlining provides a means to make my thoughts comprehensible prior to worrying about stylistic prose.
When you wrote your screenplay, did you employ the same strategy as you do your current reviews and blogs?
Ebert: Russ and I made it up as we went along. Of course, it's that kind of movie. I didn't know Z-Man was a TS until I was writing that page.
Ken, bitter much? Seriously, it's called "empathy" -- try to find some.
"The guy was a movie critic." Um...he still is. And yes, he has a forum. And yes, I'm thankful for that. Because today, Ken, for the first time in almost two years, I feel inspired.
I'll spare you the details. You wouldn't care, anyway.
But Roger, thank you. I've had waves of goosebumps all morning and can't wait to start writing -- really writing -- again.
With Thanks and Warm Wishes,
Jennifer in Chicago
Roger writes of the many non-verbal ways he has discovered for communicating and, later in this blog entry, admits to watching "a lot" of politics.
I imagine if slapping my forehead was one of my means of reacting to the current state of American discourse, I'd've given myself a cracked skull. At least a bruise the size of a small melon.
Off-topic completely, regarding one of Mr. Ebert's recent blogs regarding the film TRU LOVED and "clangs." I can completely understand the point, but, I can count seven or eight "cla-AAAA-ngs" in THE DARK KNIGHT, and almost always find them in other well-reviewed films as well. I always think a clang is a clang, and a movie that contains more than one is a movie I can skip. Obviously, one man's clang can be another man's ring-tone.
Dear Ken. No one needs Roger Ebert to go see a "MOVIE" . However you DO need him and people like him to understand, love and respect movies. People to whom movies are not just as an afternoon's distraction, but pieces of art will always need Roger. And if they have their noses in the air, well hey, what's wrong with looking at the sky once in a while ??
PS: Give me a single example of Ebert giving five stars to anything subtitled or foreign. Pretty please??!!!
In a way, Ken (above) is right--Ebert is just a human being.
Ken meanwhile, is something else.
Thank you for this article. By growing through these experiences and sharing them, you take your readers on the journey with you and it is very inspiring.
Good answer.
You write something with enough power and honesty and it inspires many varied thoughts. That being said, I have another question, a completely unrelated one.
I'm wondering if you think the ability to write well, to better communicate what one has to say, is its own virtue, and that it should even validate that which is being said.
See, I was thinking about the election. As an Obama fan (not as someone who just prefers him but as an excited fan) I've always celebrated the verve, flow, and apparent honesty of his prose, his use of language. I think even most conservatives wouldn't disagree that he is one hell of a wordsmith. Their argument would just be that all that smithing only conveys bullshit rhetoric more convincingly. But it has me wondering- is it bad for his speech-making talents to be a reason, in their own right, to support him? It's of course essential that one bases their vote on an honest look at each candidates' platform, but I'd like to know- does the fact that Obama is essentially a better writer than McCain (assuming you believe that to be true) add at all to your preference for him? And more importantly, should it?
Ebert: Adlai Stevenson was I believe the most recent presidential candidate who wrote many of his own speeches, and I treasure an autographed copy of them, signed to me when I tracked him down after a speech on the campus. To let me avoid this year's campaign, check out this piece about the speaking and grammar of GWB:
http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20001101/COMMENTARY/41105001/1023 ,.b>
Though I often agree with your film assessments, I find that I most enjoy your reviews not because of this utilitarian detail but because they are usually so entertaining to read. This has been true since long before your medical issues arose. You have a genuine gift for language and wit that is lacking in many other categories of writing where a primary goal of the writer is probably to inform rather than entertain.
In fact, I’ve been so impressed with your style that in the beginning of my relationship with her, I once asked my wife, a Chicago native (Oak Lawn, actually, but its anonymity outside of the south side often favors her proclaiming its imposing and universally identifiable neighbor as her hometown) whether “her people” revere your work as I do. I learned then that she was a fanatic Tribune reader who toed that line accordingly. Nevertheless, I continue to sing the praises of your work and periodically forward your articles to her which I find to be particularly well written. I think that I'm wearing her down.
re: "the speaking and grammar of GWB"
As George Carlin said, "In America, anybody can be President. That's the problem."
I have never known great men, visionary men. The closest I got to meeting you was by applying for a job as webmaster for the TIFF (I didn't get it). I took a career in computers so I could earn enough money to take time off to write...after 20 years, I never managed to succeed at the "earn enough money" part. But after reading "Awake in the Dark", it reminded me of my first love of writing, and started reading Jane Austen and writing quick snatches from my car during lunch breaks. It may be, as you wrote in AITD, you'll have a chance to revisit and explore your earlier desire of being an author beyond film. But as long as you write something, you'll always be able to share what you've known and seen to people like me who would never have known them or seen them otherwise. I look forward to participating in your journey, even if we never meet, even if it is only through reading your blog from a distance. In this respect, I think I have known you. And I thank you for your inspiration.
In this illness you have suffered, this good thing has come of it and I, and the rest of your readers are more than delighted.
As a profoundly deaf person, I would just like to say this one thing to the people who have responded with pleasure and joy to this blog:
The woods are full of us. People who cannot hear, who have terrible difficulty speaking, who cannot see, who may also not be very attractive to look upon. These people all deserve your patience and you willingness to help them understand what you are saying. You may need to write something down, or to read something they write, or to seek help to communicate. We know you are almost always in a hurry, or busy with other customers, but, my, you can sometimes make us feel badly, even when we don't want to. Like Roger, we are doing the best we can, we want to do better, but sometimes we just need a friendly face who is willing. Let it be all of you who write these kind words to Roger.
Jo in MN
Roger,
I looked up the computerworld article praising the comments on this blog, and saw that your blog was listed as the #2 best written blog on the web. I am writing to console you.
Constant Weader
Ebert: Thank you. It came as a crushing blow. ComputerWorld is dandy, but MacVicar is quicker.
Reading this blog caused me to scorn my lethargy. I do enjoy writing and I do have moments of inspiration where I have to immediately write down my thoughts and ideas as they are fresh in my mind, but I rarely write for leisure. I usually only write when I need to for a school assignment, especially recently. Any thoughts or ideas that I have now lose their luster as they collect dust in the recesses of my mind. If I do write anything down, I will often leave it incomplete if it is anything too protracted. This lack of focus and conviction saddens me because others often complement me on my articulate writing skills and tell me that I should write for a living, and I do love the feeling of self-satisfaction that I experience once I have finished writing something. This blog instilled in me the desire to habitually write anything and everything down that comes to mind, from now on. Perhaps taking a vow of silence would help...
And none of that blasted television.
In your new book Scorsese by Ebert, you mention that you have six Alfred Hitchcock films in your Great Movies section. However, I can only count five:
1. Strangers on a Train
2. Vertigo
3. Psycho
4. Notorious
5. Rear Window
Am I missing the sixth, or is the sixth movie a soon to be addition to the great movies section?
Ebert: When I wrote that, I was sure "Shadow of a Doubt" would be up before the book was published, but it's still circling to land.
Ebert: I know this will sound like a cliche and yet not really be heard: The last two years have developed within me a respect for nursing beyond any other vocation. Does anybody, even members of your own family, realize how hard it is? Do you yourself even understand how you keep coming back every day with the spirit to do it well? In four long hospitalizations in two hospitals and the Rehabilitation Institute, I never encountered a bad nurse. And nurse's aides (or "patient care specialists") are shamefully badly paid and man the front lines..
Thank you. (you made me tear up). No, they don't "get it", but usually that's ok. People who have truly needed us do get it and that is enough. Most nurses are people just trying to make a difference for others. I'm glad your nursing staff helped you. Yes, aides are abysmally paid and work very hard. A good nurse's aide is like an extra set of eyes and ears and hands--invaluable.
I find myself in a strange place most of the time: the nurse in me wants to get in there and mix it up with people and be a part of it all. The writer in me wants to hang back and monitor and squirrel it all away for future material. This inner conflict can be exhausting.
Like so many posters here, I have a 2/3's completed novel--not great literature, just a murder mystery. What you said about the muse is echoing in my head now. How right you are and how neglectful I have been of my writing. Your words of encouragement here have bolstered my conviction to finish it and send it in. Why not? As you also said--it's all gravy.
Ebert: What do you mean, "Just a murder mystery?" Some of my best friends are murder mysteries.
For a guy who likes to write so much---how come you only wrote a partial review for "Tru-Loved"?
Ebert: For a guy who likes to complain so much, how come you didn't read my full review, and the two blogs I wrote about "Tru Loved?"
Roger,
I've just been catching up here on where you've been. Peace to you, and success with the rest of your journey. What I really wanted to tell you was that you could be one of the best political pundits in the biz, if you picked up that handle.
A few years ago - I think before the 2004 election - I saw you on Chris Matthews show. You were the first, and maybe the last person I've ever seen to leave him non-plussed. Wait - actually speechless - his draw agape. You were riffing on George Bush, if I recall it. It was the most lucid 3 or 4 uninterrupted minutes of the campaign season. You didn't fall into any of the usual ratholes that make these shows useless. I'll never forget it. At that moment I simply said to myself, "Whoa! And I thought he was a movie critic!"
Anyway, my very best wishes to you and yours. I'll be stopping by here more often.
To Ken: Where else in America are you going to find someone who is always right on the money when it comes to 4 star (great) movies, and how are you going to find them--much of them are smaller films. Are you having neighborhood film festivals in your community showcasing small local talents, or even neighborhood talents, because I don't believe the world is quite there yet? To me, Roger is the man. And when the day comes when there will be little neighborhood films festivals, every neigborhood is going to get a "Roger Ebert" for their paper, who knows interesting cinema when they see it to spread to everyone else regardless of film theory. If a film is great and interesting, it is great and interesting. To find a great and interesting small or large film in America, Roger is the one to read. Any serious movie lover that has a particular movie they love in their particular taste will find that Roger liked that movie too...once again, regardless of film theory.
Poor Ken. Big, stinky a$$hole can't find anyone to hang out with, so he haunts the blogosphere, making fun of bloggers, just to get a rise out of the readers. Pathetic. Pull up your underwear, put some clothes on, and get out of your apartment. McDonald's is probably open.
Was thinking about Coleridge's "willing suspension of disbelief" in regards to good writing and good films. Maybe it's a silly question, but is it possible for a good movie or novel to fail to instill this in its audience/readers, yet succeed in other ways, making it generally a success? Or is it a given that a brilliant work of art pulls this off automatically, making it timeless?
I am a huge fan of Ebert, though this piece seemed more like a diary entry, and while I am happy to see that he is happy, I didn't think it was a great read. Still, it was a heck of a lot better than most can do, and Ebert is a great writer. I just wasn't blown away like some of the other readers. A little rambling.
I want to thank you soooo much for your contributions to my life. Yours are the only reviews I ever regarded as literature and I have been in the balcony from the beginning. I wanted to share two points with you. One, I took my son to see a revival of The Seven Samurai in Evanston. He was a preteenager at the time. He probably set the Guinness record for number of visits to the restroom for the first 2 and 1/2 hours. Finally he said, "mom this is all character development, when will the action begin." He now is a Kurosawa fan and gifted me with DVDs of Ran and Sanjuro. Kagemusha is my fave. Secondly I also take dictation, but as a channel or whatever we call accessing a "higher place" when writing. I sit at the keyboard and mini essays on spiritual teachings or personal wisdom come through. Definitely not my "style". Never in my life would I greet someone with "dearest fruit of the earth" but Sananda did. May you find continued joy, peace, contentment and fulfillment always, all ways. In gratitude, Karen Lee
This is a wonderful piece - very in the moment. As I read it the voice I hear in my head is yours (I worked at the Sun Times/ Daily News (RIP) in the late 60's and have admired and respected your "musings" for many years) so even though you can't talk - your writing continues to speak to me. Scribbled on a post-it, pinned to my "quote wall" (I am a copywriter) is something you wrote " ..you just don't find true love, you team up with someone and build it from the ground up...." next to one from Disraeli "Most people die with their music still locked up inside them". Keep playing your music.
Who's complaining? I just asked a question. I guess I hit a sore spot with you. I did read your blogs. I think for a guy who has a Pulitzer he should know better. I guess your standards have dropped.
Ebert: I hope they don't come and take the Pulitzer back. I've spent the $1,000.
Roger,
While checking the net this evening, I felt compelled to revisit your blog. The entries open one up to the vast experience that each comment explores and the joy and also suffering, that is the human condition.
This afternoon, I had the fun of watching a celebration of all kinds of four legged creatures decked out in costume, some silly, some beautiful and some just down right awful! However, off to the side was a dog with its fur in a state of disease and his eyes and behavior unlike the others. He had been rescued. This poor dog had a horrid case of mange. A very kind woman saved this dog and is giving him the miracle of wonderful care and medical attention.
The idea of growth and development in the face of illness is a powerful concept which illustrates how to make the best of a bad situation which entraps the body but leaves the mind free to select new choices for a different exploration of life. Are we all in some way ravaged, either by disease or time, left to make the best of what we have and in some way given the opportunity to bounce back from the hand of fate in order to make something more of ourselves in a heightened reality? The entry by the gentlemen with the brain tumor was so poignant and is a lesson in courage.
I have thought of you and your willingness to open up to the public at large. Your words and ideas and intellectual vigor, undiminished by illness, makes one want to emulate your example. How important to remember to show gratitude for the small things in life. This sweet dog, this once happy French mastif has been rescued by a kind stranger. And your words and reviews and books and now your blog, show by example how to use the gift of language without sound to inform and educate and delight all of us who admire and respect your body of work. Judy Shuster
Ebert: You know, realistically, I feel good because I can feel good. For a couple of weeks after the broken hip, I was nothing but pain punctuated by meds. A single step produced the worst pain I have ever experienced. I've never had kidney stones or given birth, but I was ready to trade. I was sick. Much "sicker" than after any of the cancer surgeries, although then my condition was technically much worse. If I was sick now I would have a hard time writing. Every review I have written since the first surgery on July 1, 2006 was written on a day when I felt happy to be writing a review. In all my years at the Sun-Times, I never had to take a sick day except for one 3-day period in 1987 when I had an earlier and much less serious surgery. Two days after his heart bypass, we went to visit Studs Terkel. He was in his 90s. We found him sitting up, reading, writing, and debating politics with Garry Wills. Some people have bodies that give them an enormous gift. My body has never once let me down. This cancer was inflicted on my body by childhood radiation, and more recent radiation caused the complications. My body has never given me muscular dystrophy, cystic fibrosis, Parkinson's, painful cancers, or other problems I see people living with every day. I met people at the Rehabilitation Center whose struggles appalled me. They taking their therapy and their meds, working with their doctors, doing all they could. I could tell you a story right here and now that I promise you would have every single reader weeping. I wouldn't have to "make it sad." I would use simple words and not a single adjective. When a contributor to these comments tells me how ill they are, I would never tell them to "get well soon," or offer advice on "what I did." Wouldn't they love to get well soon if they could? Are they going to be cheered up by how great I'm doing? The only disease that can be treated by someone telling you what they did is alcoholism, and that is the only treatment for that disease. Serious illness is a rabid dog gnawing at your essence. Someday I may write a blog about "Get well soon."
I'm so pleased to hear all of this from you - I have grown fond of someone I saw so regularly over many years, whose mind and taste I admired. Many times I've sent good wishes to you since your illness began, and nothing could make any of us who have cared happier than to hear what you've just said here. And said so well. I didn't know you had a blog (I'm assuming this is it), and can't wait to read more. Again, I send you blessings and thanks.
P.S. I realized last night at the video store that I knew nothing at all about any of the movies they had in new release. No idea what might be good, what I might want to see. That's because when it became finally clear you weren't going back to the show, I just quit watching, and I haven't found anything else that can replace it. I always used to say well, if they both like it, I probably will (unless there are lots of beautiful women in it--I did feel you guys were somewhat swayed to thumbs up maybe a tad too enthusiastically in those cases, lol!)--but if only one likes it, I'll only watch it if that one is Ebert.
Roger, I'm going to take this moment to raise a glass to something presumably lost along with your voice.
Readers, go to the At The Movies archive and search for the following reviews: Blue Velvet, Boogie Nights, Fargo, and Magnolia. Four films that Roger was passionate about in one way or another, over a 14 year span. Pay particular attention during the 'back and forth' that follows each verdict, and what do you see?
Hand gestures! You were not discussing, you were conducting! Punctuating! Beautiful stuff, so easily overlooked.
Ebert: This is a true story. I promise you. One day at the Pritikln Center, Chaz and I saw two deaf guys using sign language while standing in the pool. Chaz said, "I'm going over there and ask those guys about sign language." She did. She came back. "What did they tell you?" I asked. "They said they aren't deaf. They said they're Italian."
As a writer who has somehow managed to procrastinate all goddamn day long, I needed this kick in the pants. Your prolific output, despite your situation, is duly noted. Screw the muse. She is way overrated . . . although her charms *are* seductive and I am weak. But I need to kick her out of bed and get to work. Besides she was eating crackers there.
You may have lost your voice, but you never lost your *voice*.
Sincerely,
Mr.Bonkers
A few posts back you mentioned that your' cancer was due to childhood radiation I immediately thought of was John Wayne and those stories from the conquerer, Godzilla, and... Well were you ill as a child or was my prior train of thought correct?
Ebert: Ear infection.
Roger,
Your entry immediately reminded me of some of Cordelia's lines in King Lear, which seem to be a mirror to your theme:
"Then poor Cordelia!
And yet not so; since, I am sure, my love's
More richer than my tongue."
Additionally, I am reminded of how, after the luxurious praise of her sisters, when her father asks what words praise she could offer, she simply replies "Nothing," for there was nothing else to say but that she loved her father with all her heart.
In the wake of so many heartfelt and eloquent testimonials, demonstrating your far reaching impact on the lives of others, I feel a little like Cordelia myself. You are a personal hero of mine, and I'm glad to see so many people feel the same way.
Congratulations on achieving what really counts in life, bringing light into the hearts and minds of others.
Ebert: "Nothing" is the most important word in King Lear. Prof. G. Blakemore Evans told us the saddest line in all of Shakespeare (taken in context) was "Never, never, never, never, never!"
I write, but I am not a writer. I lack the compulsive need to put words down that so marks one as a true wordsmith. That being said, I am a reader. I have been a voracious consumer of the written word for most of my life.
What has always been my greatest joy in reading has been the sense of communication with the author. Great writers do not merely present material to be passively taken in by the reader. Like any great conversation they want the reader to take that material and come back with thoughts of their own.
Such is the case with you're own writing. As an ardent participant in such conversations, thank you for taking the time speak with us. To say it's been pleasurable would be an understatement.
P.S. I have a blog and would very much like to quote one of your earlier responses to somebody else's comment. May I do so?
Dear Sir,
It is ever a joy to read your contributions. It is likewise a joy to read your readers' comments... So many gracious and kind and caring folks gather round you! It is as unusual as it is pleasing to encounter a blog wherein the respondents' sentiments are frequently as worthwhile and uplifting as the blog's author. Indeed, it is an apt testament to your sterling fineness.
You are one helluva good chap and I am grateful that my time on this little spinning rock has happened to coincide with yours. May you continue to move from strength to strength.
Warmest regards,
H. Fowler
I've been reading your reviews for many years, and have seen so many wonderful movies based on your recommendations--and yet, I don't think there's a recommendation of yours I've valued more than the one for "Suttree." You're correct that it doesn't seem to be mentioned much, even with the recent surge of interest in McCarthy's work--in fact, I can't recall ever seeing it mentioned by another writer. I doubt I would have heard of the book, and certainly wouldn't have read it, if not for your praise. And now I consider it perhaps my favorite book from any author.
Dear Roger,
Since learning about your operations I have included your wife and yourself in my prayers.
It's just like life... that in wanting to keep knowing more about the movies I am returned to the land of the living.
Not the images on the screen but the process to getting there.
As I read your new blog I become more hopeful of what it means to be a person going through impermanent existence.
I started reading about movies at a young age. My primary source of information were the reviews by Leonard Maltin. I had not heard of Roger Ebert or of any other reviewers. Leonard Maltin's books were widely available and I consumed them in order of the highest rated films down to about the 3 starred varieties.
I learnt that Jack Nicolson was an actor of rare madness. I found out that my favourite comedy troupe Monty Python had produced a fine film director in Terry Gilliam. I discovered many little pieces of trivia about Citizen Kane, Metropolis, M and the list of inconsequential facts amassed in my mind until I was no longer on the same level of enjoyment of films as my next door neighbour or immediate family.
It was a sad thing because... I began to lose touch with why I loved the movies in the first place.
It was the magic of visiting someone's heart. When I watched Play it again Sam in my teens I saw glimpses of my own journey into the adult abyss. Into dating. Into rejection. Into dealing with love and all the pain it could entail. But more importantly... the dignity that each of us can decide to live our lives.
Those kinds of movies were the ones that really stayed with me. Just like some of the movies you have mention like Me, You and everyone we know or Joe vs the Volcano.
Back and forth. Back and forth forever. It was innocent. Funny and unhygienic. But more than that... it was wonderfully sweetly human.
Your writing and your admissions to your humanness has reminded me that my own problems will be smaller when compared to others. But I must also remain hopeful when it feels so huge at times that it might crush the life out of any prayer I might cry out.
Today I was told that I am now a Permanent Resident of a country not of my birth. It is a good country too. (As good as a country can be, considering.) So I really should consider myself very fortunate to have a new country to call home. I must remember that. I must remember there are others around me whose trials are harder than mine.
Thank you for reminding me that it's not always easy to be alive but it is always important to do the best we can. And to have hope.
I just want to say that I am thrilled you're still alive after such a physical ordeal. You are one of my favorite folks in popular culture and I always look forward to your latest review and blog entry.
Your blog tonight deeply touched me. It's fantastic that you feel content, that you've found a way to continue communicating to the rest of us. Your blog made me appreciate that I could still speak but it also inspired me to focus on what I truly love.
I also want to thank you for introducing me to Five Easy Pieces, Clean Shaven, The Conversation, and The Last Detail. For what ever reason I saw an S&E episode where you gave special consideration to those films when I was young. It changed my life and made me appreciate cinema on a level I didn't know existed.
So please keep typing, I'll be reading and eagerly awaiting the next chapter.
--
Dear Roger,
I loved this post. I just read it in bed, about to go to sleep, on a Sunday night (why do Sunday nights still feel like I'm in high school and haven't finished my homework for the next day?), and checked on your site as I like to do on Sunday nights.
You have had an impact on my life because of your writing. I knew who you were from your show with Gene Siskel (the first episode I ever saw you both reviewed "My Dinner with Andre"), but my "relationship" with you came through words. It coincided with the movie that I like to describe as the one that turned me from someone who liked movies into a person who wanted to know film history. It was "Do the Right Thing." I was so happy when you both dedicated a show to it.
For Christmas in 1988, my Mom bought me your annual movie review book. I read it from cover to cover. Then DTRT came out. Then Drugstore Cowboy, Sex Lies, etc...and then at 19 I moved to California from Minnesota. (1989 was a pretty good year for movies, wasn't it?) I spent a lot of time alone, and felt a little lonely and wondered if I had made the right decision, but I actually took advantage of the solitary time to watch movies.
I remember going to a mall in September of 1990, and buying your newest book, and then walking a mile to the movie theater, and getting there early, so I found a place to sit and read your book and then went to see GoodFellas.
I am way off track. The point is, I've mainly only known you through words. I still remember your opening to your review of "Down By Law"- a piece I chose to emulate as an exercise in an English class.
The last paragraph is the main reason I am writing to you...
My favorite English teacher at College of Marin, John Taylor, was able to teach whatever class he wanted so long as he got ten students enrolled. I must have taken four or five of these little classes with him. In one of the classes, on the first day, he got us to know each other a bit, and then our assignment was to bring to the next class two examples of what we considered great writing.
The wonderful thing was that once we brought them in the next week, he asked us to read our selections to our fellow students. It took the entire length of the class...and then he gave us an assignment. Choose one of the pieces and match noun for noun, verb for verb (etc.) piece you chose (three paragraphs)into an piece with an entirely different subject and bring it back for the next class.
It was like a puzzle. I didn't envy the person that chose one of Hemingways short stories, or the Kerouac fan. My two choices were Toni Morrison's "Song of Solomon" (so vivid and colorful- her description of the square of the town is so alive) and your review of Jim Jarmusch's "Down By Law."
I chose to go with your piece. You always wrote like you were speaking just to me, and I liked the way you often ended your reviews with something profound. Your review of Down By Law was kind of jazzy in tone, and I remember thinking I liked that sort of riff combined with your conversation tone. I actually ended up really frustrated trying to find the words to match yours for the exercise- which I think was the point.
But what a great exercise it was. When I read my piece for class, it went okay, and my instructor had me do it again until I got it right. I think it is a task similar in purpose to what Hunter S. Thompson was doing when he typed out "The Great Gatsby"- a way to understand the rhythm and the choices.
Reading your books (I especially liked the 80s Cannes notebook) I almost have felt like a voyeur. I've felt like I've known you because of what you've written, which of course isn't quite right (I think of Bob Dylan getting irate at people because his songs mean something to someone)...but what you write does communicate, does have an impact, and I thank you for your perspectives and honesty...and decency. I'm glad that you write. You are one of my favorite writers.
I am glad that you have found joy and relief in what you do so well.
And just in case you forgot what your "Down By Law" review looked like, here are the first three paragraphs...including a phrase from the review- a piece of dialogue- that preceded the review in the book version but not online:
"It's a sad and beautiful world."
...
`Down by Law" is a movie about cheap whiskey and black coffee, all-night drunks and lost jobs, and the bad times you can have with good-time girls. It tells the story of a pimp, an unemployed disc jockey and a bewildered Italian tourist and how they escape from jail and wind up slogging through the Louisiana bayous looking for a decent place to have breakfast.
It's like a collage made out of objects from old gangster movies, old blues songs and old jailhouse stories. At the end, it's like a line of dialogue: "It's a sad and beautiful world," someone says. Someone else should say, "Yeah, but so what?" The movie was directed by Jim Jarmusch. You may remember his "Stranger Than Paradise" (1984), a deadpan black-and-white comedy in which three strangely assorted friends decided it was too cold in Cleveland in the winter, went to Florida and lost all their money at the dog races. "Down by Law" has the same sort of feeling. It's about two people who choose to be losers and a third who has bought the American Dream.
The movie stars Tom Waits, whose sandpaper voice sounds like he's pushing his words through three layers of hangovers. The other two guys are played by John Lurie, who was the Hungarian-American poker player in "Stranger Than Paradise," and Roberto Benigni, a previously unknown Italian actor who resembles a cross between Father Guido Sarducci and Woody Allen. They meet in a Louisiana jail cell through a series of misadventures in which two of the guys are framed and the third is severely misunderstood.
Thanks- and keep up the great work.
And so what?
So it goes, I suppose.
Christopher Earley
Oakland, CA
Ebert: I was happy to be reminded of that review.It's one of what I think of as my "evoking" reviews, where instead of discussing a movie in abstract terms I try to reproduce how it felt to me. You made a wise choice in selecting my review to work on, because it was short. God help you if you had brought in "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock."
You know how, sometimes, when you hear a particularly beautiful piece of music for the first time, and it just stops you in your tracks and leaves you breathless, and then it plays in your head all day? Today, you were Bach. Thank you.
Roger,
Having every available form of communication at our disposal writing does seem to be a lost art. For some time now I have been reading your articles and blogs with great interest. With my parents in Arkansas and me in Georgia, my mother still prefers me to write a letter. I told her I can call her and it would not cost them anything but she still prefers my letters. They will not fall victim to the electronic age and buy a computer so I still write the old fashion way. I have found that ideas do come into my, sometimes jumbled, brain faster than I can write them out by hand but my mom said that a type written letter will work just as well. She said she can "feel" what is going on in my household as well as giving her something so save and hold on to for the future.
Continue to bring inspiration to your readers, even though some of us only "write home to Mama", because writing is an art worth keeping.
I know from having seen a reference to him in one of your reviews that you were familiar with the work of Ed McBain/Evan Hunter. The mention was very brief, but tone suggested you admired his work. If so, me too. So you'll probably understand why I connect the two of you and think of Evan talking about his "voice", but not talking, and me not listening but still hearing.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
In a earlier message, I described my memories of a monologue about the later years of Vaslav Nijinsky, and you asked if it I meant perhaps "The Diaries of Vaslav Nijinsky", a film by Paul Cox. I have yet to see this film (and I thank you for the reference); the play I saw premiered at the Curitiba Theater Festival (the main theatrical event in Brazil, held every March) in 1999, and it was a original material, based on the diaries themselves and testimonies of family and friends of Nijinsky. Unfortunately, I couldn´t find any material about the play I could refer you to, as it was never properly published, no filmed register of a play staged in those pre- YouTube days is readily available in the Internet, and the wonderful veteran actor Luis Melo, who portrayed Nijinsky, seldom worked in film, and none that enjoyed a north-american release, as far as I can tell.
As I wouldn't like this message to be a dead end, much of what I now see in a play I saw about ten years ago, about the nature of writing and of spontaneity itself, I realised after hearing a series of lectures by the Boston College Philosophy professor John Sallis about the work of Paul Klee, concerning specially his paintings as they embody the written word. One could say, after all, that painting, dancing or music can very well present us one way or another the written word, but what do they truly retain of writing itself, as they are painting, dancing, and playing?
I would like to add a personal note, if I may; I'd simply like to thank you. I came across your Website in 2007, and as I waited for you to resume writing reviews, I read all I could find about the films I loved, and rejoiced in knowing how high someone else regarded wonders as different from each other as "Groundhog Day" and the works of Kieslowski and Miyazaki, or figures like Cyrano de Bergerac. Then I stopped looking for what I knew, and started listening; so, thank you. One thing is missing, in my idiossincratic view: a review from you of "After the Rain" (Ame Agaru), Akira Kurosawa's last script, directed after Kurosawa's death by his former assistant director Takashi Koizumi and released in 1999. Its meaning does not lie far away from the theme of your latest post, as I understand it; it's much about spontaneity as it is about kindness, and it's still a mistery to me how these two belong together. I just hope I not missing the point.
Ebert: I didn't make myself clear. The Paul Cox is a film, not a play.
ComputerWorld is dandy, but MacVicar is quicker.
I think it clever of the turtle,
In such a fix to be so fertile.
Love, love, love Ogden Nash.
Ebert: And he wrote:
I think that I shall never see
A billboard lovely as a tree.
Indeed, unless the billboards fall,
I'll never see a tree at all.
More likely I was not clear about the fact I meant a play; I forget "theater" means in English the screening room as much as the stage. But maybe I'm misunderstanding our misunderstanding.
Oh man, do I ever want a grilled cheese sandwich and orange soda now.
Also, to add something more meaninful to my comment, I just wanted to let you know that I've always thought you were a great writer and it would always be the highlight of logging on to my computer on Friday mornings to read your latest movie reviews. It's even more exciting now knowing you could write a blog entry any day of the week!
Hey Roger,
My father had a major stroke this year, and he is now incapable of coherent speech or really any but the most basic communication. His thoughts are a tangled mess like bad reception on the old rabbit-ear's television sets. But he has moments of clarity; rare, mundane moments where the picture comes in clear.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's nice to hear your voice again...even if I think you are giving out too many stars.
Mr. Ebert,
I've been trying to find a way to express myself originally, but with so many wonderful comments here it seems that all the forms of adulation have been covered. I'm a local, have tried to read almost everything on your site (a Herculean task), and follow your blog regularly.
Thank you for this post and your comment responses. For aspiring writers (which many of your followers seem to be, and I am included) it is quite helpful indeed.
However, for those of us (hopefully I am not alone in this) who write and write and write without it (yet) turning into a career, do you have any recommendations on continuously fueling the work? Not with ideas, for those either come or go of their own free will, but of the discipline to continually sit down to work when that magical time of generating income from writing is like a distant point in the fog: it might be a few feet in front of you, or a hundred miles, or never there at all. I've written countless essays, have a Web site and have now written 4 1/2 books (none published), yet even though I can't quite stop writing, some days it's difficult to continue.
Any words of wisdom would be immensely appreciated.
All the best,
H. Blake Hollon
Ebert: I have a boldfaced reply up there somewhere offering advice on writing. A quick way to find it would be to open this page (oh, yeah, it's already open!) and just do "Find" and then search for "Ebert:" Be sure to add the : (colon) so you don't hit on all the comments by people who don't think my name is "Roger." Like you. "Mr. Ebert" was my dad. :)
When i hear stories like yours, i'm always left in awe at the capacity of the human brain. It makes science fiction, where artificial intelligence rivals human intelligence, all the more unbelievable. I begin to wonder if it is possible for a machine to ever have similar adaptive capabilities. I studied English and editing in college because it seemed to me a marketable skill that fit my personality and work preferences. But it wasn't until i started reading poetry and short fiction (and creative non-fiction, under which i categorize your reviews and blogs) that i actually learned to love literature. It darn near ruined me as an English major, though. Who could be bothered to write a boring 10-page essay about dead poets when the living ones were innovating language and usage with the speed of circuitry?
Roger, thank you for sharing your comments. I have been reading your writing since it’s been available on-line. Before that, and since I don’t live in Chicago or get the Sun-Times, I had to rely on your show. I have learned so much about film from you. You were my first introduction to Kurosawa and Bergman, Kieslowski and Herzog. Your opinion has always been best communicated through your writing. And I have always looked forward to your reviews of new films and great older movies every week. It was a very sad year when there were no new Ebert reviews for a time. I had missed hearing your voice.
However, I have lately looked for your articles that spoke of your lack of speaking. I had hoped that it was not a permanent impediment, but it seems more apparent that you’re not going to recover your voice. I am somewhat depressed by this. I was able to attend one of your last speaking engagements at the Virginia Film Festival for the shot-by-shot analysis of “Chinatown”. It was wonderful to be in the audience and share commentary with you. Since then, I’ve relied on your commentary on DVD. I have the “Citizen Kane” disc, and thoroughly enjoy your discussion. You cram a graduate level course into that commentary. You never stop talking, but you never seemed rushed or uninteresting. I’ve never heard many commentaries that are that insightful.
I wonder if we’ve heard the last Ebert DVD commentary. Are there other options? Have you considered “text commentaries”? Maybe future DVDs should include your Great Movies essays on the disc.
Ah, old friend, where do I start?
The blog that began this is a beautiful piece of work. Beyond that, most everyone here has already said what I planned to.
I saw the New Guys the other night. Lyons and Mankiewicz. Dude, it just ain't the same. You and Rick could do better on your worst day. They've got all the charisma of a bar of Lifebuoy.
On the plus side, their reviews pretty much agreed with yours on "Changeling" and "Happy Go Lucky". I think they liked "Pride and Glory".
I miss seeing you on the air. You and Rick, and before that you and Gene. But, to quote Kinky Friedman, when the Lord closes the door, he opens a little window, and this blog is certainly that. And the bitchin' part is, I can get my Ebert fix anytime now.
Live long and well, Roger. I'll read your stuff as long as you're around to write it.
Mike
Roger,
You either write better or gained bigger balls since losing the ability to speak. I could be wrong, but I don't think I would read the Sarah Palin blog entries or the review of a movie you only saw for 8 minutes if you had not gained this insight.
David Van Dyke
Buchanan, MI
Rog,
I've been perusing the internet for some photos of you from high school and college, but my search has turned up empty. Your review of "Wonder Boys" sort of hinted at your feelings about your time spent at Urbana, but now with your blog, perhaps you could expand on this. I'm a college student here at Loyola University Chicago, I'm about ready to graduate, and all the while my friends and I are staying up late, drinking too much wine, and desperately trying to hold on to these last few months. But they're slipping away, one day at a time.
Your reviews often explicate your nostalgia, so could you maybe lend us some thoughts on college kids entering reality? I'm sure you could incorporate some great movies to accompany this conversation.
And don't forget to put some pictures up of the 19-year-old Roger.
powerful. Inspiring. You have proven that you are more than a survivor. You are a triumph-er.
Roger,
I am so thrilled you are blogging, and while I can't appreciate the challenge it must be for you to lose your voice, I your renewed enjoyment of writing will help you stay energized for decades to come.
We have one thing in common, we are both alumni of the Daily Illini. I wish you would have included that publication in your note. You may have more in common with a good friend of mine, who is roughly of your generation, and I think he told me you both dated one of the same girls in college. He blogs with me under the name Tom Trumpinski, and while he is relatively new to writing, his experience and new found passion for writing is much like yours. A little over a year ago, Tom was dying. He had a serious heart problem, and the doctors didn't really know what to do. He dropped some weight, retired, and started writing mostly nostalgic pieces about his boyhood, and growing up in the midwest. Then his writing expanded to some futurist pieces and works of fiction. I'm very proud of convincing him to blog, because it set him on fire for writing, and he's starting what will probably be his last career. Tom just had his first book published, called "Riding the Hell Bound Train."
It seems you both had a major life event lead you to writing more, and in writing more you discovered a deeper love.
If you would be interested in corresponding with Tom, I'm sure he would love to, drop me a note at my email or visit our blog at http://www.urbanagora.com
With admiration
-Josh
Roger,
I envy you, to some extent. Sure, all my senses and speaking faculties
are in working order, thank God. For how long, who can say?
But to be able to read prose of any good work, and have it come to
life that much sharper in the mind, adding an experience to reading
than just, well, whatever reading usually delivers to me, sounds
wonderful.
As it is, I am content where I am, content that I can sing to my
children before they sleep to dream sweet dreams, content to speak
out direction to someone in need, and content to pray aloud in my
car on the way home from work in my clumsy way where nobody else
can hear me. All I can say is enjoy the increased focus on your gifts, Roger.
In a world overwhelmed with media of all flavors
and manifestations, the one you're in is worth cherishing.
John Alvarez
Atlanta, GA
Dear Roger,
I still don't understand why you have lost the ability to speak. You have a tracheostomy and are missing part of your jaw. As far as I know, neither of those things have affected your vocal chords. I say this because I too have a tracheostomy and haven't lost the ability to speak. Other notable tracheostomy-club members: Pope John-Paul II before he died. And of course, Christopher Reeve.
As for the missing piece of jaw, why don't you get a prosthetic replacement? Have you seen the short film Survivors by Errol Morris? It features a cancer survivor who pulls out his fake jaw to the camera.
If you haven't seen the movie, beware. I suspect watching a movie about cancer survivors will get you very emotional. Brace yourself.
I impatiently await your response.
Dear Roger and Chaz,
What a great privilege getting to know you last week at RLP.
This is first for me. I have NEVER wanted to blog. Have just zinged yours and look forward to the experience.
Loved the Musings on writing. After fifty-some years of legal stuff, boring, recent years immersed in memoir are rich, indeed. Regret it took so long to see that the Muse is in the act, not the plan.
Ebert: Uh, oh, Paul. After your first blog you never look back,
Best to you both,
Paul Valentine
"Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump,
The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife,
........
Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone"
So long we have our occupation,work to do....nothing is lost.....
Another great blog.
Your "voice" (I put that in quotations because your voice is what I read from you, not the sounds coming out of your mouth) has most definitely changed and improved since you lost your ability to talk.
I think since you are able to reflect on how your inability to talk has affected you, then I should also reflect on how you, your movie reviews, and your blog has affected me.
7 or 8 years ago I started reading your reviews. It was quite literally a spontaneous event: I was at the computer, had noticed a very drastic change in my movie tastes since I became an adult, and decided to see for myself what a famous movie critic was all about. Oddly enough, (I say oddly enough because everyone around me gave the generic "critics think they are better than everyone else" argument) I became a fan of your writing instantly. I read every new review you published, I dug through your website's history and read hundreds (possibly thousands) of your movie reviews, all the while learning about who you are as a person, whether you meant to convey it or not.
I've read all of your work for years now and was extremely sad that you had grown sick over the past couple of years. It honestly felt like a void in my life (when you were sick). I went to school, worked a job, and read Ebert (Roger)'s latest review on Friday.
I find myself quoting you often: "It's not what a movie is about, it's how it's about it." I say that line monthly, sometimes weekly when talking to people about movies. I encourage people I know to not just watch a movie and forget it, but to decide if they liked the movie, and most importantly, WHY they liked it (which is apparently something not many people do).
Your weight loss was inspirational and helped me on my way to lose 75 pounds. Your writing style inspired me to improve my writing significantly in high school and in college, to the point where my English professors asked me frequently why I wasn't an English major. I didn't always agree with your movie reviews or your opinions on entertainment but that is not the point. The point is, you knew why you had those opinions and could very easily argue them to others in a coherent way. I've never been lost while reading your work and I never have to pretend I know what you're talking about. If you describe a movie or an event, I instantly get it and learn something from it rather than walking away from a piece disappointed and confused (like other critics).
I've learned from your reviews that you're not a movie critic. You're a human being capable of incredible analysis and description and your hobby happens to be movies.
I'm not writing this to show how many fans you have. I'm writing this to let you know the different ways that your writing change people. You may be sitting at home thinking in your head about the world, about movies, about the absurdity of life in general, but I doubt you realize that on that same day there are people in the world thinking about your words and learning from them. Growing from them. So while you find it uncanny that your writing has improved since you've lost your ability to talk, I find it uncanny that your writing has also caused others to improve in significant ways as well. Have a good day.
Some earlier posters mentioned Stephen King's "On Writing", but the first book I thought of was Anne Lamott's "Bird By Bird", which is so far the best practical advice about the whole flailing, kvetching process that I have ever read. If you ever get tired of beating yourself up about your entire life while you're waiting for the muse, this is the guide to turn to--if only for an incredibly amusing description of someone beating themselves up whilst waiting for the muse.
Roger: I can barely add to all the insightful reactions already posted here, so I'll only ask: Have you felt inclined toward writing fiction lately? I have one of your published stories in an old (very old) magazine . . . Fantastic Stories, maybe? You remain one of my favorite writers, regardless of genre, and I've often wondered if there's a great novel in there somewhere - and this blog made me wonder even more.
All the best, Nick.
Ebert: What do you mean, "Just a murder mystery?" Some of my best friends are murder mysteries.
Good point. My favorite murder mystery author is Josephine Tey. I'm sure you've read her, if not, try "The Daughter of Time". It also touches on convalescence and all its frustrations.
I'd love to read your take on "get well soon". Could you include a section on "there but for the grace of god" as well?
I am now thinking of Susan Sarandon in "Moonlight Mile" when she refuses the easy sympathies of her neighbors and friends after her daughter's funeral. Dustin Hoffman says something along the lines of, "well, what do you want them to say?" And she replies,"Not that." (actually, I'm sure her line is pithier and better, but I can't find it).
And then later when she is looking at the self help books, he again protests that they're helpful, as well as gifts, and she replies, "no, this is helpful" as she throws them on the fire. Grief and anger are only parts of sickness and they're almost all of death, but the two overlap in some odd ways. Perhaps that's why I that scene popped into my head: same emotions, differing degrees.
Not only did your blog itself amaze me with how open, honest, and true it was, I have sat here for an hour reading every single comment that was posted (and hoping Ken gets what he deserves). Your original posting made me tear up, as did more than one of the comments left for you; I am amazed at the depth of (nearly) everyone who posted.
I've been watching and reading your work since I was seven, thirty-one years ago. And since everyone else has said everything I could have thought of, only much better, I just want to say thanks. Not just for your collected work in the past, but for this blog and the incredible people who post. Not a lot of artists could bring such smart, interesting comments out of their fans.
Roger,
Great piece. I've oft quoted your maxim "the muse arrives during the act of creation, not before," giving you full credit, of course. :-]
Here's a little doggerel for ya:
I like poems that shrink and melt
And dwindle, and fade away.
The problem with
Poems that
Shrink
Is
Glad to see that you've reaffirmed your love of reading and writing, and speaking for myself, I like being able to read comments. You wouldn't believe the ego boost I got once when you replied to one of mine. Possibly I need a life... :)
You said that the cancer was inflicted by radiation absorbed as a child...what was the source of the radiation?
Roger,
I've been reading your reviews since about 10 years now, and I check in almost daily on your sites.
I thought I'd take this opportunity (since you read every coment) to send you my best wishes, and thank you for your writing. I used to like movies, but you've made me become properly aware of them and be able to truly appreciate a good film. In doing so you've enriched my life, and opened my mind a bit, and not just about movies.
Thank you.
Kaveh,
Stockholm, Sweden
Dear Mr. Ebert,
I am not at all surprised and glad to hear that your ability has expanded in what seems, from what you wrote, in a way in which you're delighted. I missed your reviews when you first became ill and I am really happy you are back to writing. Your view point and way of expressing it makes a movie review special in comparison with other writers.
I would send out positive thoughts and wishes to you when you were gone for your quick recovery. I was really happy when I found you were back to writing. I used to live in your neighborhood and one day saw your wife dashing across the street. I'd wanted to stop her and express my hopes for your recovery, but I didn't want to intrude on her privacy. A few months later, I saw you walking along the river and recognized you. I could see that you wanted your privacy, so I didn't stop you to wish you well.
If you ever have a chance to watch the movie Stranger Than Fiction again, I would be very interested in whether or not you see the characters as more than they may first appear in the film. Almost as archetypes symbolizing spiritual personas. I was disappointed that none of my friends seemed to see the characters that way and none of the reviewers did either. There was so much symbolism in the film that I was surprised so many people seemed to miss it.
I'm glad you are feeling better.
Georgette Bush
That was an excellent read. As excited you are that your writing has improved, what challenges have you faced by not being able to speak (aside from opting out of ASL)?
Hi Roger,
I'm sure you've probably been asked this before, but do you think you might write some more fiction at some point? Be it another script, a poem, short story, what not? (Ignoring a possible excuse to being busy, for as the saying goes, "if you want someting done, give it to a busy person" - or worded something like that).
And if so, what genre would you like to have a crack at first (or would it be another amusing sex comedy)?
hi roger -
to acutely observe, distill and then articulate.
and in doing so, reveal the mystical beneath the mundane, or overlooked, in film and in life. this has always been your cleverest and most enriching gift, to me at least.
in regards to your blog specifically, reading and sharing in your latest insight is unexpected, and delightful.
those mystical aspects of humanity are obviously old friends of yours, and citing the irony probably unnecessary: "silence" has helped to push you even closer to a pitch-perfect voice.
bravo. -g
Thank you for this excellent article Roger.
Mr. Ebert,
You have been on this journey - I'm referring directly to your health concerns - for three years now, I believe. I am no longer saddened by your condition. This post is deeply inspirational in the same sense as Murderball: as the man who recommended it, you'll know what I mean. Your readers know your tone has always been honest and open. Now, you've given us your innermost thoughts. This post wasn't about movies or politics but about strength, courage, love, endurance, hope, and the human experience.
Philadelphia, PA
Michael Harper wrote:
"I saw the New Guys the other night. Lyons and Mankiewicz. Dude, it just ain't the same. You and Rick could do better on your worst day. They've got all the charisma of a bar of Lifebuoy. I miss seeing you on the air. You and Rick, and before that you and Gene."
I would like to add to what Michael Harper stated.
I was recently watching an episode of At the Movies from 1985 on You Tube. It is the show where you and Gene talk about bad sequels. You reviewed Police Academy 2, Missing In Action 2, Porky's Revenge, and Friday the 13th Part V. The episode proves Mr. Harper's point. It shows that you and Gene had charisma, and were full of energy and life. You and Gene passionately loved doing the show and talking about movies, even when they were awful. The episode also shows that you two respected and loved one another. It seems like you guys were having an enormous amount of fun doing this particular show. There are times when you guys act like your watching a sports game and having some beers. You and Gene had been born to review movies on television, and you guys made the movies a fun and exciting topic.
Dahr Jamail writes at Truthout:
"I was broke, like most grad students, and supported myself by working for two individuals confined to assisted living situations. One of them, Larry, was completely paralyzed. He was unable to speak, and could only blink his eyes. He had been in prison when the ill effects of an operation he undertook there had gone wrong, and were then compounded by an error by the anesthesiologist. His sustenance came from gulping small spoonfuls of food blended with milk. Never in his life would he ever again "enjoy" a meal. He would never be experiencing the simple actions of walking, singing, dancing, swimming, driving, fishing, wandering ...
He may have been unable to speak, but Larry had a lot to say. He communicated by blinking his eyes. I would sit beside his prone body on the gurney and slowly recite the alphabet until he blinked on a letter. "C?" I would ask. Another blink. C. Recite again,"A?" Another blink. A. Recite to N, another blink. I would ask, "Can?" Another blink, "Yes." "Can" would eventually become, "Can I have a drink?" I would get him some juice, or water, depending on what he would spell next.
It was laborious to communicate with him and it took patience and stamina. He lacked neither, for he had a book to write. We would spend three hours to produce half a page of text.
Everything was against him, but that was not going to deter him from trying to write his book, to tell his story. He had already arrived at the secret of writing that I, as a slow learner, did not learn until long after I dropped out of graduate school from lack of funds. It took me long to understand that I cannot keep quiet about what I know, and must write."
I had to share this with you, because I am beginning to understand the cost of not writing.
Peacefully,
--Warren
"The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before."
I will use this quote, credited, of course, with all the amateur writers and writing teachers who constantly have told me I have to outline before writing.
Outlining IS writing. So why waste time? And why create a rigorous frame onto which to build a story that might take itself off in a whole other direction?
I have had the unhappy experience several times in my 52 years of life to have been a complete disappointment to people I met in person for the first time after they had only known me by my writing. Simply put, I do not speak as well as I write. I don't have a speech defect or anything like that. I clam up, my brain freezes, I make stupid remarks. Not all the time, but often, usually when I'm in unfamiliar surroundings and/or with people I don't really know. Other times, I am fine with conversation. But there is no question, I communicate approximately twenty times more effectively with my writing.
I even remember the first time this was brought to my attention. I was sixteen years old and had been casual friends with a woman in her twenties for a while. An article of mine was published in a movie fanzine and she had read it. When I next saw her at a party, she said something like, "Your article was fantastic. I couldn't believe you wrote it. The same boy who can't say two sentences in public wrote this." And I thought, gee thanks. I think. Of course I didn't actually SAY that.
Anyway, my point is, I wouldn't be happy not being able to speak, but if that were to happen, I think I would eventually feel almost exactly as you describe yourself feeling now. I would be content.
Writing a blogpost must be harder than a review?
Ebert: All the same process. Just the subject changes. Of course, Rokyo would look at one of my reviews and say: "You lucky bastard. You never have to think up an idea for a column."
OK, playtime's over. I've read this post twice, have also read or skimmed through every comment. (Even Ken's, although the words don't seem to be in the right order.) It's been like, what, four days now. Get back to work, Roger! Make like Barack and spread the wealth. ;)
Ebert: Dear >theconstantviewer.blogspot.com
"Why is the alphabet in that order? Is it because of that song?" - Steven Wright
The English language. Twenty six letters. Ten digits. Maybe a dozen punctuation marks. The space. Strung together left-to-right, top-to-bottom, in a particular order, grouped into words, sentences, and paragraphs. But when some people string them, they become a story, forming an indelible impression, like when you look at a bright scene and then close your eyes and still see the image. Whatever or wherever you are taking dictation from, please don't stop. It is as pleasing for us to read as it is for you to write. Seems like a win-win situation if there ever was one.
Steve
Hi Roger,
These days, I always find myself editing in my mind what I am currently writing, without even having finished a draft. (I've re-written this post at least 7 times now.) It's as if each step I take towards the point I'm trying to make, I second guess myself and decide on a better route, only to reconsider afterwards. I was wondering if you've ever experienced this. You mentioned that there is a place in a writer's mind that knows exactly what to say. I think I'm always constantly questioning it.
You could not be more right. Communicating and expressing one's ideas in today's world has become so forced and limited. I find this surprising since there seems to be an endless amount of mediums for which one person can have their opinions heard. I agree with a lot of the comments left here. Reading yours and experiencing others' comments is certainly gratifying. I hope you continue to write as much as you'd like and continue to promote the practice of writing, reading and debate in all of us. Thanks.
Roger;
Thank you for your writing.
I'll never take a perfect walk around London.
I'll never discuss erotic cinema with Russ Meyer.
I'll never date Oprah.
But someone who did has shared his experience in words I can understand.
Rock on!
Thanks, now I get it.
I only read your reviews_after_I've watched a movie, to get another's perspective, to see if I've overlooked any nuances, and to get perhaps some background info. So I appreciate your archives, and even more so the fact that you go back and review movies that you didn't get reviewed when they were new. So what does that say about how my brain is morphing? I dunno, but it (we? me and my brain) will definitely miss out on what you write if you stop writing it. So thanks. And I'll keep reading; it's the best way for me to become a better speaker, reader, and listener.
Great post. I was a Philosphy undergrad and am almost finished with law school. Each degree necessarily involved much writing. I have always struggled and labored, sometimes excruciatingly so, in writing efforts. Speaking comes much more comfortably.
The revelation I had while reading you post is the trust that comes across so clearly in all of your writing. I think this is the quality that makes it award winning and keeps me coming back. I struggle with writing because I am not secure enough to trust. When I'm not face to face, speaking and listening and correcting, I can't clarify instantly, or hedge, or correct. This is why I struggle to write. I DON'T write. I plan. I equivocate. I worry whether I will be understood or misjudged. I wait until the product is up to acceptable standards before I ever start to put it on the page. The permanence of written words, out in the world for all to see, keeps me from writing. Spoken words for the most part, just fade away. But your post got me to thinking that writing is more like speaking than I might have previously supposed. A person has to just do it and trust it because it comes from inside and a reader who wants to understand and take in all the nuance and substance can do that.
I love your writing Roger and find joy in reading them, especially when it is so apparent that you trust me.
"Let me be gather'd to the quiet west,
The sundown splendid and serene,
Death."
William Ernest Henley
The infinite bleakness of the Lear quote referred by you expresses man's fundamental helpnessness in front of the reality of death....as a sage says ,even horses and cattle fear death,how much more men in their primes....our philosophy of life must be able to generate unconditional optimism ,courage and hope .....one must indeed aspire to make one's exit like a glorious sunset,maybe even with exultation .....as the movie Wit so beautifully expresses,death is a comma.....maybe there is no punctuation mark whatsoever and it just continues.....the studies of the Illinoisite scholar Kuebler-Ross though not offering scientific proof (which indeed may never be possible)do deserve consideration...
Roger - I'm a longtime fan and frequenter of this blog over the past few months.
A few years ago, my father-in-law was diagnosed with stage 4 laryngeal cancer and had his larynx removed. The whole family was struck by the ultimate irony: Jim was a minister (obviously a clean-living man all his life) who spent his entire working life talking (!) about God. This was something of a feat, since he was a Nissei (2nd generation Japanese-American), a group known for circumspection, reservation, and very few words. He overcame those cultural (and personal) tendencies - though he was discreet always - to preach, counsel, and help govern a large ethnic church council. So why would God take his voice?
Like you, he said he "thought" differently, more deeply or clearly. His writings from that time show that he was thinking seriously about a wildly diverse range of subjects, from baseball to the nature of love. His faith seemed to root even more deeply into his life and writings. He learned new technologies that helped him communicate. He joined a "neck-breather" support group, ran a bible study for the folks at the assisted living center, and learned to shoot a good game of pool. He was more or less forced to be more involved in the messy, busy, loud lives of his sons and their families as we all cared for him, and he said it was wonderful. He became much better at giving and recieving affection; we never left each other without deep real hugs and I-love-yous exchanged. He loosened up, he opened, we all learned.
Anyway, being without a voice seemed to stretch him in ways that were both difficult and surprisingly wonderful. I wish a continuation of the latter for you.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog
Emily Dickinson
Ebert: I'm quoting this in my next blog.
Mr. E,
I've been a devout reader of your reviews for almost nine years, but only feel I've gotten to know you in the last ten months or so. This blog has been amazing, and your reviews are, as always, a joy, but what I've truly enjoyed have been the short stories and editorials that you've been casting about like golden nuggets here and there. Several months ago, you wrote a "review" of a French prostitute in the voice of James Lipton that I still think about, and laugh every time. Your punctuation perfectly captured his speech patterns, and the subject was, of course... Sublime. I've been meaning to compliment you on that piece for a while, now, and this entry seemed an appropriate venue.
Having recently seen "The Diving Bell and the Butterfly," I can only guess at how fortunate you feel to have so many of your faculties still available. It is so gratifying to read about your rise from depression to loving life again. My world, and those of your millions of other readers, are brightened by your continued presence.
I just finished a book you may enjoy: "The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society," by Mary Ann Shaffer and Annie Barrows. There are certain types of books I will pick up, regardless of genre. because they usually have good suggestions: Books about food, and books about enjoying good books. This is one of the latter.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
I no longer have time to watch movies, now that I'm a mother of three children under 5 and a full-time worker. What little recreation time I have, I spend reading your movie reviews, obstensibly because I haven't given up hope that I'll someday be able to watch a movie again, but really because I love reading your insights and funny perspective on things. My husband has teasingly pointed out my schoolgirl crush on you since many of our conversations often meander to ... "that reminds me of something Ebert said..."
You mention the inability to speak improving your ability to communicate. In a similar way, I feel that my inability to watch movies has actually improved my appreciation and understanding of movies (this is mostly hypothetical, since I've seen maybe 3 movies in the past 5 years). I no longer just enjoy a movie; I think about why and how it relates to my life and then it becomes a richer experience.
Thank you for brightening my days. I'm so glad that you're on the road to recovery and look forward to more time reading your words.
Ebert: And you're probably way too tired to watch movies on TV after the kids are asleep. Sigh.
Mr. Ebert,
I have been moved by you story and your writing. However, I am not completely clear on your condition. Will you ever be able to speak again? I remember some time ago you mentioned that regaining your ability to speak would require "further surgery". Is that long gone by now?
I wish you the best and may God bless you.
Ebert: Th...th...that's all, folks!!!
My wife keeps suggesting I offer you my vocal chords, but somehow I don't think her intentions are all that altruistic.
Roger,
My meditation teacher back in the mid 70's had injured himself in an automobile accident in Europe. He said he ran his car into a magic/joke store. I never saw him sit crossed legged, only on a chair with both feet planted firmly on the ground. You may know who he is from your numerous trips to Boulder, but he was proficient in teaching meditation. Your recent article about how your Democracy in the Dark "Stop" process works, with references to a few books that are useful, returned me back to when I had my only class in Film Interpretation at Western Michigan in 1972. Now I'm reading many of the references in the back of the books you suggested as starting points (I love Amazon used books). This has led to learning about semiotics, and to my surprise, Umberto Eco is one of it's primary theorists ("Name of the Rose"). What you have become a master of over the years is film semiotics, and your current disability has fine tuned your semiotic radar. (I went through speech therapy for 6 years in elementary school, but I became an English Major in college.) In the context of meditation, film semiotics is at the heart of your "transmission." In esoteric cultural studies, such as Coomaraswamy, there is a branch called "shadow language." Levi-Strauss approaches this concept in one of the books referenced in many of the film study books, "Myth and Meaning: "Cracking the Code of Culture." For example, I just watched all of Fellini's NTSC Region 1 available films on DVD or VHS (which leaves 'Casanova' and 'Voice of the Moon', both only available in Region 2 PAL: what's your thoughts on Region Free Blu Ray/DVD players?) in chronological order, because the Italian Costa cruise ship I'm traveling on next week has every deck named after a Fellini film (I'm booked for deck 8 1/2). I tried to pay attention to the evolution of Fellini's film language, and when I finished recently, I went back to "Open City," for which Fellini wrote the screenplay. I almost cried thinking how Fellini would address the cultural context of torture today, having also recently seen Morris's "Standard Operating Procedures" and "Taxi to the Dark Side." (As one of 50 households worldwide hosting "Standard Operating Procedures" in October for Physicians for Human Rights, I hope you don't mind that I suggested to the director that you and Morris use your film study technique on a national university tour called "Democracy in the Dark: Stop Torture.") Roger, I want to thank you for enriching my asthetic appreciation and understanding of film, and in giving me a good direction for life-long learning into something that I may not have researched deeper without some simple references on your part. Now I want to get a Blu Ray player because of what you wrote about "Baraka," although I've seen it already on DVD. Meditation is about seeing the world clearly, with insight and compassion. I am content with the written transmissions from your mind.
Bernie Dunham
I always read your reviews and I think the level of intelligence you discuss movies on is rare, even among high profile movie critics. And sir, let me say that we are all losing our ability to speak, as we spend less time talking to people rather than "texting" them, or talking to them via E-mails, or Facebook. I personally spend more time writting on my PC than anything, basically.
Wish you the best Mr. Ebert.
I don't usually double post, but I heard Garrison Keillor read a poem, "Tuning" by Christine Rhein, that struck me as sympathetic to this journal entry, especially the last two stanzas. It can be read (and heard) here: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org
It's the October 28'th issue.
Roger, I deeply enjoyed your blog entry and like everyone here I am glad you are recovering. It saddened me when you fell ill as it would be my Friday routine to pick up a Sun-Times and read your reviews. I am glad you have come to a place in your life where you feel content. Your story offers inspiration and I look forward to your reviews
I can definatly relate to your scenario up there. I have Asperger's Syndrome, a mild form of Autism and was placed in a "Communication's Disorder" program for a great deal of my schooling. I was shy and depressed about not finding the confidence to have a normal social life with the mainstream student body. I like you was a film critic for our school newspaper. This shy quiet kid got great notices for his reviews. The "Communication Disorder" didn't stem into my writing. There's no greater feeling in the world than staring proudly at an essay you are proud of.You can say so much in writing that you en joy than you can in words sometimes. My Mother advised me to go into Journalism, I declined because I don't want writing to become a chore. IMDB deserves all the praise in the world because their user comment feature is a God send for people like me.
"The power of human speech is awesome; by it worlds are transformed and people live and die. It is a power that when encountered in the depth of human experience and imagination requires symbolic expression. The response of the seers is to symbolize this great power as Vac, Goddess of Speech and Consciousness."
-John M. Koller
The Indian Way (second edition)
Re: By Danél Griffin on October 25, 2008 11:57 PM
"Have you ever considered writing a book on the craft of writing? I know that a thousand already exist, but each one has a unique quality to them that offer something new to the table (King's "On Writing" was particularly good)."
avoid that book. more than half is an autobiography with little to do about writing. the rest is his advice, which gems such as (paraphrasing) "you don't need a plot or an outline. just get a nice desk, a good computer, and write stuff."
for more about king and his writing:
http://brainsnorts.blogspot.com/2006/04/stephen-king-is-overrated.html
Ebert: I dunno. Isn't the writing itself part of a book on writing? I never expect to sit on a washing machine writing a novel n my lap, but I was fascinated as King wrote about creating his first book in that way.
Roger, thy blog hath made me whole; go in peace, and be whole of thy plague.
Roger,
You are beautiful, this is beautiful. I can not spin words as magically as either you or E.E. Cummings, but regardless you are both an inspiration to me.
Thank you a million times over for sharing.
-Rachel
Ebert: Nor can I spin words as magically as cummings, so we're in the same boat.
I had taken a prolonged break from my early-morning, pre-office-hours writing efforts, and was lucky enough to connect to this post through a colleague's recommendation on Twitter.
I am now going back to the work of writing.
"What you write is what is written. It is exactly right because it is exactly what you wrote. ... There is no objective goal, no objective right or wrong. Only the process." -- Roger Ebert (reply to comments on this article)
Roger,
Another thing I have noticed, which may or may not be true, is that you seem to have become more positive about films over the course of this year. It is always a bit of a surprise to come here and find three- or four-star reviews for films which are greeted with contempt in nearly every other corner, like "Pineapple Express" or "W.". It would be interesting to see statistically if the average star rating has actually increased or if I'm wrong in noticing this, and also interesting to hear your ideas for why it might be the case.
Ebert: Star ratings are nonsense. If you've seen either movie, read the review and see if you recognize the film you saw.
Hi Roger,
I have enjoyed immensely your writings more or less since the advent of DVD in 97.(for me anyway)
I enjoy reading the reviews whether or not I agree with your opinion of the film and after reading this blog I now know why...it is conversation.
I was just thinking that I have always gotten more enjoyment from the reviews after having watched the movie then before.
Probably as only after seeing the movie can you have formed your own opinion of the film allowing you to create a conversation (of sorts)out of your reading the review and I don't think you can have that conversation without having an opinion.
As you can see I am not a writer but I look forward to our future conversations!
Ebert: I dunno. Isn't the writing itself part of a book on writing? I never expect to sit on a washing machine writing a novel n my lap, but I was fascinated as King wrote about creating his first book in that way.
yes, the story about "his" process is interesting, but the book was titled on writing, not on stephen king. he is far from a model on how to be a writer. my contradiction is that i both read and dislike everything he writes. i read it because i enjoy his conversational style which is like hemingway with a little touch of color. it feels like someone is next to me, telling me the story.
however, i dislike his work because he cannot craft an ending. everything is wrapped up on a convenient whim. he neither outlines nor explains. he improvs as he writes, things just happen, and everything that happens (that can't be done) is blamed on a manifestation of evil. i liken it to a very good dinner in which the dessert sucked. i enjoyed 98% of it, but the last part needed work.
as for ee cummings, i haven't capitalized in years unless msword does it for me. that's partly thanks to cummings and partly thanks to how it annoys people at work. ;)
Roger -
When anyone asks me now how much they should write when starting a blog, I'll point them to your output and say to aim for that.
I pointed a friend at this article and he asked how someone got 229 comments and not a single idiot flaming you. (He missed Ken.) I'm not sure I've seen anything like this in recent memory on the net.
Now, I need to go write something.
thanks
Ed
I should have my own tongue cut out if that made me as eloquent as thee.
I just read—or tried to—your review of "Zack and Miri," but found myself so convulsed with laughter that I couldn't finish it. You really are a better writer now.
But it's not just your skills that have grown. So has your heart.
When you were gone for a year, and nobody was saying what was wrong with you, I imagined you had some kind of stroke, that you were in some kind of vegetative state, so horrible and intractable that we weren't even given a clue. And then, on Oct. 13, 2006, we got the words, "The opening shots of Stephen Frears' "The Queen" simply show Helen Mirren's face as her character prepares for it to be seen." I've read those words a dozen times. They still make me cry with joy. Whatever else fails me in this world, I can be grateful for the continuing miracle of the mind of Roger Ebert.
"... By losing the ability to speak, I have increased my ability to communicate. I am content."
Well said, well received. I realize this is the 300 something post, but I just had to respond. I lost my ability to speak for a time, to communicate after a major loss, a death. Only through writing could I articulate the depth of my grief. To connect again finally, with myself. To this day, I write with a vulnerability that guts myself so others might see more clearly- the light of hope midst the tragedies of life, as you do so well here, sir. I am proud of you and request that you consider adding one more word to that statement. Authentic.
I have not always agreed with your reviews through the years, though do feel strongly- you have always been sincere. Take care-
Dear Roger,
I just read your post. The link was suggested reading in the latest email from the National Council of Teachers of English. As an educator (elementary teacher), your words resonated with me. You put into words what we work hard to teach our students - writers of the future. I certainly understand why the NCTE referred us to your blog entry. Reaching deeper is a theme, both for writing and reading. We need to continue to emphasize the quality of the work and the experience, not the quantity. Your other point about experiencing a book for a second or third time does not equal "reading the same book" is a fact that I try to impress on my students on a regular basis. Your writing is eloquent and moving. How impressive that you recognize and embrace the evolution of the process. If I may, I'd like to use your comment about "taking dictation from that place within my mind that knows what to say." It's powerful and a comment that can be used with even young children. I think that they will be impressed when I tell them that a very good, well-known and prolific writer, named Mr. Roeger Ebert, has that lesson to share with them.
I am a first year survivor of salivary gland cancer. I had surgery in September of 2007. I endured seven weeks of radiation treatment after that and the doctors continue to monitor me closely. You are a role model for me. My segue into cancer world does not even begin to compare to what you have been through but I recognize the undulating path on which you have found yourself. I loved how you ended your blog entry: "I am content." God bless you.
Roger,
I'd just like to second Stan Lanning's recommendation of John Varley'
s story, "The Persistence of Vision". It's an unforgettable look at an entire society that some would call disabled (blind, deaf), but in fact, the protagonist who comes into their midst finds himself "disabled" relative to them, and learns how to perceive the world in new and astounding ways.
I read it, oh maybe 25 years ago, and it still leaps to mind when someone asks what's my favorite story.
And thank you for doing this blog. It's a wonderful thing you do for all of us who admire you so much, and are so hungry for your words.
Gratefully,
Mark
Roger,
When I was religious coincidence fed my mysticism. I come to your web pages about once a week and have for years. Only recently have I read your blog and today I thought I'd have another peek. The coincidence? Just yesterday I was thinking of how much more personally insightful your writing had become and googled around a bit trying to find a critique of your recent 'voice.' I had no real success and today I came upon this blog and its comments!
Loved you before and know you better now. Thank you.
Also feel compelled to add quote from movie--"Spoken like a true smart-ass."
Wishing you the best,
Gary
As my hearing gets worse I find I am reading a lot more. I have also begun to write occassionally, just for the fun of it.
Thanks for sharing.
I have read just about every review you've ever written, ever since I read your review of "The Butcher's Wife". I didn't love the movie, but I loved what you had to say about (and I don't remember it enough to quote word for word) magical things that should be but aren't and how, even though they don't exist, we should always act as if they do. That became my philosophy in life...and a damned good one it's been.
My husband swears by you--he says if you like a movie, he knows he'll hate it and vice-versa.
Your taste in movies is irrelevant to me. Your writing is fucking brilliant.
Thank you.
I'm a photographer in Birmingham, AL, and I did an exhibit on "The Creative Process" a few months ago. I love your approach to the experience of Creativity.
"The Muse visits during the process of creation, not before." What a wonderful reality.
This blog entry was both encouraging and challenging.
If you ever have the time, please view the PDF of my exhibit and tell me your thoughts:
http://calebchancey.com/pdf/exhibits/TheCreativeProcess.pdf
caleb@calebchancey.com
Peace. - Caleb
I'm deaf, with a cochlear implant. I started losing my hearing when I was about a year old, but maintained hearing through most of my adult life (my first job after dropping out of college was phone-based tech support, which I continued doing for more than five years). I got on the Internet in 1990, and it has been a social lifeline as my hearing deteriorated.
I appreciate how difficult it must be to get suddenly forced into changing one's mode of communication; I had decades to prepare for my transition into deafness, and even now I have considerable hearing thanks to my cochlear implant.
Unfortunately, precisely because I'm an Internet fogey, I hate blogging. Although you enjoy the conversational quality, to me it is at best a pale imitation of the king of on-line conversation: Usenet (aka netnews). I'm only here because my partner passed on the URL.
BTW, I have a web page about talking with hearing-impaired people: http://rule6.info/hearing.html
Dear Roger,
That is indeed a very fine bit of writing. It's obvious from some of your respondents that your clear and evocative expression of your experiences are stimulating and inspiring. Thanks so much.
THANK YOU SO MUCH, MR. EBERT, FOR YOUR INSPIRATIONAL AND EXUBERANT PIECE. I HAD TO PRINT IT OUT SO I CAN RE-READ IT TO MY HEART'S CONTENT.
AS A LONG TIME ADMIRER OF YOUR REVIEWS, I THINK THIS ARTICLE IS A STELLAR EXAMPLE OF YOUR CREATIVITY. BRAVO!
I have lived by your words for most of my adult life. In your review for "The Butcher's Wife" you said something about (I don't have the direct quote) magical things that should exist, but don't and about how we should always, in any case, live as if they did. I didn't love the movie, but have made those words my philosophy...may as well live life as though it is magical, than as though it were not.
Roger,
I first heard your voice as one in a bunch of friends around a pub table in Champaign, then at many a pub table in Chicago. Since then, we've both quit hanging around pubs, and I have moved to Texas, far from mutual old friends. But I "hear" your voice online through your reviews, and now through your blog.
I too "lost" my voice, Roger, also from cancer. You can read about it here, if you like, in one of my columns for Eclecta, the online lit mag.
http://www.eclectica.org/v3n4/sampson_salon.html
I've since regained a voice of sorts, but I too speak more fluently on a keyboard.
Keep talking, old friend. We hear you.
Ebert: Paul Sampson! Or, as you were invariably known, Sampson! Those were the days, my friend. In my case, maybe I just got everything said. Studs Terkel observed, "What an iron