Christy Lemire wrote me: "So, everyone seems pretty moved by the Esquire piece on you, but I'm wondering what you thought about it. It's so intimate, personal."
Yeah, it was, wasn't it? It was also well written, I thought. When I turned to it in the magazine, I got a jolt from the full-page photograph of my jaw drooping. Not a lovely sight. But then I am not a lovely sight, and in a moment I thought, well, what the hell. It's just as well it's out there. That's how I look, after all.
It was an inexplicable instinct that led me to agree when Chris Jones contacted me requesting an interview. The idea of Esquire appealed to me. I did a bunch of interviews for them in the 1970s, when it was the crucible of the New Journalism.
What goes around, comes around. I'd read some of Chris's stuff. He's good. You sense the person there. He's not holding his subjects at arm's length. I knew I'd have to play fair. I've done interviews for years. This was no time to get sensitive and ask for photo approval, or an advance look at the piece. I'd been the goose, and now it was my turn to be the gander. I've never known what that means, geese-wise.
Chaz is always my protector. She had her doubts. She worries that I'm too impulsive and trusting. She is correct. Left entirely to my own devices, god knows what I might be capable of. She would follow me into the mouth of a cannon, but first she'd say, "Do you really think it's a good idea to crawl into that cannon?" Then I would explain that it was my duty as a journalist, a film critic, a liberal, or a human being, etc., to crawl into the cannon. And she'd suggest I sleep on it and crawl into the cannon fresh and early in the morning.
"Did you really have to write all those Tweets about Rush Limbaugh?" she asked me one day. "He's a sick man. What if people had written about you that way when you were in the hospital?""That would be their right," I said heroically. "Besides, he said he was fine."
"And you wouldn't care what they said about you?"
"Resentment is allowing someone to live rent-free in a room in your head," I intoned. That line isn't original with me. It may have originated with her.
The next morning I woke up bright and early and tweeted an apology to Rush Limbaugh. Anyway, Chaz wondered if I really thought it was a good idea to invite Chris Jones or anyone else do to an interview that would involve being followed around and observed informally. I said I sensed he wasn't looking for a kill but just wanted to write a good article. He was a real writer. We talked about it. I knew he was coming when Chaz started in with the house cleaning.
Chris Jones was an awfully nice man. He told us he lives in Ottawa, was teaching journalism at the University of Montana, and is married with two kids. So that tells you something. Well, it tells me something. I can't put it into words, but if the same man is also a senior writer for Esquire, he's my man. He arrived at the appointed hour, and he did an excellent job of describing everything that happened subsequently.Actually, he left some things out. As our library was being cleaned, I noticed for the first time in some years the bound albums of our wedding photos sitting out. That lodged in my mind. When Chris was about to arrive and I was a little nervous, I told Chaz, "for God's sake, don't start showing him our wedding photos! That will make us look bourgeois." She looked at me in disbelief. "What makes you think I would ever show him our wedding photos?" I explained that because I had seen the albums sitting out, et cetera...I assumed, et cetera...and then he arrived.
He hadn't been in the house half an hour before the conversation turned to Gene Siskel. I said what a close friend he had been, apart from our fights and feuds and the rest of it, which were real, but didn't dislodge our friendship. "His daughters were even the flower girls at our wedding," I said. "Chaz, show Chris our wedding photos." She looked at me like the eighth wonder of the world.
A little later I was telling Chris that Siskel was secretive and I was the opposite, always blurting out what I should shut up about. "He said my middle names should be Full Disclosure." This started Chaz to laughing and in the spirit of Full Disclosure she blurted out my dire warning to her about the wedding photos.
Well, that was okay with me, actually. My theory was that if Chris had an article to write it was not my place to write it for him as a favorable press release about myself. Let him write what he observed. Oliver Cromwell is said to have commissioned an official painting of himself, "warts and all." He apparently never said any such thing, was misquoted a century after his death, and his official portrait showed no warts, but never mind: He should have said it.
The best interview I ever wrote was for Esquire. It was told almost entirely in dialog, and involved an afternoon I spent with Lee Marvin at his beach house in Malibu. He spent much effort ordering in fresh supplies of Heineken's. I took faithful notes, sent the piece in, and waited for the shit to hit the fan. Esquire ran it with a headline something like, An afternoon with Lee F---ing Marvin. They used dashes in those days. I never heard a word from Marvin.A few years later, I interviewed Marvin in his house outside Tucson. I observed he was not drinking. "I'm alive, aren't I?"He said. I said I didn't know if he would want to talk with me after the Esquire piece. He had married again a few years earlier, a girl he'd been in love with before he went off to the Marines. She started laughing. "That was Lee," she said. Marvin lit a cigarette.
That's all you can really ask: For Chaz to be able to read the article and say it was about me. It was. By and large, it was a faithful account of what happened over the course of two days and evenings. The errors were few, small and understandable.I knew going in that a lot of the article would be about my surgeries and their aftermath. Let's face it. Esquire wouldn't have assigned an article if I were still in good health. Their cover line was the hook: Roger Ebert's Last Words. A good head. Whoever wrote that knew what they were doing. I was a little surprised at the detail the article went into about the nature and extent of my wounds and the realities of my appearance, but what the hell. It was true. I didn't need polite fictions.
One strange result was that many people got the idea that these were my dying words. The line Chaz liked least referred to the time he has left. A blog reader said he hadn't realized I was so frail. Here's how Romenesko's Media News linked the item:
Well, we're all dying in increments. I don't mind people knowing what I look like, but I don't want them thinking I'm dying. To be fair, Chris Jones never said I was. If he took a certain elegiac tone, you know what? I might have, too. And if he structured his elements into a story arc, that's just good writing. He wasn't precisely an eyewitness the second evening after Chaz had gone off to bed and I was streaming Radio Caroline and writing late into the night. But that's what I did. It may be, the more interviews you've done, the more you appreciate a good one. I knew exactly what he started with, and I could see where he ended, and he can be proud of the piece.I mentioned that it was sort of a relief to have that full-page photo of my face. Yes, I winced. What I hated most was that my hair was so neatly combed. Running it that big was good journalism. It made you want to read the article.
I studiously avoid looking at myself in a mirror. It would not be productive. If we think we have physical imperfections, obsessing about them is only destructive. Low self-esteem involves imagining the worst that other people can think about you. That means they're living upstairs in the rent-free room.
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The Chris Jones article in Esquire.
•My Esquire interview with Lee F---ing Marvin..
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The New York Times review of Chris Jones's "Too Far From Home: A Story of Life and Death in Space," by Janet Maslin.
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All the solo photos of me were taken by Ethan Hill. Copyright © 2010 by Esquire magazine.
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I really enjoyed the interview for the fact that it did feel honest - not too "puffy" and not too "poor Roger" either.
I continue to appreciate all the writing that you do, and I would agree that in the last few years there is a different air to the writing that I can't quite describe.
Through it all the best thing you do, Mr. Ebert, is show your passion through everything that you still give to the world. Thanks for that.
I hope you realize that almost all of us can hear your voice in your writing; all of that time with you in our living rooms means your sounds are heard by us without you using your vocal cords. Familiarity and respect also let others take up room in our minds rent-free.
I think the Esquire article was not only beautiful, but for me, emotional. I don't cry ever, but reading the article and being a reader of your blog led me to tears. It had nothing to do with sadness or dying (because you're right, we're all dying in increments), but some innate emotion that reminded me of how incredibly awesome and raw real life is. If that's cheesy, so be it!
I'm a huge fan, and an equal lover of Steak-n-Shake, especially the chili mac supreme with a side of cheese fries.
Thank you for sharing that part of yourself!
I have been sitting up late reading through your blog, which I was fortunate enough to have had brought to my attention some months ago. It is some of the best writing out there, period. I have also just read the Esquire piece and felt very blessed to have had Chris Jones bring out even more of you to your readers. It moved me, but not out of pity. What you said in that article were words of wisdom, not easily attained, and which have brought great comfort to me, and I trust to many others. Thank you for bringing so much light to the world.
Thank you for this follow-up to the Chris Jones interview. I admit I cried when I read the Esquire interview-not because of the pain but because of the beauty. I don't find your face hard to look at. I don't even think about your physical appearance any more now than I ever did. I read your words, the movie reviews, the tweets, and I value what you say because it is wise and funny and truthful. Your left-over words would be another man's nobel effort. So thank you for your honesty and willingness to be seen, as well as heard.
I confess Roger, that I did cry over that article in Esquire, it was just wonderfully written and it really conveyed the perception of you I've always had, that you are a strong man with great opinions. Just wanted to say you're my hero Ebert, as a small little movie reviewer for a little read magazine on youth and seniors in Vancouver, I want to thank you for writing all your reviews that have inspired me to think a bit more about the films I'm watching!
Through the Suntimes and television you have been my unofficial film professor for 25 years. Your transparency and tendency towards "full disclosure" has greatly increased my love for the cinema. I look forward to reading the article. Thank You.
The article did make me a bit sad - especially the bit about Gene and how you described your relationship. But mainly I felt proud to be a frequenter of this blog. I'm glad you accepted the interview. The most encouraging bit for me was when Jones mentioned that all you critics are on the lookout for younger critics.
I would be very pleased with this article. It portrayed you rather heroically: confronting your problems stoically, dutifully scribbling down wisdom for the benefit of us all. Your blog is a treasure, I'm sure I will look back on it in the future when I am confronting my own mortality.
What shocks me is how many read the article as depressing. I linked it on the ol' facebook page, and a buddy replied:"Thanks, now I am off to kill myself." Even without my sentimental goggles on, I know you're doing your best work right now, and this blog is a huge blessing. You're the only media personality I check on everyday, and it's in spite of your recent drama, not because of it.
I thought it was a well-written, and touching, piece; but I, too, noted that people picked up on the "dying in increments" bit. As you say, we're all dying in increments. It's not like one is the embodiment of pysical perfection one day, and then in the sweet bosom of Heli the next.
That I have managed to work in a reference from Norse Mythology makes me proud...
I'm sure I'm not the only person to think Chris Jones wrote a wonderful article about a wonderful writer.
I have had hours of pleasure reading your blog that has brought to life vivid characters and amazing films.
Please keep on writing so I can keep on reading.
I loved the article, it was definitely full of terrific writing. However, after reading your own blog and reviews for some time now, I realized that the tone the article took was a little off. To me, it felt depressing and pessimistic when it should have been more inspiring and optimistic. You never show any negativity in your voice (your writing). Nevertheless, it was a fascinating look into your life and well worth a read.
I give it a thumbs up!
Very good article on you and your life nowadays in Esquire. The picture was a little jarring to me at first glance as well and really brought home to me what you, Ms. Chaz, and the rest of your friends and family have dealt with the past years. I'm a little spoiled because I hit your site daily to read new and old reviews as well as this journal so knowing in greater detail now the physical difficulties you deal with daily while churning out high quality work is definitely a testament to you as a writer, a person, and a fighter.
Keep it going because you're doing what a writer is supposed to do...write. You keep doing that and I'll keep reading while we all die in our own increments.
PS. I hear your words in my mind in your voice so it hasn't been lost to this reader.
I have admired you for years (yes, years). I greatly enjoy and appreciate your criticism and now your tweets and blog entries. And I think your honesty respecting your personal situation is a rare yet honorable thing. Thank you for that honesty and your wisdom freely shared.
Best regards!
As a photographer, its hard to get people to sit for you when they know the photo will be less than glamorous. When you're wanting to show the real person, people get scared. When I find someone willing to be put under that much scrutiny.. Shown with beauty and flaws alike. I can do nothing more than be in awe. I admire these people so much for letting me and anyone else into their lives. The piece about Robert was touching and honest. Its shows him in a light that I would of never known otherwise, and made me a great admirer.
Thank you Robert for letting us in.
Roger,
I grew up in the Midwest watching you and Gene Siskel on televisions of varying forms, from medium black and white relics to small, economic color models. The image of a 7th grader watching two journalists talking about the fine points of movies he's too young to see may seem silly, but the image he got would last a lifetime.
Two regular looking, intelligent guys were systematically analyzing all parts of a film, including story, acting, and production, and disagreeing with each other on many points. No insults were hurled, no grudges held, no grand judgements of character. This was no cheap melodrama; this was, to my young mind, impassioned, smart, and mostly unstructured debate between two relaxed, learned gentlemen.
I read your interview today; the picture, along with your condition, struck me, as it must have struck other readers. Knowing the details of your situation is stunning. Knowing how you and your wife are dealing with them is amazing.
I'm glad as hell to have been given the chance to see that you're approaching this milestone with the same passion and intellect you exhibited in your public conversations with Mr. Siskel. Having the courage to show us who you are gives us courage, too.
Thank you.
A couple of days ago a friend of mine, knowing that I was a fan of yours, sent me the link to the Esquire interview. I was a little hesitant at first, especially after reading the headline. I was worried that the interview may be a bit exploitative in nature, and wanted to wait to see if you commented on it. I'm glad to hear that you enjoyed the piece, and I'm on my way to reading it right now.
Dear Roger: I just read your response re the Esquire piece---it is a lovely coda. Thank you. Karen A. Callaway P.S. I know the Journal is on your home page on the Sun-Times site, but I wish there was a way to become a fan of it, separately.
Ebert: You don't like my home page? Gasp. Just go directly here:
http://blogs.suntimes.com/ebert/
I'm sure this will be one of hundreds or thousands just like it, but reading the Esquire article yesterday was a strangely personal experience. In my high school years, which were not that long ago but seem so now, I gave myself an informal film education with the Great Movies essays. Those articles and my parents' goodwill was probably the only thing that prompted the maintenance of the Foreign and Classic sections at the Hollywood Video in my little section of Metro Detroit suburbia. Now, sex or seven years later, I am in a one year Master's program at the University of Chicago, and my education about film and its processes is much more formal and thorough. And yet, I read Mr. Jones' piece with more reverence and attention than any of my readings for class this year. I don't know if it's how Ebert has (very pleasantly) made himself a part of the critical narrative for so long, but the story of Roger Ebert's tribulations over the past few years prompted me to examine his role in my own maturation as a film lover (lover before scholar, no matter what degree I get).
Like I said, it's not terribly original, but I wanted to share it on here as well as I did on the film forums I haunt more frequently.
I think one of the reasons the article has resonated across the Internet is that for many people, you are the only movie critic they know. It scares people to think that someone they've known for so long could be dying, even though you are very much alive. Though you may be too humble to admit it, you are a cultural icon and a part of peoples' lives; you matter to people and even if you weren't sick, you'd have been article-worthy. I don't know if Esquire would have assigned it, in this era of journalism dominated by marketing and "what the audience wants," but I know people would have read it.
and may God bless you, sir. You have always been one of my favorite regular writers of any sort, not just because of the movie reviews, and in spite of your infuriatingly unilateral politics. My hat's off to Chaz, yourself, and this Jones fellow.
Cheers.
Thank you so much for doing the interview. I've been following you on twitter for awhile, and that combined with the interview has been a very uplifting and intellectually stimulating experience.
The quote you made about happiness and our job to spread it was extremely wise. Your candid reflection on your life and life as a whole is in my opinion sort of reminiscent of some of Bergman's writings about his life.
Thank you so much for everything.
Roger,
I liked the article, and appreciate the follow-up you have written, as I was very curious as to your reaction to it.
One thing is clear, you are at the top of your game right now as a writer, and that's saying something.
I envy you, I've dreamed of being able to write as well as you do since I was young; at 41, I still dream of it. I have a minor talent for asking the right questions in an interview that masks my lack of writing ability. I console myself with the theory that I have a few decades of self-improvement left :)
I was particularly interested in the passages re Gene. Before I missed you on TV, I missed you and Gene on TV.
My parents divorced when I was 11. Every other weekend with dad was naturally a strange experience at a traumatic time. Awkward. My dad is an intellectual, and we could only watch certain programs in his presence, growing up. PBS - Nova, etc. Classic movies. One of the strongest recollections of that time is watching your show on PBS on (Sunday?) afternoon with my dad at his condo. The rain dripping down outside (Seattle), and my brother and I discussing the show with dad; cozy and warm in his living room,eating a snack. And the inevitable, "Can we go see Tron next time? Will you take us to see Time Bandits?"
When interviewing musicians, etc., I sometimes ask about their awareness of their work's impact on their fans. And I'd ask the same of you. You've certainly impacted so many people in so many ways.
In closing, the irony that the Esquire piece brings to mind is that your absence from TV has steered folks like myself towards the joys of reading your articles. And, to tell the truth, if I had to choose between viewing your great TV work and reading your reviews and essays, I'd certainly choose the latter. What is that old saying about closing a door and opening a window?
ps. Disney can kiss my ass.
Dear Mr. Ebert-
When I first started reading this post, I was worried it might contain a litany of regrets about having done the Esquire interview. I was so heartened to see you took that unblinking look at your life in gentlemanly, generous stride.
It cannot be easy to open your home and heart to a mass publication like that, but I agree Jones' dramatic touches were crafted to achieve that "elegiac tone" you described.
I never took the piece as a maudlin, manipulated goodbye. Like you commented, we're all dying in increments. Sharing the physical hardships you've endured alongside the sturdy way you get on with the business of living is not just inspirational for others, it's sustaining. Everything in the piece presented you and Chaz as good, honest, intelligent, passionate people.
While segments of the profile were heartbreaking, I feel you've done a far-reaching mitzvah by sharing your experiences so transparently. Many will be touched and inspired to be better people.
The quote of yours in the piece about happiness, unhappiness and contributing joy to the world is one of the most poignant summaries of the essence of life I've read, rivaling your brilliant "Synecdoche, NY" review. I've printed out both on good, old-fashioned bond paper to save, reread, remind and savor.
The life's wisdom you've acquired and the eloquent way you share it is a real gift to the world, sir. Back in your "Sneak Preview" show days, you were a significant influence in fueling my love for movies. Now you've become a significant influence in fueling my love for life. You may be living in my head rent-free because of it, but I couldn't ask for a better tenant.
All the best,
Nictate
Thanks so much for asserting that the article was true and was you; and for your repeated mantraesque "what the hell," which reminds us of Mehitabel the Cat's "wotthehell archy wotthehell" and leads to "toujours gai" and "cheerio my deario." There's still a dance in the old dame yet, and lots of punch in the Pundit!
I would like to say that the piece Chris wrote was one of the best I've ever read. It came at the perfect time as I had just been discussing you and your writing to my friends the night before. I will be going out to buy the issue with Chris's story so I can tear out the pages, get them laminated, and keep it safe with my collection of movie ticket stubs. Thank you so much for agreeing to let him do the story.
Dear Roger,
First time commenter, longtime fan of your work. I'm a music journalist and I always enjoy reading and savoring your reviews, essays, and blogs. Like many here, I'm truly reveling in your "explosion of writing."
As for the Esquire piece, I initially thought Chris's detailing of your injuries was a bit much, but like you said, "that's just good writing." You rarely read such forthright and thoughtful words on someone in the public eye. There are sadly so many filters and skewed angles and counter-angles to battle with these days. (Man, I'm almost 26 and I sound like I'm Clint Eastwood grumping on his front porch in "Gran Torino.") Anyway, reading the piece felt like I was sitting down with you for those two days and evenings. Reading your thoughts on the article were equally enlightening. Thanks for letting us into your home my good man.
I had one hypothetical question... I know you've said that an autobiography is probably out of the question, but what do you think would be a fitting title?
P.S. - I'm a night owl too. Perhaps it's in a writer's DNA. :)
At least people won't think of you as "the fat one" anymore!
It was a really good article, by the way. Maybe a little too much like a eulogy, but hey, we should all be so lucky to read our eulogies.
Jaw, schmaw. It's been a verrrry long time since I was so turned on by a man (and I mean that partly sexually but, really, more spiritually, and I don't even believe in God). Chaz has excellent taste. Glad you're tweeting, etc. Glad we are alive at the same time. And--the dogs are howling again, here in Nowhere, AZ. Must attend to them. You're a wonder.
I found myself on the verge of tears upon reading the article, mainly because you've been such a great influence in my life. I am now in my second year of film school against my parent's wishes (still, they support me thank god), and you were the voice that made me choose this calling. The article is well written, but I worried for a whole day that you were slowly dying, every ten minutes the words "dying in increments" popped into my head and it kinda ruined my day. But I knew that you would put my mind at ease soon by writing something about the article, so thanks for this peace of mind. If I have a dream, it's that you review my first film someday, and your words make me think it might happen. There is work to be done in the field of film criticism, and there's no better man for the job than you, Sir.
Joey Muñoz, Tijuana México.
Mr. Ebert:
I read the Esquire article and I'm a big fan of your reviews ( I visit your reviews site every week). Here's my question: How far does a relationship go between a film critic and the industry? How far can it go? You yourself have had a long history with Martin Scorsese, so I just wanted to know how that relationship works.
By the way, I think you're an awesome guy.
Mr Roger Ebert,
You are a cinematography icon. I will always cite you as my favourite film critic of all time. Thank you for teaching me to appreciate cinematography, for exposing me to fine motion pictures and for enabling me to avoid the many many abysmal ones out there. Not only have you instilled in me such appreciation for film, you have also taught & exemplified what it takes for one to be a tenacious fighter in the face of sickness. Soldier on Mr Ebert, i salute you. Keep the impeccable critiquing up. :)
This was an extremely nice read. I loved Chris' article and I really admire how open you are about the whole thing, Roger.
I live in Denmark where your show has never aired, so it's only because of various things on the internet that I even know about you (the Nostalgia Critic's tribute to you and Gene for instance). But I must say that having seen some of your older reviews now and having read a whole lot about you on the web plus being a follower of yours on twitter has been a great experience to me. You're an interesting as well as fascinating person who's not let the loss of your voice shut you up the least. It's highly admirable :)
Oh yeah, thank you for all the different links you've tweeted. They have given me many hours of joy.
Yours truly
Kenneth Jørgensen, Randers, Denmark.
The Esquire article was beautifully written though slightly overdramatic.
After I read it, I realized that I had learned film appreciation from "Siskel & Ebert at the Movies" and Bill Rocz (my local film critic).
My interests in journalism and filmmaking resulted in 3 years of high school journalism and a college film education.
I would like to say that I grew up to be a famous filmmaker, but that hasn't happened yet. I'm a business student who makes short films and writes movie reviews for fun.
I can never thank you or Gene enough for teaching me to appreciate good films. Bill Rocz taught me to look out for stinkweeds.
Every time I read your blog or read one of your reviews, I learn something new.
Roger I've been an avid reader of your writing for a long time and to see you continue despite your physical challenges has been galvanizing. As a journalism student myself, I can only hope to be half the writer you've proven yourself to be. There is indeed a silver lining to your illness, your proficiency and dedication to your art despite your illnesses are enviable and inspiring not just to writers but to anyone suffering from cancer. Your jaw may not have lasted Roger but your words will live forever.
What a great article the Esquire story is. Thank you for sharing it with us all. A few months ago I first found out about a novel called Infinite Jest by David Foster Wallace. It sounded like something I'd like to read, so I found a copy and set it aside. Last week I started on it. I knew nothing about it or its author, but on the flyleaf it said Wallace died in 2008. Wikipedia told me he committed suicide. I'm up to page 92 and only have 987 to go; already I'm hooked. Just like I've been hooked on your reviews for at least a decade. I'm sorry I never read or heard Gene's reviews with you (they probably didn't get to Australia). But like Wallace's words, yours will always be with us and they will always entertain and make us think. Thanks for the reviews and the blog entries; may they continue for many more years!
Mr Roger Ebert,
You are a cinematography icon. I will always cite you as my favourite film critic of all time. Thank you for teaching me to appreciate cinematography, for exposing me to fine motion pictures and for enabling me to avoid the many many abysmal ones out there. Not only have you instilled in me such appreciation for film, you have also taught & exemplified what it takes for one to be a tenacious fighter in the face of sickness. Soldier on Mr Ebert, i salute you. Keep the impeccable critiquing up. :)
I think it was very courageous to let some of your most personal experiences be known publicly. I knew of course of your surgeries and your inability to speak but I truly didn't fathom (and never completely will) what you are going through.
You don't sound frail though. When he was talking of you being in the theater taking notes and when you were writing into the night, I thought, "Do I accomplish that much in a day?"
Well, I am rambling now. Thank you for your blogs and for your willingness to let us peer into a deeper facet of your life.
So nice to hear your responses to the piece — and your thoughts about your new appearance. The latest, internet-fueled incarnation of Roger Ebert has made me pump my fist in the air many times, but I've never cheered harder than when you wrote about the importance of being sick in public and not hiding the after-effects of your surgeries. Despite our modern media saturation, sickness (indeed, weakness of any kind) are hidden away with as much shame and denial as they've ever been. Chris Jones is right to draw attention to your role as an internet personality and the manner in which it's proven that your mind and personality are as powerful and engaging as they've ever been.
Funny enough, the line I most strongly disagree with is also seen in the Romenesko's snippet — "Roger Ebert is no mystic, but he knows things we don't know." It's a damn good line, but it sells your mysticism short. We all know you as a writer committed to rational, humanistic, Enlightenment-driven ideals — but, like it or not, you're also a cybershaman.
I've enjoyed pumping my fist and engaging in virtual call-and-response with your writing — preach it, Brother Ebert! — but what I've enjoyed most of all since you began writing for the Web is the notion that someone smart and capable and sometimes a little wise remembers what came before today and is still able to engage the world of today with vitality and relevance. It breaks my heart how few 20th Century voices have been able to speak through (and to) the internet. Perhaps you possess an uncanny social aptitude and natural talent for the interactive Web, but I prefer to believe it's sheer will and willingness to engage that have made you a trusted voice online. Ebert 3.0 is a worthy intermediary between those of us who slave away in day jobs and the high-definition realm of entertainment, thought, and (forgive me for speaking it) Truth.
Those moments we can see the man behind the voice — or even a reasonable facsimile cobbled together through narrative — are all the more precious. Thanks for sharing the photos, the scenes from your life, and your thoughts with Chris Jones.
And apologies that my first response to you in all this time is filled with such gushing admiration. Perhaps later I'll return and confess to the fact that when I first encountered you and Gene Siskel, I wrote you off as the wrong-headed, sentimental one and spent most of my time with your virtual stand-in sputtering and disagreeing, rather than issuing amens.
I personally found the article to be both touching and inspiring. The only real issue I had, in fact, was the title, which cast a bit of a pall over the story that followed. Still, excellent work that I felt treated you with the utmost respect.
(Despite my misgivings about the name, I must admit the tone and focus of the article reminded me of the quote attributed to Issac Asimov: "If my doctor told me I had only six minutes to live, I wouldn't brood. I'd type a little faster.")
I read the article a couple days ago while I was at work. The photograph you mentioned was indeed jarring, but I thought the overall piece was one of the better things I've ever read in Esquire. And it was also sort of inspiring. Speaking of which... When I was about 13 or 14 and had just started writing movie reviews as a hobby, I e-mailed you. I didn't expect a reply, but not only did you respond - you also asked for my address and subsequently sent me an autographed copy of your Great Movies book with a personal message.
That was a big deal to me back then, and I still have the book. It's also still one of the most inspiring things anyone's ever done for me, and I think I might have given up on writing (or at least doubted myself more) if that hadn't happened. It really boosted my enthusiasm. Although I don't write reviews as often as I used to, I'm still churning stuff out these days when I'm not too busy with college, where I'm studying journalism in the hopes of becoming a writer.
I just wanted to thank you now, about six or seven years later, for going out of your way to do that - and also to say that the article just made me respect you even more.
- John
i'm loving being reacquainted with your daily writings. i come more from the visual arts world, and have always thought of critics as frustrated artists. but you and mick la salle have this beautiful respect and desire to understand and convey what you feel that makes art more cyclical. like a good conversation.
when you leave art school, things get more commercial and busy and you miss the fights, the love, the screwing, all in the name art.
i love hearing about your relationship with siskel. i love going over some of your reviews in my head, and i've loved watching a movie THEN going to read your take on it. it's back to the conversations we had in bars after making art and not showering for 3 or 4 days, and barely sleeping.
i think that the funny thing is that you are now living all out in the open like a total fearless artist, so i'm confused about my original take on critics. yes, yes, i know i was simple-minded to assume.
but we get to categorizing people into the "suits" the "porn stars" the "trophy wives," etc.
i find your transparency and candor so beautiful, you are living AS art now. more than ever. every nerve ending is exposed and it's something to see you've reached this place we touchy feely types hope to get to. it's a maturity and a peace that supports your passion instead of an immature mania that the arts romanticizes with bad endings and needles dangling out of our arms or with us taking a running leap out the window.
thank you for showing how you take each step and offer up your neck and.. i find i stumble to express myself and my usual craziness with metaphors has got me stammering. you notice everything and i love how you write write write it all down.
i ask you questions on twitter and you ignore them. questions i ask as if i had a few hours with you before someone drives me back to the city. but i don't mind and i don't feel like a little kid who was turned away from getting an autograph. when it's your time, and you're typing as fast as you take anything in, i can see why you might think, "if you didn't get what i wrote the first time, catch it again on your own time."
i feel like that now about bad movies and now i get why my friend who was 20 yrs older than me used to say she doesn't have time for bad movies because life's too short after you leave your 30s. if it starts bad, it's not gonna get better.
i'm 42 now. i get it.
so i'll find your essay on the magical mystique of b/w film. i'll figure out why the ending of "brown bunny" wasn't gratuitous. i'm 42 and let a lot of enigmas go, but that'll be with me because i learn so much from what you say and how you feel.
but that one? i still wonder what you meant. what you saw.
anyhow, be well, you and chaz. a beautiful friendship you both also have.
thanks. i'll sit out here quietly and learn from how you're doing things.
thanks for your work and adding facets to everything. movies, life, understandings.
another critic becomes the artist. and when i say art, i mean it in the way that an artist is not just of "the" time, but of all times.
--erika
"Chaz looks over his shoulder at the screen. "Those fu — " she says, catching herself." - Esquire
Repeat after me: "I shall not be thwarted."
Siskel & Ebert: Special Tribute Show to Gene Siskel
Part 1:
http://www.youtube.com/watch#v=C0tRNy9rELg&feature=related
Part 2:
http://www.youtube.com/watch#v=AtO4_--TRgo&feature=related
Part 3:
http://www.youtube.com/watch#v=wKR9pQmMXv0&feature=related
That's what you couldn't find, yes?
I had posted a link to the Esquire article on Facebook, and my sister read it while at work. She really didn't have the time to read it, but did it anyway while her boss (a lawyer) was on the phone.
My sister was deeply moved by the article and found it incredibly emotional. It made her cry. Her emotions were so strongly affected by the article, that she had a difficult time working. Her boss noticed that she was a bit emotional, and thought she seemed distracted; although he didn't know why she was distracted. He allowed her to leave work and go home.
I think this says a lot about the Esquire article. It was a wonderful thing to read.
Wow.
Not that you have any reason to know who I am - but as I've gone through creating my "brand" as an online film critic with a public identity based on my very genuine lover of action movies, I stay conscious of keeping so many things about my life private. And here you are, putting everything out there for the world. Thank you for this. You've given me some things to think about.
I enjoyed the Esquire article, and having just recently found your website have pretty much read your entire journal. I had always scanned for your reviews in my local newspaper when I was little, and then for reasons I can't recall lost touch with your work. Thankfully, Esquire's piece put me back in touch with you and I even found myself browsing YouTube's collection of At The Movies. As a younger fan and new follower thanks for the work you do and have done!
I just want to say, Roger, you've long been a hero of mine, just for the way you write about movies, and about life. Reading this article may have briefly choked me up, but it inspired me a lot more.
You're right, we are all dying in increments. But it's obvious that you are living in full, and, well, thank you.
(Also, if you can find it in your heart to rip into Rob Schneider again someday, well, that's just a bonus :) )
Having read the article, I agree with your take on it. I especially agree about how your journal has not only reconnected you with your fans, but also built a new audience. What I love about the journal is that I don't know what I'm going to get with each piece. That mystery is something I look forward to every time I log on to it. Sufficed to say, keep writing and I'll keep reading.
There's an old Yugoslavian expression: "Tell the truth and run." You tell the truth and stand tall. Kudos for your courage, and for inspiring others.
You are brave. I admire your honesty and your ability to be so forward with your life. Thank you for doing the interview with Esquire and showing that a facade isn't something we should hang on to.
I pray you have a great day.
I thought the article was fantatsic. It was like reading about an old friend of mine, actually. My only regret is that Chaz does not contribute to your blogs once in a while.
I discovered your blog at a time of great personal crisis, Roger. The fact that someone else was as interested as I was in movies, politics, Diane Arbus, TTOETNS vs. the Legend of The Talking Snake with Two Naked People in the Garden of Eden, Chicago, etc.. was like a lifeline at the time.
I've met other friends here, too. People I would never meet had you not started communicating this way. Its a silver lining to a very gray cloud, I know, but it has done me (and a lot of others, I suspect) a world of good.
How can I store this post along with the article? You should find a way to compile your posts so that when you "are done", we can still have them to reflect. There is no way to archive them. Bookmarks don't mean a thing.
I'm glad you mentioned Rush Limbaugh. I started listening to him out of curiosity in 1989 or 90. I found him at first to be a rat of a human being. I also noticed that I kept tuning him in everyday at lunch. He was a very bright, entertaining rat.
Even though i'd like to sucker punch him through the radio, I have to admit that i've learned more about politics from him than any other human being.
He can quicker tell you what a liberal's reaction to any circumstance will be faster than that same liberal can take bonds out of the Social Security trust fund and spend them.
I find it troubling that conservatives can't believe in global warming because humans are too puny to screw the planet up; only God can do that. They obviously did not see the movies of Hiroshima and Nagasaki being vaporized. Conservatives don't conserve much. Why do they call themselves conservatives?
Anyway Roger, you have my mind spinning again at the unGodly hour of 4:00 AM. I'm at work reading your writing and thinking what a great national resource you are. I like movies and I enjoy reading and you appear to be the man for the job.
And really, what is not to like?????
Roger, you're a treasure.
I remember having a brief conversation with you at a book signing in NYC (for Great Movies I, I think). I mentioned your great interview book "A Kiss is Still a Kiss" and you told me interviews like that never happen anymore. When I read the Esquire article I noticed the similarities, and I see you did too.
(I read your article to my wife on our way to my uncle's funeral on Tuesday. I had no idea now poignant and touching it would be when I started. It was all very "Wild Strawberries".)
I was sad you lost your voice and glad I was able to share a few words with you before it went. Even more glad that I can still hear from you here.
(One last thing, have you seen Herzog's "Land of Silence and Darkness" lately? It's on Netflix Instant. It came to my brain, probably because one of the few things those in the film have left is speech)
Interestingly enough, the main thesis that I came away with from the article wasn't that you were dying at all, but that you had taken on a new stage and renewed purpose in your life and career. I myself am the repeat recipient of (many) semi-elective surgeries over the course of the first 24 years of my life, mainly to correct, manipulate, and re-correct a cleft lip and palate I was born with. Each time, the medical surgeons would say "just a little more, we are so close." And each time, something would go slightly awry. After a while, I simply said, "no more"; I would rather live my life in whatever capacity I could than spend more of it on another invasive, time-intensive and painful gamble.
As a writer and filmmaker myself, I can only sympathize with the sentiments of "Broken Embraces" quoted in the article: even if you're blind, there's still work to be done. It gladdens me deeply that you seem to agree.
I love the wedding photo anecdote. That is exactly the kind of thing that happens in my marriage.
I'm a little bit sad about your set. When I was dating my husband we used to watch Siskel & Ebert every Sunday morning and talk about the movies we wanted to see the next weekend. I have such fond memories--I would love to have seen that set in the Smithsonian. I can only imagine how you must feel about it.
It's really a wonderful article. Chris Jones did you both proud. And I think it's amazing that you allowed him such access to your life--I could never have done that. I am really, really impressed with the way you and Chaz have handled adversity. So many people would have just crumpled up, but you have made what seems to be a joyous, fulfilling life for yourself.
P. S. Did you ever lurk at Readerville.com when it was still around?
Hey Rog
I read the article the other day and was really moved by it. At first I was shocked by the photo of you, but the more I looked at it, the less it bothered me. You still look like Roger Ebert to me. Same eyes. I have to say I really do miss your (spoken) voice though. There was a certain sing-songy quality to it that really made listening to what you had to say enjoyable. I'm really looking forward to the day that computer program you use is able to speak with your own voice - cuz' I'm getting pretty tired of shitty DVD commentary tracks. Ha!
You're still the best film critic around, and even though I read a lot of other film reviews on sites like Rottentomatoes, you're the only one whom I actually look forward to reading every time a new film hits theaters. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to read your review of Shutter Island.
Bill Gould
Boston
P.S. I think if the great Lee Marvin were alive today and somebody asked him "Hey, what do you think about Roger Ebert after that Esquire article?" Marvin's response would be (in that great baritone of his), "Ebert? Ebert's got guts."
You've got guts, Rog. Keep fighting the good fight.
great quote about the rent-free room. and mirrors. better to look at other things than just contemplate how others see yourself. Cheers for the insight and inspiration. truly inspirational work and attitude.
Last weekend, returning home for a few days from college, I entered my room to find Esquire laid out on my chair opened to the first page of the article (my mother's doing; she knows what a fan of yours I am). I read it immediately. I appreciate the frankness of the whole thing. It meant something to me to have read the article and to have seen, for the first time, an unobscured post-surgery portrait of you. I don't think stems from an empty voyeuristic impulse either. My reaction to it was emotional; not explicitly sad, but certainly personal, accompanied by a kind of melancholy final understanding. The article and photograph serve to crystallize the history of your last few years (in the best way), lend it a sense of fullness and actuality where previously it seemed, at least in part, opaque. I'm glad it's out in the open. My parents, my friends, my girlfriend, probably most of the general public never had a sense of what had happened to you, "where you'd been" -- this makes everything clear, outs it, and, perhaps, for those of us who have followed your blog/writing and have some familiarity with and attachment to "Roger Ebert" the man, provide, not closure exactly, but catharsis, satisfaction in finally really knowing -- or at least feeling like we know, through the sum emotional impact of the photograph and article -- what's taken place and what's changed
Mr. Ebert, I for one am so glad that you agreed to that Esquire profile, and I hope that you don't for a minute feel self-conscious about your decision to do it (although, I'm sure at some level such a feeling is inevitable). I am a film school graduate and journalist with cerebral palsy, and all of my life have used either a wheelchair or crutches to get around. Your eloquence and grace and strength in your blog have resonated with me on a level you might not now or ever be aware of -- and I have always been a big fan of yours (even in the face of your too-generous reviews of "The Haunting" and "Walk Hard").
I hope that our paths might cross one day in a place that is not digital, but following your blogs and reviews has felt like an ongoing conversation I've been too timid to enter into until now. Thank you for your schmaltz-free optimism, your persistence in doing what you love, your enviable skills as a writer and thinker, and your gracious decision to let us into your life. It has been a valuable discovery in my own.
Dear Roger,
unfortunately I'm not able to follow all the articles, posts and tweets you write (how could I, my day only has 24 hours?!), but I'm glad I mostly manage to drop in on your most important ones.
Hardly any person on the planet has a life full of sunshine. Most people tend to live through the rain and storm just to see another ray of that comforting light.
I don't think I make an exception there, although there are a lot of people out there whose lives took way more diffucult turns than mine.
I complain nonetheless. Most of the time until I witness something that puts my misery in perspective to some that far outweighs my own.
I find it inspiring to read your articles and furthermore to see you accept your share of cards without the complaints one hears mostly from people who have suffered as much as you have. That actually is what I call brave in our time.
So my suggestion for your middle names would be "Roger 'The Inspiration' Ebert". You certainly are for me.
Best regards - and thank you.
Jens Adrian (following you as best he can from Germany)
dear roger,
i am calling you that because i feel we've been friends for a very long time. i trust your judgment with regard to movies; since i trust you, we are, therefore, friends.
i believe you are an honest person. to put yourself "out there" as you've done is a terrific statement about you - the person, not you -the critic. i am in awe of your courage. i know it takes a lot for a person to shed his skin and bare all. you have my utmost respect.
continued success with your life. and please, continue your movie reviews! as stated earlier, i trust your judgment and will continue to do so.
The Esquire article was fascinating, and even as I was reading it I was thinking of how well written it really was, and wondering really what the author had seen and how things had been rearranged or possibly altered. It's also pretty fascinating to read your own take on it.
I have to say, though, the last page almost had me in tears, particularly your thoughts, such as the: "To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts." Very wonderfully said.
Yes, a bit of uncombing would have been more stylish. A bit like Paul Erdos, who actually was full of humor.
i have been a fan of yours for longer than I can remember. After reading the Esquire article, and looking at your photo for a long, long time, I have concluded that you look beautiful.
Please keep writing and sharing your thoughts with us.
Sincerely,
Charlotte
As much as I loved the Esquire article, I loved this more. My take away is that you are embracing life and whether you think you are healthy or not, it is something we all need to hear.
God bless you Roger Ebert.
Wonderful article Roger. I look forward to checking your site every few days before going to work while scrambling to get my boys their breakfast in front of PBS. You have a great amount of warmth in your blogs, which I greatly enjoy reading. Thank you for sharing your response to Esquire's rather personal piece.
Roger, your appearance is far from ugly. The clarity and intelligence in your eyes is now more obvious than ever, and the eyes communicate more about what's going on inside someone than their mouth ever will. When I look at that picture, it's your eyes that draw my attention, not your mouth.
You've always been my favourite movie journalist, now you've become my favourite writer.
Dear Roger,
Just want to let you know that your voice lives on in your words. Keep it up and best wishes always
Fayaz
Let me just say, when I saw what Disney had done to At The Movies, after Roeper left, I was disgusted. I do remember seeing, recently, Roeper and one of his regular guest critics back on tv reviewing films but I don't recall where or under what title. They seemed to have brought back the classic format you and Siskel perfected.
(Did the old set ever get taken out of the dumpster and displayed at the Smithsonian?)
Anyways, the article from Chris Jones delivered a satisfying inside peak into your life now and I really enjoyed reading it. I grew up watching Siskel & Ebert and remember your appearances together on the Tonight Show. I miss you guys.
Thanks for being so open and engaging and thanks for all the interesting reviews, even the ones with which I disagreed. ;)
For a writer, his personal office is possibly a more intimate place than his bedroom. Yours is like I pictured, Roger, and I wish I could look through those stacks of books to see how many we have in common.
Let me first apologize for my bad English; it is not my mother tongue. God knows what I would do without dictionary.com
I enjoyed reading Jones' article, and I've discovered you and your great blog because of it. But without knowing anything about your health or personal life in advance (being European, I've never heard about "Siskel & Ebert" before), It read to me like pure speculation when he said "Ebert is dying in increments and he is aware of it". As if the sentence popped up in his head and it was too good to throw away for journalism sake.
On an unrelated note, there is something in the picture of you at your desk that makes me curious: what's with the chubby ballet dancer next to your desk?
My friends who have read the article almost unanimously used the same word: "touching." Not frightening, not alarming, but touching. Thank you for allowing your humanity to shine through.
Several of my friends posted a link to the article on their Facebook pages and pretty much all of them used the same words to describe it--"sad," "tragic," "heartbreaking," etc. While I imagine the health problems suck extremely hard, I didn't see any of the bad stuff. I saw a man who's made a very good living doing what he loves to do, who lives in an awesome city, has a wife whom he adores, has traveled extensively, and in short has a pretty sweet life--and realizes it. I refuse to feel sorry for anyone who has a library like that!
But as many people have written here previously, thank you for this blog and for your honesty. This place is a daily stop for me now on my travels through the internet. Glad that reports of your imminent demise have been greatly exaggerated, to paraphrase Mark Twain.
Such beautiful honesty. You have reached a place where you can observe yourself without the ego being master. Your comments on Chris's article are balanced and fair. You don't pretend you don't care how cancer has changed your appearance, your life. You accept that it has, you mourn the loss and you move on. It has no power over you to embarrass or humiliate. Keeping secrets leaves one vulnerable to being exposed. Your openness destroys that vulnerability - you are free. And in that moving on you can truly observe the new face. What I see is an extraordinary, wonderful uniqueness. And now that you are communicating more with the written word, your ideas can be savored. Like a tree that has been pruned, you have come back fuller!
I was very impressed with the article. I didn't get the impression that you were on the edge of death or anything like that, and I love how you defended Chris Jones for his writing. Very classy.
I read the article yesterday and have shown it to everyone I can.
I've been reading you for years; as a fan of your criticism, and as a fan of your writing, and finally as a fan of your humor. But how little I knew!
The article made me laugh, made me cry, and made me grateful there are people in the world like you and Chaz.
Chris Jones did a superb job.
Chris's article is excellent, and I think it's admirable of you, Roger, to put that picture up on your own blog even as it makes you wince.
My mother battled cancer for years, and she always resisted being photographed, especially when most of her hair was gone. But in the last few months of her life, when she was at her worst, she got over any misgivings she had. In October, we took our first family picture in about five years. She died in December.
Even before she became sick she sometimes worried about the way she looked, but I think in those final months she learned to stop obsessing. It's kind of sad when someone is literally afraid of having her picture taken. Even though it took a long time, I'm glad she got over that fear.
Quite simply, one of the best magazine pieces I've ever read, about one of the greatest writers ever. It doesn't get much better than that.
Roger, if you could just give up the Twitter thing, you'd be the most sane human being alive.
(Okay, second most sane. Upon reflection I think we'd have to deed the "most sane" title to Chaz.)
It's pretty amazing how the human mind learns to adapt to its circumstances after a while of resentment and anger at the situation the person's in.
Well, Mr. Ebert. Your tweets make it so hard for me to like you, and your blog entries make it so hard not to! (Maybe that's the problem with 140 characters.) Thanks for sharing yourself with us.
What we look like isn't who we are. This statement leads directly to two more that almost seem contradictory. If there's a disconnect between what we look like and what we are, we compensate -- be it a hairpiece, dentures, or a scarf to hide hair loss during chemo. Or maybe we just avoid mirrors. On the other hand, it's also good to accept what is. So if you avoid mirrors and choose not to be photographed too often, that's fine. It's also good to be comfortable when a photo catches you by surprise.
A couple of years ago I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I asked what the treatment options were, made my choice, made arrangments, and had it taken care of. To this day my doctor and many of my friends -- including one who also had prostate cancer about the same time -- think I must have been in denial. But I knew this particular cancer was among the most treatable, and it's my nature to move forward.
On the other hand, the words "cancer survivor" give me a chill, and my friends are courteous enough not to use it.
By the way, that's a lot of books. I hope you will, for a day far from now, make arrangements to establish a Roger Ebert library somewhere.
Thanks profusely for the submitting to the Esquire article--I've missed seeing you. The intimacy of the article was delicious for me. I doubt that it could have been better done. I was more taken with how thin that you've gotten, and it was beyond great to see the twinkle in your eyes.
We all get confronted, by looking in the mirror, with the ravages wrought by time and gravity. I find that I avoid looking at myself in the mirror as much as possible--I don't appreciate the old bastard that I see shaving me in the mornings. However, there are benefits to being forced to focus less on our looks and more on the quality and depth of our lives.
I was lucky enough to have been married to the girl BETTER than my dreams (whom I lost tragically almost 11 years ago.) It seems that we've both been pretty lucky bastards in our choice of a mate. Reading the article gave me such a sense of the love and profoundly intimate connection that you and Chaz share, that I came away with the understanding that you are more than blessed.
I never though that you were dying, and I don't now. I'm just so glad that you're still here and doing what you adore--I always look for your columns and was thrilled to find this site. It was wonderful to see and hear you. Sophistication and erudition are such rare commodities that I can't help but revel in yours. Keep kicking, Roger--this old S.O.B. loves having you around.
Love,
Russ
You've been my (re)source throughout your entire career. In fact, we never go to a movie w`/o first getting your opinions. One of my proudest personal business moments came a number of years ago when you so glowingly included my first behind-the-scenes/co-financing (Mel Brooks, Joe Levine & Sidney Glazier got the notoriety) production effort, "The Producers," among your alltime comedy favorites.
More than the words you put on paper and used to espouse on tv, I respect you much more for the outspoken, standup, individualistic way you comport yourself in life.
Here's wishing you and your wife many, many more years of good health, happiness, AND imparting valuable insights to your legion of fans.
Yesterday when I got to work I saw that "Roger Ebert" was a search topic on Yahoo!. My stomach dropped and I got really really nervous as I knew your health had been declining. You can imagine my relief when I saw that not only were you alive and in good spirits, but that with clicking on that link I finally got the peak into your world I've been waiting for. I met you in Chicago at a book signing a year ago, to the day if my memory serves me correctly, and I was so amazed at how chipper and upbeat you were! Meeting your beautiful wife was such a treat as well. You two are so great together. After the signing I walked up to her and I told her that she is a strong, beautiful, and magnificent woman and I admire her so much! Meeting you. Was the single greatest day of my life and I will cherish it forever. I read your work every single day. I am not sure what I'd do or where I'd be if it weren't for your influence of film and life.
The piece in Esquire was intimate and beautiful, I can't imagine the pressure that the writer felt knowing you would be critiquing his work about...you! And you followed it just as beautifully. Well done sir.
The rent-free room. I can't stand for friends to stay too long, much less anyone else. Glad to have found you in here.
"But then I am not a lovely sight, and in a moment I thought, well, what the hell. It's just as well it's out there. That's how I look, after all."
Au contraire: Any picture of a person with so much joy radiating from them is a lovely picture. At least, that's how you've been framed in Esquire.
The piece struck me with its total humanity and humility. Whether Chris Jones exaggerated the morbid tone of anything, he treated his subject with great respect and seriousness while still making an interesting story of it. I am so pleased you posted this response to it and seem pretty positive, since the interview is really magnificent and moving.
I especially liked his description of the process of building a new voice for you from existing TV and DVD clips, what a very cool technology.
The resentment line is usually given to Ann Landers, but I imagine she won't mind if Chaz gets it too.
I thought it was a well written article, I am glad you are at peace with yourself too.
I always liked your work and enjoyed watching you on TV. I too agree, we are all dying incrementally but some (most) don't take time to smell the roses.
Too many people are searching for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow but I read an expression that is so true... at the end of the chess game, the king and pawn go in the same box. So I've taken to enjoying my life from a young age, I've gone through many stages of not working (on purpose) to travel and "smell the roses" because we never know if we will be around or physically able to do the things we would like to or dream of!
Stay well and keep your spirits up!
The Esquire Portrait of you was beautiful. I mean the writing, the style, absolutely incredible. As if one were across the room listening in to an interesting conversation between two people. I have read and re-read it to learn a bit how to write so beautifully. But I didn't get the imprression of you dying, but of one surviving so much tsuris and yet,still here on your terms. Your story is quite inspriring, neat hair and all. Chaz sounds like quite a woman too! Best to you both...
I enjoyed the Esquire piece, and this was a very eloquent follow-up, thank you for sharing it.
I don't recall ever seeing an episode of your TV show. I know I've seen clips of it (I was born in 1971, how could I not?). I've heard you on the radio, most notably in great dialogue with Howard Stern- you were among his better guests.
I've been following your reviews online since the late 90s, a relationship between a writer and a reader. For me, your voice has not ceased, nor has your outlook been impaired.
And to top it all off, in light of all the challenges you have faced, you are still not the director of "The Brown Bunny."
Roger,
The article said something about your condition worsening. Is it really? Can you feel it?
I can't speak for everyone, but I'm really worried about you.
Brian
Ebert: Steady, sturdy, and swell.
I have been reading your work since I first became interested in film (seeing "Goodfellas" in 1990). When I was in college, I bought your books and read your reviews when you first started publishing your work online. You were even gracious enough to respond to a couple emails I sent (from djg13@pitt.edu, a long retired address), always signing "Best, RE."
I'm glad to have read the Esquire article, and thank you for writing as often and as well as you do.
I wish you the best, Roger. I have been reading your work since I was a kid. I am turning 36 and I always check your website daily.
What I like about your work is that you use simple English to drive your points across. It must take a lot of skill talking about deep truths using simple words. Many other writers deliberately use long and windy words just to show everyone that they are better than anyone else. To me, you are the Paolo Coelho of the critics world.
I will state, upfront, it's irrelevant to me how you look; my question is merely out of curiosity.
In an age of steel plates and carbon-fiber, is a prosthesis not an option, or simply one you haven't explored? Even for the simple task of shaving, which I imagine must be slightly more inconvenient, now.
gn
I'll give Jones this: I knew very little about Ebert the man before reading his article, and based solely on this piece, I knew that this response to the piece would be level-headed and brilliantly composed. I came away from the article thinking "I need to read what this man is writing," whether or not this writing happens to be his last.
I read the Esquire article and yes, it touched the fibre you expected it would. And I think I expected this entry in your blog; I don't see yourself as a man who wallows in self-pity. And I won't embarass you with clichés like "you're an inspiration" or the such. I am just very happy for you, that you have managed to adapt to your new life the way you are. If anything, as the article said, it has made you love movies even more, and how is that a bad thing? (I have forgiven you for calling "Tomb of the Dragon Emperor" "the best in the [Mummy] series".) I think you are still very much full of life, and I am glad to see that your sense of humor is very much intact. Carry on, mr. Ebert.
I thought the photo and the article were both fantastic, and each in their way made me appreciate more the seemingly tireless work you do: reviews, blogging, essays, even twitter. It's heartening to see someone fighting the good fight so pointedly and with such elegance.
Mr. Ebert, I confess that reading the Esquire profile shook me a little, because it reminded me of the last time I saw you, and my lingering regrets. It was at last year's Toronto film festival. I was leaving a press screening and spotted Michael Phillips in line for the next screening. I went up to Michael to congratulate him on getting the At The Movies gig, and didn't notice you standing there behind him until you clapped him on the shoulder, apparently in agreement with me. I said nothing to you, in part because I was in a hurry to get in the same line you were in, and in part because I wasn't sure how to communicate with you.
Here's what I should've said:
Mr. Ebert, I started watching Sneak Previews when I was 10 years old, mainly to see clips from movies that I either wasn't allowed or couldn't afford to see. But I quickly started watching to hear the opinions, and I remember finding it surprising that there were movies out there that people didn't like, or that they disagreed about. At the time, I think my family went to one or two movies a year. If we didn't like the movie, we kept it to ourselves.
In high school, I was encouraged by you and Siskel to pursue the independent filmmakers that were emerging: Spike Lee, the Coen brothers, etc. For all the knocks you've gotten over the years for going on television and introducing thumbs to criticism, I think more attention should be paid for what you and Siskel did to promote the movies as an artform. I particularly loved all your special episodes (on cult movies, on your favorite young actors, on the best movies of the year) and used them as guides for what to see.
In college, I started buying your yearbooks annually, and gravitating especially to the 4-star movies, making an effort to rent them on video or watch them in the university library. I didn't always agree with you, but when I read your reviews, I at least understood your argument. And while you've also been knocked over the years for being too generous with your grades, I've nevertheless tried to hold to some of that spirit in my own writing: remaining open to what a movie is doing, and presenting myself as an enthusiast more than a cynic or a nit-picker.
After college, when I started writing professionally, I looked to your interview pieces as a model for how to profile people without making the articles all about myself. And when I moved to Charlottesville for a few years, I looked forward annually to the Virginia Film Festival and your stop-and-start movie lectures. I looked forward even more to your annual book-signings. At one of those signings, you noticed my press credentials and asked me who I wrote for and how it was going. I've tried to follow that lead as well, treating younger writers collegially.
So after I congratulated Michael, I should've turned to you and thanked you, for being an inspiration to me as a writer, a thinker, and a person. I'm sorry that I didn't do it then. I'm glad I can do it now.
Ebert: Believe it or not, I rememeber that. I think Michael told me who you were.
Is A/V Club the Onion's best kept secret, or vice versa?
It's a nice article, well written and sympathetic. I'm going to add the bit about living in the rent-free room to my daily quote file. It's something I need to hear now and then.
For myself, I've always been more of a reader than a listener, so as far as I'm concerned, your voice is still here. I seldom watched your show. I always read your reviews. So thanks for continuing to write.
I think you may be too close to the photo to appreciate it. To me, it's a very humanizing picture. It draws attention immediately to the eyes, and invites the viewer to conversation. In contrast, the photo used for your twitter avatar feels a little off-putting.
I wondered the same as Christy...thanks for sharing this. His article made me feel like I was sitting with you and Chaz in a comfortable way, not as a...how do I say it? not a vulture eager for inappropriate details into another's life...but as a caring friend, listening and almost feeling like I could interact. I guess that makes no sense - but your writing draws me in and his article complemented what I feel. That somehow you're my/our friend. Anyway. I'm glad you're not as fragile as we were led to believe. ;)
kim
Roger,
I read the Esquire article yesterday and found it to be insightful, thoughtful, honest and moving. I'm glad that you a) agreed to do it and b) that Mr Jones performed so admirably!
I'll admit that seeing the photo was surprising (though not shocking) even though I've been following your fight for years... mostly through this blog. Embracing the facts of your appearance is the only way to approach it, in my humble opinion. For those who only know you from your television show, shocking may be a natural reaction. However, I choose to find it uplifting and encouraging; you have fought against a deadly villian successfully... with the scars to prove it. Not only that, your writing is better and more prolific than ever as evidenced by this wonderful entry today.
I will close with a line stolen (and paraphrased) from your Great Movies essay on "Adaptation":
In context, it's one of this blog's funniest lines
"Chaz, show Chris our wedding photos."
I haven't laughed that hard in a while.
Cheers!
Chris
Roger, you've always been one of my favorite writers. Your intelligence, wit, honesty and love (whether it's for your wife or Gene Siskel) shine through. And you look great. Bravo for all of you.
best,
Laura Sewell in Portland, Maine
I had the same surgery as you at the age of two. My life parade has been lead by a different drummer. My own personal Music Man. Have you ever read Autobiography Of A Face by Lucy Grealy? Wonderful book.
Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes.
-- Walt Whitman
Ebert: I'll look for the book. I'll pass on Walt's quotation.
I was certainly moved by the piece. I am only 21, but I already had a serious battle with stomach cancer. The struggle made me cynical at first but then thankful for all that I have.
I particularly enjoyed the "glass half-full" part of the article where you said that your condition has made you enormously productive. For me, it was similar. When I was sitting in the hospital I read great books, watched superb films, and began writing. I was published on several websites and in magazines and it has really turned my simple boyhood hobbies into passions and a career.
I know that you aren't religious and this might not mean much to you, but I will keep you and Chaz in my prayers. Even if there is no higher power, you will at least be in the thoughts of a person whom you've inspired to chase after their dreams even after life has thrown a curve ball.
Best Wishes,
Doug
As much as anything, I admire your (evident) lack of vanity. I have a blog in our local newspaper (Albany, NY) and someone recently suggested that I get a newer picture for it. Goodness, why? Since I've had my vitilago, I literally don't even recognize myself in photos. I know what I look like in my mind's eye, and newer photos don't reflect it.
So you're braver, or more honest, than I.
Ebert: I think I'll stick with my old picture for awhile. Don't want to scare off first-timers.
I read the article and loved it, as all who read and love you should.
Consider this, though: They say being a little bit ornery makes you live longer.
Using that standard, you may be immortal!
I thought that the article was wonderful. I remember seeing the first photos of you post many ops and feeling shocked and horrified. In our air-brushed and photo-shopped world, we don't see many regular images let alone someone who has suffered a physical disfigurement.
But I have seen it a number of times and now we have your Esquire interview photo. It is what it is. It is you now. Well, it is you now physically.
I hesitate to call it a silver lining, that benefit of enjoying the blog and the tweets that may never have occurred otherwise. But I can't call it that. There are many good things that happen to people and many horrific and tragic ones too. And many of the latter have no silver lining - there is no "on the other hand, there is this good thing".
As I stumble through this post, what I want to tell you is thank you. Thank you for allowing me the opportunity to enjoy your wit and insight. I follow you on twitter and between that and the blog, I have a much better sense of you than ever before.
After following you for some time on twitter and reading your blog and reviews, I found the article to be overly dark in comparison to the attitude and humor I see in your writing. Still, it has to be pretty cool to be in Esquire.
Thanks for sharing with us, Mr. Ebert.
Those last paragraph alone is worthy of being taught in schools. The world needs more people to think like that.
It is a beautiful article, and there were definitely cliff hangers and sub plots aplenty--did you ever find the other copies of your Siskel tribute online? I quickly found a couple on youtube, and I hope you have as well.
Stay healthy and keep the reviews coming.
It was a very moving article and really brought home what a terrific person Chaz is.
She was quite right about your tweets. In fact, if I may be so bold as to make a writing suggestion to someone who is a far better writer than I can hope to be, you might want to consider skipping Twitter entirely. It was practically invented to inspire regrets. If Twitter serves any purpose it will be to provide a painful lesson in the value of temperance.
I read the interview last night and was moved -- I didn't see the elegiac tone as much as your will to live. Sure it was there, but like you say, "we're all dying in increments," its just that not all of us live like we are. Thanks for sitting for the interview.
Some folks with whom I've discussed the Esquire article came away sad. I didn't get that in reading it. I came away with the perspective that we are living in a window of time and that our only real choices are to get living or get gone. Sure, who wouldn't feel pain at the thought of a friend whose window has closed? In the end though, faced with adversity, the choice hasn't changed at all - we just understand it better.
Thank you so much for publishing these thoughts. Between the blog and your tweets I am grateful. Your words paint a picture. I know you said you didn't want to publish an autobiography, but you might consider a collection of these entries complete with videos and other multimedia elements - the perfect eBook for the ipad!
I read my eight year old daughter your quote about making others happy. It now occupies a place on our refrigerator; surrounded by crayon drawings, water color paintings and pictures of children. Thank you Roger.
Ebert: Please tell your daughter she has honored me.
Roger,
I was very moved by the article in Esquire. I know that you've been through a lot but I am happy that you've adapted to your new quality of life and continue to be a potent film critic. I took the liberty of sharing it on Facebook and made no hesitation to use the lead picture from this post as your thumbnail. You are what you are for better or worse and I don't think that's a pretty bad picture of you, considering. Continued good luck and you should be blessed to have a woman like Chaz helping you through your ordeal.
Here's something we don't often see: A writer breaking down the ways in which a piece written about himself is well written. Interviewees often point to mistakes in interviews or shrug off such pieces as necessary evils and quasi-fictions. You understand the limitations (as with any art) of the form but also praise the piece's writer. (And now I want to look for more that he's done; I agree, it was excellently structured.)
Just as David Copperfield wondered he might be "the hero of his own life," I've often though that we rely on other people to best describe the narrative arc of our lives (or at least some portion of it). Jones did you that service and honor, I think. Not that you're not up to the job . . .
Best wishes.
Mr. Ebert, I read the article a few days ago, and I don't recall the last time I was so moved by journalism. The article is well written, yes, but the story it tells is incredibly powerful. Your character shines through your words, and I'm grateful for all that you shared. You're a role model in a world increasingly lacking them. Thank you.
The Esquire piece was lovely, but your continuing journal entries are lovlier. The greatest part about the interview was finding out just how you're doing, how you're getting along. And it seems that, allowing for all the major inconveniences and adjustments, you're getting along fine. You've created something of a family here, Mr. Ebert, one that loves you very much. Reading the Esquire piece was reassuring, at least to those of us on the outside. As for the picture? What I noticed most was your eyes - bright and intelligent and unchanged. Windows to the soul, indeed.
I just wanted to thank you for doing that interview. It touched me very, very deeply and one of the final quotes from you in that piece is something truly, I think, for the ages. The one that starts: "I believe that if, at the end of it all, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do..."
I have always been a fan of your writing. While I sometimes miss your voice talking about movies, I have come to truly appreciate and marvel at the things you write these days. Somehow it has gotten even better, perhaps like a man going blind who finds his other senses compensate.
Funny thing is, when I read your stuff now, I very clearly hear you voice in my head. So, maybe your voice hasn't been lost after all.
Thanks again,
Bryan
Roger,
It was indeed a great piece in Esquire, and it's also fascinating to hear your account of it. That's something one rarely hears -- or, one usually only hears the subject's account of an interview when they're trying to distance themselves from the piece and complaining to whoever will listen that they were "taken out of context," etc.
Your candor and empathy for the interview are refreshing, and a nice inside look at "real" journalism -- something we don't get enough of nowadays, except for in a few places (such as Esquire, the New Yorker, etc.).
Incredible - I read the interview in Esquire in a sitting when it came, and while I already am a fan and follow you on twitter, the article was informative and made me an even bigger fan.
This blog post definitely serves as an excellent bookend to the interview, and I thank you for posting it.
I tweeted how much I liked the piece. Most people manage to reach old age with quiet dignity. All well and good, but I'd rather have it your way and also mature with good humor and a full grasp of my talents. And maybe, if I have any say in it, with not as many gory hospital "war stories". My music playlist is an acquired taste and probably a bit doctor-repelling.
Any advice for vacating my rent-free room? The tennants are getting comfy.
Regarding your photo, when I first saw it, it reminded me of photographer Phillip Toledano's project, A New Kind of Beauty (nsfw in spots). (You may have previously seen Toledano's touching Days with My Father on your web travels.) With physical alteration from surgeries both elective/cosmetic and life-saving (as in your case) becoming more common, a reevaluation of what is "normal" and "beautiful" seems in order. Your Esquire photo and Toledano's photos both point the way to that future.
By the time I finished reading Jones' article, I was surrounded by a pile of crumpled tissues. I had thyroid cancer as a 22-year-old and have had to deal voice loss issues since. It's always something of a gift, I think, to find a bit of your own experience in someone else's.
I particularly liked the article's focus on the impact writing has for you. I've had that moment where someone standing right next to me starts writing me a note. I've also had immense gratitude for having a way to communicate other than my speaking voice. I'm an avid reader/ writer, but there's nothing quite as lovely as the spontaneity of the human voice. Still, writing is a wonder.
Thanks for being willing to let Jones' tell some of your story. And thank you for writing your stories here.
"Resentment is allowing someone to live rent-free in a room in your head,"
It's still early, but I'm willing to bet that this aphorism is going to be the most valuable thing I hear and/or read all day. Thanks.
The interview is a snapshot, not a summary of your life. Your journal is the best place to learn about you, and the interview manages to extol what's happening here. I especially enjoyed the parts about Chaz and descriptions of your work process.
Wow. I had no frickin' clue. I found this through a series of Rube Goldberg style clicks off of other things, and I'm glad I did. Keep writing, Roger - I'm adding your blog to my "Must-Read" bookmarks.
I thought it was a great article. I didn't see it as your last words, but the words of a man living with a tough thing and making the best of it while he is living.
I haven't read Esquire in a while and when I was in Borders and saw the article of you I had to get it. I used to live in Chicago and now am away at school. It's amazing how Mr. Jones wrote everything to a key, that I was able to close my eyes and imagine some of the places he described.
Although with it being Esquire, I would have enjoyed a version of What I've Learned with Roger Ebert. If you haven't contributed to that timeless section, would you mind adding one or two now?
It really struck me how well written the article was though it seems Chris Jones doesn't know the difference between Atheist and Agnostic and to be fair, if I didn't read your blog, I would have no idea either.
Hey Roger,
The value of a face is only in its usefulness to communicate who you are to the people who look at you.
Yep, you've taken a facial battering, there's no doubt about it. You look different because you are different - I think your face is beautiful because it reminds me how rare and precious your own courage is.
And whether they're spoken or written or punched out in braille, the words stay awesome.
xxx Van
After reading your reviews, columns, and blog entries for years, I felt that I had a fairly reasonable impression as to the type of man you are. While it is impossible to actually know someone based on their writing, you do such a beautiful job of making your readers feel like you are speaking specifically to them individually. The intimacy with which you write is one of your greatest gifts. But Johnson's article provided us with wonderful insight and appropriate praise that your modesty would never allow you to share with us. You have inspired people for years with your words, and even though you have lost your ability to speak, your voice is louder than ever. Thanks Roger.
P.S.- You mentioned that you were not interested in writing an autobiography, but is there even a small chance that you would?
I thought it was a fantastic piece, and I've shared it with all my friends.
I've come to really enjoy your writing over the years, and I hope to enjoy it for many more to come.
I think I love Chaz, I know why you do.
I read that article and thought it was lovely; thank you for talking a moment to recognize Chris Jones' work. I thought he crafted a beautiful story that did all the things it should do: I learned some things about you, it made me feel something, and it made me share with others. As for you, keep writing, keep tweeting, keep sharing your voice. It's louder than you think. We can hear you, and we need to hear you.
Been a big fan of yours for 25 years now, but just discovered your blog due the article. Will be following from here on out.
The article was one of the best things I have read in a good long while and I am reading constantly.
Your courage and strength is profoundly inspiring...
I posted your interview to Facebook, and a series of friends who curiously overlook my regular updates about our dog tumbled out in the comments to say how much the article and you mean to them.
It's a coincidence that I have this Virginia Woolf quote on my Facebook info page, but I feel like it connects to what you write here:
"It seems that a profound, impartial, and absolutely just opinion of our fellow-creatures is utterly unknown. Either we are men, or we are women. Either we are cold, or we are sentimental. Either we are young, or growing old. In any case life is but a procession of shadows, and God knows why it is that we embrace them so eagerly, and see them depart with such anguish, being shadows. And why, if this -- and much more than this is true -- why are we yet surprised in the window corner by a sudden vision that the young man in the chair is of all things in the world the most real, the most solid, the best known to us--why indeed? For the moment after we know nothing about him.
"Such is the manner of our seeing. Such the conditions of our love."
From a nobody to a somebody .... Thank You. Thank you.
Ebert: There has to be the right reply to this, but "You're not a nobody" sounds so lame.
I know. Listen to this poem about no-ones and anyones and ask yourself which you are.
http://j.mp/bCbbh7
I like it in her Southern accent.
I'm just disappointed that I can't read the titles on all those books....
Hello Roger,
The Esquire article, and your post about it, appear to provide an opening for something I've wanted to say for a while. It would have appeared inappropriate in another context. Maybe it still is, but here goes.
I really, really treasure you. I treasure your thoughts and words and style, and the community you've built here. Knowing you're my countryman makes me prouder of my country -- perhaps even more so on the frequent occasions when I disagree with you on matters temporal.
The one-way nature of celebrity is frustrating. An artist or writer might touch you, and the arithmetic of it all stymies your human impulse to touch back. A form letter or a few moments at the head of an autograph line is no substitute for what you'd really like: the chance to give the person a hug.
I can't think of anyone who's done a better job than you of using of the Internet to break down that old wall.
Roger, please consider yourself hugged.
Wow. Between the Esquire piece and your blog you are doing an incredible service to many communities: journalists, journalism educators and journalism students; critics and others who aspire to write professionally; and people facing chronic illnesses or other physical struggles.
All of these words mean far more than any ephemeral movie review (not to be too insulting... but... who really cares what you and Siskel thought of "Bachelor Party" in 1985 - even if they can find it on Youtube forever?). Your words and self-disclosure (without pity) are a true gift from a talented writer and brilliant thinker and they will outlive not just you but most of us as well.
So: Thanks!
I thought it was a terrific article, well written, well balanced to show both your difficulties (and there seem to be many) but also your continued pleasures.
You are a true inspiration of how to walk through something difficult with grace, honesty and humor.
I agree with everyone who said it's a beautiful photo. It captures the joyful spirit of someone who is fully alive.
Roger, you have always been my favorit film critic. I really miss you from my "small screen", but your website makes up for it. Keep writing and THANK YOU!!!
I remain absolutely blown away at your vitality, candor and wit. I remember always liking you, in a general sense, but the past few months have really ramped up the respect level regarding all things spiritual and intellectual... love your blog, love your tweets, and tore through this Esquire interview in record time, sharing it with anyone who will listen.
I look forward to sharing bits of your gentle wisdom with my 3 kids in the coming months and years, and only hope that you continue to enjoy revelations of such a personal nature for another decade, at least... I'm being selfish here... it will help me guide my children as they head off into the world, yet if I only had what you've shared to date I'd still be eternally grateful.
Thank you.
Mr. Ebert,
I truly appreciate your willingness to take part in the Esquire interview. I began watching your show around the age of 7 or 8 (the memory is a little foggy!), and now, 12-ish years later, it amazes me to see someone who I have watched, read, and respected continue to rise up above every challenge. Thank you for this interview, this blog, and all the little insights into your facinating mind!
Josh G.
You, sir, are a wonder to behold. I am inspired by your words and your apparent courage. I am proud to have known you through your blog; it is with childlike joy that I look forward to a new entry. A wonderful article written by Esquire, a wonderful response written by you. I have now not had a drink in 17 days and I count you as no small inspiration. Thank you. Truly. I plan to get these words framed and put on my wall as a guiding light to my children:
"I believe that if, at the end of it all, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn't always know this, and am happy I lived long enough to find it out."
Again, thank you.
Now that it is not a secret that you are in AA, Roger, I feel it allowable to say that I truly admire those of you who have gone before me, who are showing me what it means to have dignity and serenity in the face of things that make small men crumble.
My marriage may be ending. It's no one's fault, just one of those things which happens. Which means it's everyone's fault. Mine, hers. But I've done everything I can. I've given it an honest effort. And if the marriage ends, I'll take care of her until she's on her own feet.
Tuesday I celebrated 2 years of sobriety. My possible impending divorce, as agonising as it is, is not so terrible as to be worth a drink. How could I look at you, and what you've been through, and the men in my Wednesday night group, and what they've been through, without drinking, and then dishonor all that? I am not special. Better men than me have been through harder things and not drunk.
And the truth is, I don't have any desire to drink. Because of the program, the fellowship, and the example of men like you, who say things like: resentment is allowing someone to live rent-free in your head. Thank you.
Rog, here's what I did when I saw the photo:
I put my hand right below the nose, so all I could see was the upper part of your face and head. That's the Ebert I know from the old days, and love. Then I pulled my hand away -- and saw the Ebert of today, the one I know, and love.
You're the best of us. Still.
Alan
The Esquire piece helped hammer home all of the things I have known, but not KNOWN, about the way you live now. I've shown it to a bunch of friends, and they were all stunned -- many of them simply had no idea that you had lost the power of speech ("Yes, but not eloquence," I replied), among other things.
I remember you talking a long time ago about Wilfrid Sheed, the novelist and critic, who contracted polio at one point and was tired of being praised for his "courage" in dealing with it. In his mind, he had no choice except to get up every day and keep functioning the best he could, to live in spite of it -- and to live as much of the rest of the life that other people live when they have never dealt with such a thing.
I don't think there's a day that goes by when I don't think about that.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
I find your honest writing to be beautiful and inspiring and your Esquire photo is simply elegant. Very lovely.
Many Blessings to you and your family.
I think anyone who interpreted the article as an elegy for a dying man is kind of presumptuous. I'm at present completely unencumbered by ailments of any kind and still find myself tiring eaisly in crowds and barely able to sit through [bad] films. But I guess that's just me.
FWIW I thought the article was an elegant tribute to a worthy writer. And that you embrace it the way you do is so gratifying to me. Also, I thought that photo of you was fantastic. It only helped enforce that bit about "he mostly smiles these days" etc., I guess someone who is unaccustomed to seeing a cancer survivor might find it odd. That's fair. But all I saw was a life affirming, very much alive, artist who has many miles to go before he sleeps. And I'm thankful for it.
Roger,
Forget rent free- I would pay you to move into my head. And you can bring all your books.
Mr. Ebert I’ve been reading these articles with happy/sad tears in my eyes. Unlike most, my true love of film blossomed relatively late in life; I had always loved the movies, growing up on a tiny island with not much else to do, but I discovered the richness of the cinema in my early 20s, a little before I migrated to the United States. It was the first time I had ever been completely alone, away from all that was familiar to me, and I sunk into a deep isolated depression. If it weren’t for the cinema I don’t know if I would have made it out of that dark time unscathed. With each new film I saw, I felt like I was going off on some kind of adventure; that I was Somewhere Else, and I wanted to bring back all that wonder to share with everyone around me…which is what you have been doing all these years. It makes me sad to look at the box office reports sometimes, but then I come on your blog and see the comments from so many people all over the world and I smile. Keeping the flame of passion alive in all of us is the greatest gift you could ever give. Thank you Mr. Ebert, is all I really have to say. Thank you so much.
Dear Roger;
The days in unfiltered access to celebrity are long gone. You have written numerous times about the control PR people have over movie stars. They sit by their side monitoring every question. It would have been the height of hypocrisy to do anything else than allow a fellow journalist full access to your life including the photos. You gotta admit it. You make a damn good story.
Here's what I take away from the piece. You're one of the lucky ones. We blessed few who have found a soul mate.
Thanks for the Lee Marvin link. I remember reading it all those years ago. It was well worth another look.
I started circulating the article as soon as I read it, and my friends began to repost it as well. To quote Brother Theodore, "It's dynamite! It's dynamite! Ladies and gentlemen, it's dynamite!"
I've told my friend Siouxzan Perry, who has repped many former Russ Meyer actresses, that if indeed they make that proposed biopic, I want her to call in a favor and let me audition to play you. I've been practicing your voice from all the years I grew up watching the TV show, and I think I can suggest the cadence while still playing a character and not just an impersonation. And yes, I want to be in a movie surrounded by significantly-chested women.
I just wrote at length about my friend Tamara Hernandez's 1999 film MEN CRY BULLETS, which you gave praise to on TV and allowed a pull quote of yours to be used for advertising. I am curious to know if you ever wrote a full review of the film for publication, since there was ultimately none published. Was it written and shelved when the movie failed to play first-run in Chicago? I am most curious to learn more about what you liked about the film.
http://projectorhasbeendrinking.blogspot.com/2010/02/ill-cry-tamara.html
Roger, your voice is as clear and vibrant in my head as ever. 2 days before I read this article, I had just sent links to your movie site to my now 19 year old son. When I did so, remembered watching you and Gene Siskel when I was about 11. Now, having watched nearly 2000 movies myself, I realize that the structure I use to 'review' movies myself was learned from you and Gene. Thank you.
PS- I have never forgotten your comment of something to the effect of 'I may not always be fat, but you will always be stupid'. It remains one of the funniest things I have ever read...
What struck me most in your photo - after the first second - was that very alive and curious expression in your eyes.
It's wonderful that your passion is intact, Mr. Ebert. I religiously go to your site to read your insightful reviews and articles. Thank you.
I was moved by the Esquire piece as well as this blog entry from Mr. Ebert. Admittedly, I haven't been a very big fan of his because our political views are diametrically opposed. But what I realized from reading these two articles is that I have been wrong in harboring bad personal feelings for someone because of their political views. We are all human beings and reading Mr. Ebert's sad, yet uplifting, story made me feel pretty stupid for some of the things I said about him in the past.
Moving forward, I am going to do my best to not take things as personal. Cancer could happen to anyone. It has no political affiliation. It has no job, except to do its best to kill people.
So thank you, Mr. Ebert, for sharing this story and for opening my eyes.
My reaction to the Esquire piece (I liked parts of it but not the whole) still stands but this entry makes it look a little better to me.
It was fun reading about those wedding photos. "Hey, first he criticizes me for doing something I didn't do and then he does it himself? My lovely schizo husband" :p
I'm happy about that photo. It simply shows the truth and for God's sake, it's just physical appearance. It's not like you're looking for a girlfriend.
By the way, I love that picture from the DGA ceremony. Why isn't there a clip of your acceptance on YouTube? That standing ovation would be more moving to me than the Esquire piece. (Not another comment on the article, only on how much I would like to see that manifestation of respect from people who's work you might have been hard on a couple of times)
I'm sorry if I became a bit annoying in one of my previous posts. I just thought the piece was a bit unfair to you. But I agree with Michael Lovelorn.
Mr. Ebert:
I live in Urbana (on Washington Street a few houses down from where you
grew up) and I always refer to you as a patron-saint of Urbana/champaign.
You've done so much good for the free library and the virginia theater. I grew up in chicago and read the Sun-Times, and in college loved the show we referred to as Fat Guy/Skinny Guy. So I feel like you've been around my entire life and although I am not a fan of Esquire in general (too male in everything) I'm going this interview. You are a true journalist understanding how profiles get put together.
Thank you.
"I think you may be too close to the photo to appreciate it. To me, it's a very humanizing picture. It draws attention immediately to the eyes, and invites the viewer to conversation."
I completely agree with this comment; s/he got to it before I did. When I saw the photo with the article (which I loved) I did, at first, find it surprising. But that was all. I did look at it closely, but mostly because as someone who has studied the bones extensively I was interested in it from a "skeletal" perspective.
I don't think it is a bad picture at all; in fact, I think you look wise, content, and comfortable with your lot in life. What more can we ask for?
My mother died on November 14, 2009, following a year of mysterious symptoms, doctors who wouldn't listen and a heartbreaking decline for a woman who once seemed bear-like, invincible. She was only 70. The one thing we always made sure to get her for Christmas was your new book of reviews. I remember watching you and Siskel on PBS and ever since, and I remember watching it with my mom. I learned from her that your opinions carried weight, reason, and a questioning, respectful appreciation for life and what it means. I leaned from her that these qualities and your nuanced way of thinking were good things.
You are a great writer. I miss my mother desperately and have been reading your reviews and your blog. I can say, "mom would really get that like I do," and it makes me smile. I finally decided to see a grief counselor. She gave me a gift - to ponder the manner of my mom's death as a metaphor for her life. What does it say about her and what can I learn from it? It has led me to further think of our lives as metaphor.
Your voice has been silenced, but it hasn't. You are a great writer.
Keep thinking, keep appreciating, keep being authentic. This is a gift you are giving. It is huge and permanent.
Interesting insight on the Esquire article. I look forward to reading it.
This is only the second blog post of yours that I have read, so you may have already addressed the issue of religious faith (or lack thereof?) elsewhere. I am not a religious person; I think I was born a tiny little skeptic.
So far, I like hearing your perspective on everything, so if you've written about that subject I look forward to discovering those posts if they exist.
Happy Thursday!
I was unaware of the Esquire article and now plan on reading it, but while reading of your voice, I remembered my dream last night. You were yelling at me; I think it was about a comment I left on your blog. I was thinking, 'Wait, I thought he lost his voice.' You said, "Oh, shut up!" Then I thought, 'Oh my God, he can read minds too!' Bizarre.
Nonetheless, great post.
Mr. Ebert,
As someone who spends much of his time concerned with what goes in and out of his mouth, it's very touching to see a life enjoyed so fully without the pleasure of food, drink, or self-satisfying quick wit. I know that pleasure is the least important element of happiness. However, those things we take pleasure in are (along with language and intellect) what make human civilisation any better than living in the wild. You have taught me much about taking pleasure from movies. You have taught me much about feeling movies, aesthetically and emotionally, about taking not just pleasure, but something more.
Thank you.
PS I recently read your review of The Green Berets. It was excellent food for thought for today's times.
It was an incredibly moving piece, though I understand that it must have been somewhat painful for you.
I noticed that the article mentioned a forthcoming "The Great Movies III." Any idea when that's coming? Those books are my bibles for movie-watching; I've already finished the first one and am going through the second one now!
Mr. Ebert: no matter how much of your work I read, I always find myself completely floored by your wit, positive attitude and grace. Thank you for letting us see into your life in such an intimate and honest way. I truly enjoy your seemingly boundless passion for self-expression - in both Mr. Jones' piece and in your daily blog posts. My best to you and Chaz!
Well I knew, reading that piece, that you're living far more vibrantly than it sounded. I think we who read you here all know that. But yeah, it is very well done. Also, anything that makes more people tune into your writing in this journal is a good thing, in my opinion. The gods know I have boorassed my friends until they read you and then they're hooked.
Thank you for the Esquire article, and for your reflections on it. Your writing has been such a regular part of my life that I take enormous pleasure and comfort in your current output. When I found myself writing some movie reviews more than a few years back I looked to yours as a model of how to do it right. When I got into grad school my wife bought me "I Hated, Hated, HATED This Movie" as a present. I consider being included in your May 19, 2002 column on funny movie titles one of the more delightful honors I've ever received. When I was in Chicago for a conference last spring, and played hooky at a museum, I kept my eye out for you on the off chance you'd decided to take in the Seurat that day. And I can't count the number of movies I've watched and enjoyed based on your recommendation alone.
I lost someone to a brief and nasty cancer a few years ago. I'm not over it. I don't think I ever will be. In a way, I view your writing over the last few years as a poke in cancer's eye. Please keep poking.
Its a brilliant piece, and your blog and tweets are some of the most thoughtful and fun things I read regularly. That said, as a web designer, there's been some chatter in the field of late about the destruction of online content after a person abandons their blog or, in the case I'm thinking of, passes away. Its presumptive to say, but you might want to consider making some sort of archival arrangement for your writings- not for now, or next week, or even in the next ten years, but eventually it will matter.
Just a thought.
I've always loved reading your columns for years, even if I never actually plan on seeing the movie. I just want to say thanks for the way you write. It reminds of Mark Twain, very too the point and not over the top, yet powerful and artistic. This magazine piece was one of the best I'd ever read and made me appreciate you even more.
Roger,
Don't worry about the face... it was your mind that we've admired all this time; and it is getting more beautiful each and every time you share it with us.
Best,
Ed
Something occurred to me when reading the Esquire article. In the section about those videos being removed from Youtube, they have programs out there which can download movies from youtube to your own computer, to be played whenever you want. That might be a nice method to save them.
Thank you for your openness and candor. I was moved by the piece in Esquire, and love reading the "behind the scenes" perspective you've given us here.
I was mesmerized by the Esquire article. I thought it was brave of you to put yourself out there in that manner, and I thought the piece portrayed you as a strong person. You stated in the article that you didn't want to be pitied, and I don't think I do. But is it OK to be very sad? Like a mourner, my sadness is personal and somewhat selfish. I am sad for what I am losing, such as the opportunity to participate fully in your famous Forgotten Film Festival as I had always said I would do, someday. But I am also sad for you, perhaps more than you are for yourself. I can understand that you don't want to waste time on such thoughts. Of course, I realize that you are not gone. And I hope you remain among us for a good long while. I am happy that you retain your love of movies. And I am happy that you enjoy communicating with us in so many ways. And I feel happy for you that you have such a remakable woman to share your life with. We should all be so lucky.
As another hero of mine, gone too soon, Warren Zevon said: "enjoy every sandwich."
I read and enjoyed the article very much. You’ve shared here some of the issues that you face, so there were no great surprises. What did come through was the confirmation of the remarkable grace that you’ve shown in this phase of your life.
As long as you can write, your voice is not silenced (and aren't you lucky to live in a time where you can still communicate with a multitude of people in near real time?).
Dear Mr. Ebert,
God I love you. Let me explain I began watching you with Mr. Siskel before I graduated in high school in 1982. So though you don't know me, we go way back. You helped shape my love of movies.
As a reporter, I've long loved your honesty, your writing style and your courage.
You make me proud to be a fellow ink-stained wretch. Even more you make me proud of the human species.
Sincerely,
Clyde Benjamin Ford
How curious that no sooner than I wrote a review of "Valentine's Day" using a quote from your "Mummy: Tomb of the Dragon Emperor" review, that the Onion's AVClub pointed me to the Esquire article.
It took me multiple tries to finish reading it, because there was so much of you and your pain in it, and I was reminded, luckily so I could share it with you, just how much you mean to to someone who learned to love movies from you.
I'm glad you're still writing, and I can HEAR your voice with every word you put down, and I'm looking forward to more of your incredible insights and honesty.
~
"To make others less happy is a crime." Nice sentiment but Wish you'd embraced it before giving "Limit Up" "thumbs way down!" *grin* I'm doing a documentary about reincarnation based on Michael Newton's work ("Journey of Souls") over 7000 people under hypnosis (including me) say we choose our parents, our lives, and our journey, as it builds our spiritual character. You will speak again Roger, your words carry energy that can help people's lives (according to the research) and based on this one, you've got a powerful, wonderful voice that will return again.
I can't tell you how many times you've made my day since you've established an online presence. Of all the movie critics I read growing up, you were the one I turned to before anyone else.
Your online presence has taken that insight to which I always turned, to levels I could have never imagined, but it makes so much sense that it has.
Whenever anyone scoffs at the idea of using Twitter, I think of the people that scoffed about the idea of movie critics, then I think of you and I have to laugh and say to myself, "there's no way I can explain to this person what they're missing".
But, I'm going to try! It's too fucking good to not share!
The article was very moving, and interesting in that it found in you a sort of tragic figure of cinema. I suppose it's never a crime for a storyteller to romanticize his subject, but at the same time... I found the "elegaic" aspect of the tone to be a little bit exploitative, maybe?
At any rate, I took it with a grain of salt, and welcomed a look into the life of a writer and cultural icon that I greatly admire. It's reassuring to see how your life has been shaped by love and friendship, and I hope to find the same kind of gratification in my own life. I trust that you will live and write for a long time coming.
I happened to come across the Esquire article on another blog and chose to read it at work (poor decision in hindsight). I was very near tears at the office; a true testament to how well it was written and moving it was. When I got home from work, I had my wife read it and she outright cried. We talked about you over dinner and how truly wonderful & inspirational it is what you have been able to realize of yourself after the surgeries. Jones has it right when he says you have become something more than you are.
Anyway, sorry to ramble on, but I wish you all the best and keep up the writing! (I check your page at least 5 times per work day = big fan).
-A
"For meaningful weight loss," the voice says, "I recommend surgery and a liquid diet."
You never cease to impress me, Mr. Ebert.
It was a very good piece about you, Mr. Ebert. I enjoyed learning a little bit more about your life. As a big Leonard Cohen fan, I was tickled to read that "I'm Your Man" was playing when you had that awful incident after one of your surgeries.
Please tell me that you either had the chance to see Mr. Cohen perform back in the day or on his recent tour. If you have not, I urge you to find a way to see his current tour, even if you think you may not be up to it in your condition. My wife and I recently paid thousands of dollars for front row seats and it was worth every penny to hear those songs sung right in front of you. Mr. Cohen is a truly gracious performer who appreciates the efforts of his band and the effect his songs have on his audience. I've been to a lot of concerts in my life but seeing him perform was a truly moving experience.
Like others, I have found a few of your recent tweets about conservatives annoying but realize that you have strong feelings on some of these topics and are not shy about expressing yourself. I just keep thinking that Mother Ebert must have raised you to be a wee bit nicer than the tone conveyed in some of those tweets!
Having been married for nearly twenty years to a truly amazing woman, I think I can say with some authority that Chaz sounds like a wonderful person. I have the feeling that, aside from her protective personality, she makes you laugh. I hope your keyboard has a nice, rollicking laugh button on it.
"...streaming Radio Caroline and writing late into the night."
Between that statement and the pic of you reading in your library, I'm pretty envious of your lifestyle.
Roger:
I applaud your guts, talent, physical and mental stamina, and humility. And speaking of kindness, do you recall a film called "The Mask of Dimitrios"? The Greenstreet character says to the Peter Lorre character, "There's not enough kindness in the world. If only men would live as brothers without hatred, seeing only the beautiful things. But no, there are always people who look on the black side."
I read this article on a link from the AV Club, and I loved it. I feel like it really let us into your life. And I can't explain in words how angry I was at the part where you keep making the text bigger and bigger. Somehow I find that more moving than if you'd been able to scream at the top of your lungs. Thanks for allowing this article to exist, it's why I keep coming back to your site!
And as a fellow Ottawa resident, I have to say that I'm happy to have Chris Jones in my city.
I did walk away from the Esquire article wondering if the writer was trying to imply there was a certain known limit on "the time you have left" that he wasn't going into more detail on. So, it is a relief, Roger, to hear that "the time you have left" is not set in stone. I suppose it would be a mistake to assume the author meant to imply anything when the rest of the article made every attempt to spare no detail. I'm not sure the details about every little physical observation he made were entirely necessary. I was more interested when the article got into the details of what's inside your head.
I agree with you it's better to show your picture. If you hide something from people that they're aware exists, they are likely to imagine it is more outrageous or shocking than it really is. Not to mention the old Mae West line that when people are easily shocked, the best cure is to shock them more often. Meaning in this case that the more we see of you, the more we will get used to your somewhat different appearance until we don't even notice it any more. The main reaction I had to seeing your picture was that you now seem to resemble Andy Warhol more than you used to. That's not necessarily a bad thing.
The idea that you have a more or less permanent smile is also an intriguing one. Since the article also suggested you're happier now, I wonder if it's true what some studies have said, that the physical act of smiling will actually make you happier, a reveral of the cause and effect we typically assume exists? It also suggests a horror concept that I wonder why shows like Twilight Zone never thought of...the man who must frown but can only smile. Would such a condition lead to madness...or happiness?
It was surprising and somewhat disturbing to learn that a lot of your health problems were caused by attempts to cure previous health problems. It only fuels a phobia I sometimes have about going to the doctor, that they're only going to make me worse or that the cure will be worse than the disease. It makes one recall the old story of how George Washington died not from a disease, but from the bloodletting meant to cure it. I don't blame you at all for not wanting to try reconstructive surgery again. Your mind is still the best part of you and no reconstruction of that is desired or required. As long as you're writing on your web site it is one site that will never need an "Under Construction" sign.
Chris Jones should frame this and put it as Line One on his CV. It's the equivalent of having Picasso walk into an artist's studio, look at a portrait painted of him and say "Couldn't have done it better myself".
Maybe its becuase I come from a different place than most readers - I did not read the Esquire piece as elegiac. In the article, I saw a man who takes what life has given him and made the best of it. We have one life, and we may as well do the best with it that we can, no?
as someone who is missing one of the major 5 senses, I think its very easy for people without disabilities or whatnot to fall into the 'heroic meme'. In Jones' writing - you can see glimpses of that meme. I do think, however, that emphasis is misplaced. You are merely moving into a new plane of your life, neither worse or better. I would say your quality of life is vastly better than most of us. Even those with auditory voices can't get our voice heard.
Keep on chugging, Roger and have fun!
Trying to put my finger on what's so resonant about your writing. I think in part it represents a Chicago tradition--common sense, accessible, none of the narcisistic, "look at me" elements you see everywhere else. It was even a welcome exception to the usual portraits in Esquire. Not many left (even in Chicago) that have that gift of expression, but we'll enjoy your work for however long can.
In Aug of 2005 God had mercy on me and delivered me from my sins thru His Son, Jesus.
Months later, I saw you giving a favorable review of the Da Vinci Code, and I remember thinking, "that old fool better shut his mouth and soon before God shuts it for him".
Then I noticed you missing from your show for some time and the next time I saw you I saw that His patience had indeed run out.
You still have time Roger. Don't be a fool and beg for mercy. You've been pimping Satan's filth for years and you have a lot to answer for.
Do it, NOW!!
Ebert: Did you intend to place a comma after "fool?"
When I passed the link for the Esquire article along to my wife, I mentioned that I thought your "voice" had never been clearer. I'm glad to be among many people who obviously think and feel the same thing.
A blog reader said he hadn't realized I was so frail.
FRAIL? I'm astounded. I read that article and saw only a picture of strength.
Roger, honestly, when I looked at your pictures, my first thought was, "Oh, look at all those lovely books."
"I believe that if, at the end of it all, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime."
Beatiful words Mr. Ebert.
greetings from Venezuela
The article did give me the idea that your medical situation was more dire than I had thought. I am happy to hear that this impression was wrong! My other impressions on reading were:
- I would like to live in your office. HOLY CRAP BOOKS EVERYWHERE. You've talked about it before but seeing is believing.
- I liked hearing more about Chaz. From what you've told us I am a fan, if that's not crazy or anything, she just sounds like a cool person and we should all be so lucky in love.
- Vinyl Records! Leonard Cohen! These are a few of my favorite things! I was inordinately pleased by this.
- I hope your medical misadventures are at an end now, because holy shit. That's enough misfortune for one lifetime. You stay well, now.
Thanks for the peek into your life. Please keep us posted about how your new voice is coming along.
I read the Esquire interview, then this response. I cannot tell you how much these two pieces made me tear up and made me laugh.
I've alway appreciated you and your way of reviewing films I never felt talked down to. And these two articles really showed me what a strong, funny and good man you are.
I hope to keep reading your reviews for many years you are the only movie critic I like to read even when you like or dislike I film I feel the oposite for I enjoy reading your comments.
Thank you Roger, keep well!
I enjoyed Chris Jone's article, I thought it was well written and was aware that the title of the article was referring to you not knowing what the last words you physically spoke were. Those words don't matter, they're forgotten and that's okay, as there have been many words from you since and many more to come. Where the words come from, whether it is your mouth or hand, doesn't matter. It is only what you say with them that I care about.
I was, admittedly, a bit surprised by the picture used for the article. I have no problem with the picture at all, that is you. But I am only familiar with the picture used for your articles and blogs and therefore, that is how I perceive you. So to see the present day you was both refreshing and further insight into what you have been through and how you live your life on a day to day basis.
It was a great interview, it was one that I wanted but I did not realize until I read it. It was well done and your insights into the interview and the interviewer further enhance the article.
I look forward to reading more from you.
Not a lovely sight. But then I am not a lovely sight, and in a moment I thought, well, what the hell.
Bullshit.
Loveliness is in the eye of the beholder, and I behold a man who moves me with his insight, his thoughtfulness, his style, his taste, his outlook, and his humanity -- AND his ability to convey those things in his writings.
Lovely to me, buster. And I'm damned glad to see you; dying my ass [beyond the universal state, of course!]. . . .
Thank you, Roger, for everything - for your excellent reportage over the years (even tho sometimes you are wrong!), for your wonderful blog, for letting Chris write this article, and for your response to it above. Thank you for your honesty about yourself. When I am having a bad day, sometimes I remember your own acceptance of yourself, and it helps me accept myself. I hope you are many increments away from that good night.
I, too, sat up when I read the headline about your "Last Words". I knew you had surgery. I had seen a recent photo of you but I thought "oh noooooo", that really sucks. And I felt another little piece of me had disappeared too. I thought about the time we worked together: the fun, the frustration, the arguments, the final product. I was proud of it & I hoped you were, too. So this is just a short note to say "hi" to you & Chaz. Now I'm off to read your "... Esquire interview with Lee F---ing Marvin.. "
--
Jan Rifkinson
Ridgefield CT USA
http://janrifkinson.blogspot.com
http://www.bogartsdaddy.com
janrif@gmail.com
The thing that I hope you take away from the Esquire article, and the overwhelmingly sincere and positive response you got from it, is that by doing (as Gene said) what you love and doing it well you've enriched everyone who has the pleasure to see your work.
You are a treasure to the city of Chicago, the Midwest, and the world. I'm glad that I have been able to see you do what you've done so ably for so long. I've lurked around your blog for years now, and I'm always glad to see a new post.
Now just don't let all this reacquired goodwill go to your head. The next thing you know, you'll only be hanging out with Paris Hilton, and telling us all how "hot" everything is.
"Resentment is allowing someone to live rent-free in a room in your head."
For someone like me, it's more like they're living rent-free in my soul. Can't have it for very long.
I have to admit that I haven't yet read the piece in Esquire. Mainly because I haven't found the magazine with your cover in my part of Ottawa. However, I have read the excerpts you posted and looked at the cover and it seems to be a moving piece and a good piece of journalism, which, I'm sorry to say, is a rarity today. I should tell you Mr. Ebert, that I have followed your movie blog and movie criticisms for a very long time, ever since I was little. Your writing shows knowledge, wisdom and you're one of the few critics left that is really passionate about movies and knows about the elements of film. I often read movie reviews, and often feel sick at the way some critics tear into particular movies and actors/actresses and really don't analyze in any meaningful way why it is they so disliked about a particular film or performance. Sometimes it is deserved, but most times it's not and it also reeks of bad journalism. That is why, on Thursday morning, I always faithfully come to your blog to read your reviews. Because I know I will get a good, informed, knowledgeable and sometimes philosophical opinion about why the movie stank or why it worked. Of course, I don't always agree with you, but I can always count on your to treat your subject fairly and without condescension. Your writing in the last years has only gotten better and I look forward to reading more of your blog every Thursday morning!
I thought it was a well-crafted and deeply-felt article. It made me understand you, your love for the written word, your fairness, and the depth of your perceptions about film, friendship, journalism, love and life.
You are even better at what you do and who you are than I had even imagined.
You, sir, are a class act. Your writing has inspired me for years and will no doubt continue to do so. Your willingness to reveal yourself in this interview and your understanding that it was not going to be a puff piece shows a unique strength of character.
Roger Ebert, you are the man!
Roger, You have unfailingly been one of my favorite writers for years. After seeing a film, I tend to agree with your perspectives and my love of cinema has grown due to your insights and criticisms. The article in Esquire was enriching and I enjoyed taking a "peek" into your private life, just to get a glimpse of an amazingly asute man with a true sense of life and self. Chaz and you are both lucky to have found one another and I feel assured that you are in good hands with this lovely woman by your side. The tone of the article was not elegiac as much as it was life-affirming. I was happy to see what I had guessed many years ago, that you love books as much as I do and you surround yourself with them. That would help to explain, in part, your eloquence and the many mellifluous reviews you have written. I wish there were a female equivalent to Esquire magazine, where the majority of the magazine is about good, tight writing. Each time I have the opportunity to read an article from Esquire, I have an momentary desire to come up with a concept to start Esquire for Women, but I hope that someone there will eventually come up with the idea instead. You are a national icon, but you are also one of the members of an august group from Chicago; Studs Terkel, Mike Royko, Irv Kupcinet, Paul Harvey and your late and dear friend and foil, Gene Siskel. I take pride in being a native Chicagoan, born of immigrant parents, knowing I am a part of a world-class city that has a small-town feel to it and appreciating that some of the finest writers and pundits in recent memory hail from this city. Your voice may have been silenced, but not your writing, and for those of us who have watched you, each line we read is resonating with the voice we remember. Thank you for allowing me into your sphere, albeit it remotely, but nonetheless, I am grateful for the glimpse into a remarkable life well lived.
The Esquire article was excellent. However, I disagree with your blog, "Let's face it. Esquire wouldn't have assigned an article if I were still in good health." In sickness and in health, with Siskel and without, you're a fascinating guy. I've subscribed to Esquire for years, and they've wasted ink on a lot less interesting guys than you, Roger.
My thirteen year-old son appreciated the article, too. He's a fan of yours, sort of. When you give one of his movies a poor review, the second Transformers movie for example, he thinks you're a crabby old man (sorry he thinks everyone over fifty is old). But when he agrees with you, The Hurt Locker for example, he uses your review as evidence that everyone should agree with his great taste.
Hello from an old Riccardo's and Hampstead Heath buddy, and thank you so much for drawing my attention to a beautiful piece about a beautiful man. If I were judging national magazine awards this year, chris jones would win another one. Long may you clap your hands in delight. We'll be reading. Fond cheers.
Ebert: Hey, Lynn!
If you go to the end of the previous entry, about Perambulating London, you find two great videos by Karl Heinz hat perfectly record the Perfect London Walk.
Mr Ebert,
I had to write you and say thanks for the many great writings and reviews you have produced over the years.
I began buying your Video Home Companion books when they first started to be released in the early 80's and I have never looked back. I wish I could write like you do.....so effortless and fluid. Each time I read one of your film reviews or essays I am always able to hear your voice and picture you gesticulating the major points you want to get across about a film's greatness or failure. That is a great accomplishment from a great writer.
I am currently reading through the two volume "Great Movies" books. Both volumes should not only be required reading in film school, but they should also be the standard from which all great essay writting aspires to.
Thanks for making films, and reading, so much more enjoyable.
Best Wishes.
I wrote a blog on my site about the Esquire article...
I have been following you since I was a little girl, watching you and Gene every Saturday night...after the Muppet Show...
I always had more of an affinity for you...and it was you who instilled in me my life long love affair of the cinema...
It was you that got a Black girl from the "hood" to get on the 6th Jeffrey bus and go downtown and catch the 151 and to explore those aspects...
It was you who let me know that I could attend the Chicago Film Festival...I didn't need to be famous...I only needed the price of a ticket...
It was you who instilled in me the need to see films that showed at the Fine Arts Theater...at The Music Box...etc.
It was you...
In the life I should be leading...I would be carrying on you and Gene's tradition...if you spoke to me...you would have no doubt of that...
However...this love that I have for fine films from any era began with you...
And for that Sir...I am eternally grateful to you...and Love you...
I liked the article and admire you for, once again, being so real. Your personality shines through and is a gift to the reader. I also like the newer photo and would love to see you use it. (I always thought the old ones portrayed you as much sterner than you are.) If you hate the hair, just ruffle it up and take another shot!
It's a good article, and I enjoyed it. But I thought he used just a bit too many of your own words in the final act. I like the title on the internet version.
I guess, as intimate as it is, it's less so than you have been yourself with those of us who've been with you on the Journal for a while. I liked the pictures. After your entries about being like the Phantom of the Opera and your descriptions of the surgeries in the entries about being unable to eat, I guess I had sort of let my imagination take over. But there you are. Roger Ebert. Same guy who came into my living room to tell me about movies that I knew I would not be able to see, but wished to.
A confession: I only made it to page 4 or 5 before I finally relented and clicked on the Scarlett Johansson "women we love" link. I just couldn't take it any more. Pretty nasty of Esquire to put those teaser pictures in the column next to your article. But, I got that out of my system and read of the article.
Thanks for the blog entry, Roger. How strange it must be to be interviewed like that -- it's sort of like a funhouse mirror; a reflection of you distorted by the perceptions of the person doing the interviewing. Sort of like a movie review, I suppose.
I enjoyed the Chris Jones' article very much. I do have to say, though, that there was a "dying now" aspect to it that gave me a sense of urgency. I have been reading your blog, reviews, and watched you religiously on television for over fifteen years (and I'm only in my twenties now). I felt compelled to make sure I hadn't missed anything - I went back and read old entries I originally wasn't interested in, and wrote a comment for the first time in over a year. I rarely comment these days because many other people already voice my thoughts so eloquently.
I am a frequent reader and commenter on Jezebel, which lately has been abuzz with features on you (usually forwarded from Twitter or articles like the Esquire interview). I wrote the other day that I always felt I owed you a piece of my life, which is true, I do. I realize how hyperbolic that sounds, but a hero is a hero is a hero, and you saved my life. The other commenters on Jezebel encouraged me to tell you, and that coupled with the article had me panicked that you were kicking the bucket this minute! I am so happy to read your entry today, and know that you are not. However, I am not sorry I told you, because today could be my last day, and it would be tragic if you did not know you had a hand in keeping life worth living for a stranger.
Mr. Ebert,
I will never shake the gentle hand of Fred “Mr” Rogers and thank him for his simple yet profound program, I will never march alongside Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, I will never see a TRUE PREMIER of a Shakespeare play, and I will never be in an audience while Ray Charles plays the roof off the building. I have made peace with all of this.
However at 26 years old with my first feature script stranded in development hell with the producer of my dreams and a director you have shown respect (I won’t name drop) I am more determined then ever that Roger “Full Disclosure” Ebert for better or worst will review of one of my films, before I die.
I can already imagine it, that Thursday before my movie is to premier in wide release I will sit down at my computer with my wife at 4:00AM-5:00 AM and wait until the review shows up on your website. I will consume your review, hang on every word, be it criticism or praise. And at that moment, I will cry like a new born because a young African American child from a violent inner city, who grew to success out of a home with two HIV infected parents, will have just crossed one more thing off his “they say this will never happen list”.
Keep strong Mr. Ebert for you have inspired such dreams with words!
With Respect,
SB
I thought it was a very well-written interview, very apt for one who has written many good interviews and other words. What Chris Jones said you said about contributing joy to the world really resonates with me. I am so grateful to have co-occurred with you in this little world of ours so that I can read your writing, your current commentary. You inspire me, and I thank you.
I will have to traverse your London paths the next time I am in town. Oh, and I watched Burma VJ last night. Truly stunning. The bravery of those video journalists humbles me.
What struck me the most about the Esquire piece was not the illness and surgeries and dying in increments, but that you are somebody who truly knows how to live. You are proof that no matter what challenges a person may encounter in life, happiness is always possible.
Thank you for being so honest and open about your life.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
Just a quick note to thank you for your openness with the photograph and article - especially against the larger context of a culture which sometimes worships physical appearance. If I may make an observation, your eyes look as keen and alert as ever. As I looked at the photograph, although I was of course saddened to see what has happened, I found my own eyes drawn to yours, and the brightness there.
Many blessings,
Eric
I often say that after my family and friends Bruce Springsteen has added more joy to my life than any other person. Reading the Esquire article made me realize that watching you and Gene since the 1970's, your books, and now your online work, you are on the list right after Bruce.
Thanks so much!
You sir, amaze me. I am not taken to idolatry but if I were...
I am a professional writer. Film (next to my family) is my greatest love. My wife is a travel consultant and we have been many wonderful places across the globe. Thus it is that your words draw me like no one else's, returning me to places I have been, sights I have seen, and emotions I have experienced. But more than that, through your words about film, travel, food, people and philosophy, you have introduced to me (and so many others, I am certain) new ideas, new perspectives, and new beliefs about life and, indeed, who we are as individuals and as a species.
I admire you for your strength and your conviction, but most of all for your voice, which has never been stronger.
And all I have for you is a heartfelt but inadequate thank you.
Having known you for nearly three decades, the last 25 years only through other media, I was struck by this piece (alerted to it by a friend in NY on Facebook Monday night, btw) and was awaiting your take on it. Impulsive and trusting - that is what my mom always says about me (she's 91, I'm 61). How did we then become journalists and survive? In your case, bravery, honesty, compassion, humor, and, of course, excellent writing, observations and insights. I don't know how many Twitter followers you have, but I'm one and you are my most prolific poster, so, yeah, perhaps the blurbers overdid it with the last words and frail...the piece also shows you walking near the lake with Chaz, going to screenings regularly, and so on, despite the operations increasing the degree of difficulty.
I love the photos you selected here, especially the profile in your library. Our appearances change with age, anyway, much as we wish to fantasize those wrinkles and scars away, not to mention the pounds in some cases, but since your weight is going the opposite direction than most of ours, that's a face-changer, too. And you did have a prominent jaw for most of your life [You're looking particularly square-jawed in that one pre-op shot with Chaz], so the fact that you allowed a magazine photographer to shoot a close-up, straight-on portrait (courageous and risky to one's self image for anyone over 50, much less one who has endured repeated surgeries), in which you look rather Puck-ish, is surprising for those of us who haven't seen you in person for a long time. Funny, your remark about the hair - I didn't see a stylist credit, but your locks DO look straighter and more combed than the full white mane we're accustomed to. The interplay about the wedding photos and the house cleaning show, once again, your serendipitous pairing with Chaz.
I think it was a wise if impetuous decision to have Chris Jones do the interview, to allow him access, and to quash your vanity and let your character shine through. Bravo!!
I've really enjoyed your writing in a new way, Roger. I think that the loss of your spoken voice has caused me to pay greater attention to what you write.
I also want to tell you that I've been sharing your reflections with my mother-in-law, who has a tracheostomy. This was the result of several intubations over a week for rapid-fire surgeries to save her from a MRSA infection she acquired post-op. She did live, but the damage to her vocal cords is permanent. She lives with the cruel choice of being able to speak, or being able to breathe well enough to do more than walk across a small room. No surgery or treatment for this has helped, and some have hurt, so she too is in a place of "no more". Now it's about living the best life that is possible, and loving what is rather than hating what is not. I think your writing has really helped her have a feeling of community. I will continue to print and share your written voice with her, and I thank you warmly for being so open.
Nice article. For some reason the character "Big Daddy" came to mind. Although I'm not sure if I could say why exactly. There's some sort of parallel there, I think. But I don't think I'm smart enough to say why that is. No offense intended.
n
I love that you write that the person you are now is there in your writing. (I'm paraphrasing.) I feel the same way- often, people who meet me after they read my writing are surprised that I "don't seem like the person they've read." I tell them that the person they read IS me; the person they're meeting in the flesh has a headache and a sinus problems and is preoccupied with paying this month's gas bill.
Thank you for writing so much, your writing a gift we're thrilled to receive.
I actually thought that the triumph of the piece was that while it was elegaic, it wasn't maudlin. Despite the headline, the emphasis was on how you're currently doing some of the finest work of your career, in spite (or perhaps because) of your recent battles. The tone of the piece neatly mirrored the reflective tone of this blog.
Roger,
Your honesty and eloquence are an ongoing inspiration. Thanks for posting your feelings on an excellent profile, making the original reading of it an even richer experience.
ADD
I thought Chris Jones did an amazing job. Reading his article on you, and then reading your article on Lee Marvin, I understood why you chose him. You both sink your writings into the environment of your subjects, and you write, in a way, in their voices, their tones, and that evoke the colors of their characters so much more vividly and intimately.
Being an interviewer yourself, it must have taken a lot of self-restraint to not try to be both the interviewee and the interviewer. I thought you did a good job on that.
People dwell on loaded words like "dying" as if that automatically means something more. Words only mean as much as the context they are situated in. I thought one of the most touching moments of the piece was when Chris described you watching "Broken Embraces", and how it looked as though you were "sitting on top of a cloud of paper." That speaks way more of you as a person than "dying in increments," but no, "clouds" and "papers" are just not heavy enough words.
Either way, you are still here and you are writing, and you have the last word(sssss), and that's good enough for me.
Keep fighting, Mr. Ebert. I went through this with my parents, long before there were the type of modern miracles science offers today. My father fought like crazy, but back decades ago, the stigma of such radical surgery was overwhelming. The same for my mother, but she kept going for years, made a life for me, for which I'm exceedingly grateful.
Watching my parents, I know first hand the courage it takes to fight invasive illness, but the love of life is fierce, which you certainly have shown.
I normally do not pay attention to the personal lives of those who occupy positions of celebrity, for lack of a better term, but I came by a link to this article after reading Mr. Ebert's review for "A Serious Man". Oh man, what would I do without Ebert to provide some insight into a movie that leaves me scratching my head, trying to figure out if I just saw something wonderful or terrible?
I could not resist reading the Esquire article because I was shocked and a bit scared. I had no idea that Mr. Ebert had been through all of that because, as I said, I do not pay attention...I feel as though I'm a peeping Tom or something if I indulge in the gossip. It just don't seem right to me; it feels dirty and wrong. But anyway, since Mr. Ebert provided this interview of his own accord then I found it acceptable to read; although, that's never a guarantee that the truth is portrayed. Soooo, I then came to this journal entry to make sure, and I'm glad I did.
I am so glad that Mr. Ebert continues to write; not just for selfish reasons, but because it is good for the soul. A mystery that has puzzled me for some time was solved through that interview. I've wondered for a long time why in the hell Mr. Ebert was giving away so many damn starts all of a sudden. I was aware that he had been sick, thought he was all better with no lingering issues, and suspected that maybe it had something to do with that...but I wasn't sure. Now it makes total sense and I think it's pretty damn cool. We all can learn something from that. Along with the rent-free room in the head. Words of wisdom that can help us see things in a different light and I am always grateful when someone is willing to share.
Roger,
I am so glad you did this interview. It was beyond uplifting. I ran through a whole range of emotions, but in the end I did not feel depressed at all.
It showed me the same and also ever changing Roger Ebert. It provided for me the continuity of your persona from when I first knew you in the mid to late 1960's at the U of I. To me you are and are not the same person who would burst into the Student Union, The Capitol or the Turks Head with energy to spare. I see and feel that same energy from the memory photo I have of you from the past and the one used in this interview.It was such an honest interview.
Just keep on doing what you do.
Incrementally yours,
Mike
Rog -
I was less intrigued by the tabloid-esque detailing of your injuries (old news by now), and more interested learning about your writing process.
Furiously ripping pages off a spiral notebook in a darkened movie theatre?
Surely that must piss off your fellow critics in the screening room...
The Esquire article made it sound like your reviews come to you quite effortlessly.
Almost as if they appear pre-packaged through divination, or by way of channeling the akashic records.
Reading it I almost stopped and thought "By jove, soo THAT'S how he does it!"
Really interesting to peak behind the curtain and find there's a real wizard back there after all.
It was real, genuine, intimate - a wonderful piece of journalism and yes, it put us closer to you. I always wonder if I would be so fond if you if I didn't live in Chicago. You're one of our few "stars" and so you kind of belong to us. An Ebert spotting is right up there with an Oprah spotting, and much better than a Vince Vaughn spotting.
I don't know why, but I never fully grasped the reality that we would never hear your voice again until I read Chris Jones' article. I think it's because you have continued to be so "vocal" through your writing which I read constantly.
Thank you for agreeing to the interview, and thank you for writing this lovely follow-up. Your perspective is so peaceful and sensible; it's been enlightening to read your feelings. I will certainly share your post with my friends as I shared Jones' article.
Dear Roger,
What a refreshing soul you are.
I love your frank open humorous thoughts and acceptance of what is a pretty intense reality.
I resonate with all this so much.
Thank You for sharing all this with us.
I posted a link to the Esquire story on my THYCA support group.
Everyone there is dealing with anaplastic thyroid cancer, which I am 11 years from diagnosis.
During the course of the first 18 months, I was told "IF" I lived I would be in need of reconstructive surgery and possible new vocal chords.
I spent long periods without a voice and unable to eat or drink, lost 65 pounds and stayed awake all night before each scan.
For whatever reason I made it through whole.
I still have most of my salivary function and other than minor side effects and a need for Attivan I'm almost unbelievably healed.
When I first noticed your disappearance and the small amount of information about it, I had that clenching feeling, and wondered what had happened.
By doing the Esquire piece and yes, showing the destruction that can happen to what is such an important part of who we perceive ourselves to be... the FACE, you have helped me heal my own scars, the ones that don't show.
I am so glad you have a strong beautiful partner. She is an angel.
I am not religious, but I am aware that some words are applicable.
Bless you both, and keep shining and sharing!
What wonderful writers on both sides of that interview. And on your side, more than a little courageous. So glad to have found it, and your wonderful blog as well.
As a journalist and survivor of Stage III tonsil cancer -- though my experience was a walk in the park next to yours -- I had to laugh aloud at your line, "Well, we're all dying in increments."
Indeed, we are. And I'm glad you made it clear that you're not dying, other than incrementally.
Mr Ebert
You are one of my favorite writers. I cant wait for my friday sun-times to arrive on my doorstep so I can drink in your words. Your movie reviews fill me with so many emotions. Joy, sadness, anger, excitement...I love them. People should not be allowed to write film reviews if they are not passionate about film-making and you are full of such wonderful passion. I pray that you will be around a long time so that we can continue to be blessed by your writings. I know where you stand regarding religion but I believe in a wonderful and loving God and I will pray that He will bless you and touch your heart. I hope that doesn't offend you. I don't mean too.
Your very loyal fan, Elvia
I like Lee f------ Marvin. Reliable.
I've greatly appreciated your blog, and thought the article was very well done.
Life has strange twists and turns for all of us, but it's how we respond to them that really matters. And the way you've responded to your changes in life is instructive and illuminating.
Thanks for sharing with us.
Roger,
I enjoyed the article because it added to the jigsaw of who Roger Ebert "is." It is very easy for me (as one of the admitted conservatives) to think of you in very segmented pieces. I read some of your thoughts and opinions about people I admire and I get a little angry sometimes; sure you are entitled to your opinions but sometimes the barbs on the spears you cast are sharp. But in that discomfort I learn about myself and about others.
I read about your sojourn to sobriety and after and it is easy to envision me sitting next to you on a barstool in a London pub, or at an AA meeting in some indistinct office building. Your writing is intoxicating (no pun intended). I often see your words as if in a screenplay for film noir. A lot of sepia tones, but therein lays the tone and mood.
All of the characters you have met in your life intrigue me. I would have liked to meet "my new best friend." I wish I would have been there when you interviewed John Wayne. After reading the piece, I may have held you down while the Duke gave you a pink belly. Who knows?
I made a comment a while back about getting part of your blog-family together to celebrate the coming together of many diverse people, cultures, ideas, etc. You mentioned that it was hard for you and I didn't understand it. You seemed, apart from maybe self-esteem issues, in fine health. You write vibrantly, so why would it be difficult for you physically? I for one could care less what you look like or whatever difficulty it would be in communication. I think it is because you never wanted pity and in your proud heart admitting to your daily struggle could appear as if you do. But reading the Esquire article made it clear. Now I understand.
And I don't feel pity. I think we all wish we had a Chazz. I think if there is a story in your struggles, the love that you obviously have for one another is it.
I think the one thing about your blog is that many of us feel a part of something. Most of us admire you for one thing or another. Whether it is movies, philosophy, politics, etc. I don't agree with much of what you believe, but you would not be as interesting to me if I did.
Anyway, I enjoy being a part of this family even if it is as a distant cousin.
I was greatly moved by your reaction to the video of your tribute show being pulled. I sent links of the interview and quotes to the Paley Center for Media and the UCLA Film and Television Archive. I'm hoping someone contacts you and gets you personal copies so you don't have to rely on what Disney allows you to see.
Someone? I have a coach party living rent free in the valleys of my mind.
I thought that article was long and depressing, much my life i guess.
Dear Mr. Ebert --
I've long been a fan of your writing for its insight and humor. Your book of movie clichés, for example, is a reference on my desk here, a constant and fun reminder to try to come up with things I've never seen before.
After reading the Esquire piece and this modest, open response to it, I am also a fan of you as a human being.
I hope one day to learn to face adversity with such class, wisdom, and generosity.
Thank you.
I absolutely loved the piece on you. I thought it truly told a story about your life now, and it was uplifting to me in many ways. Your attitude and happiness are a real delight to see and I thought Mr. Jones did an especially good job describing the situation where you became angry at the deletion of your tribute video...I actually start crying (Disney is so mean!). As someone who has mild facial disfiguration myself, I completely understand what you're saying about not looking in the mirror. It's important not to dwell on those things. How you described feeling when seeing the photograph is the same shock I feel sometimes when confronted with my appearace. But I can also say that I've learned that we're always harder on ourselves. I love the picture.
I can't wait to read old posts on your blog and new ones...you seem to be getting better with each passing day!
Sincerely,
New Fan
Dear Mr. Ebert --
I've long been a fan of your writing for its insight and humor. Your book of movie clichés, for example, is a reference on my desk here, a constant and fun reminder to try to come up with things I've never seen before.
After reading the Esquire piece and this modest, open response to it, I am also a fan of you as a human being.
I hope one day to learn to face adversity with such class, wisdom, and generosity.
Thank you.
Roger, I have followed your writing since 1990, and have always been a great fan. The Esquire interview was so well done that I read it aloud to my wife, who has previously heard me quote your movie reviews at length. We both wish you warm regards - you are truly a hero to many, never so as you are now.
"Frail" may have been the wrong word. I know I said that, but perhaps someone else did, too.
I know I don't know you, Roger, but I feel like I do. It seems to me we'd get on famously. I know that's uncertain, of course, and probably a little crazy.
I used "frail" because I was surprised into it. Your illness and its aftermath bother me. They bother me the same way it bothers me when I see that my father is growing bent and old. I remember him a certain way, but when we spend time together I realize he's no longer that way. I don't want him to change. Your writing and thinking is so strapping that it's a surprise to think of you having trouble climbing stairs. Why, you should bound up them!
Dave
The Esquire article was indeed moving and kind of a bitersweet read. It was illuminating and moving but also a little bit sad (as most lives are. I guess). Still, I wish you the best Roger since you've shaped my life in so many ways; not only are you a great critic and writer but an amazing human being. I liked movies before meeting you but really loved them afterwards. So, from the little city of Queretaro in Mexico (that urgently needs better movies on its theaters), I wish to thank you.
I thought the article was honest, but melancholy. I've been reading Roger Ebert's tweets, reviews, and blog, and so had to reconcile that Roger, with the Roger in the article. Your response here today reassures me that Original Classic Roger, is still there.
Two things though. First, I still miss Siskel's reviews and your show. I loved loved loved watching every weekend, and it definitely helped me to appreciate movies in a more thoughtful way. Thank you both. Second, I wanna hang out in your library and look through all your books.
Roger,
Chris Jones ranks with you among the nation's best journalists, so it is fitting he would have the honor of writing a truly fantastic profile of a man I consider my hero.
The section regarding your relationship with Gene Siskel, ending with you "screaming at the top of your lungs" was poetic, dramatic and powerful. It is my favorite part of the piece.
One question I had, though: I vividly recall you saying once you did not take constant notes during movies, unlike some of your peers. That you found note-taking during screenings distracting in some way. This, obviously, was contradicted in the lede of the story.
Is my imagination playing tricks with me, or did you never write that you disliked taking notes?
Keep writing.
Thanks,
JD
Ebert: I'm not always moved to take notes, but that film was so rich.
Roger,
I read the Esquire piece quickly the first time,ready to rise up and strike if the writer stepped to far.The second time I relaxed and enjoyed it.The picture,it's funny I noticed how neat your hair was too!!but really Roger it's all in the eyes.Like many of your regular readers I am a bit smug when others reference the article and I tell them to come here for real and wonderful story telling.
I just finished the article and it was wonderful. You may remember the closing lines of your review of Jackie Brown, in which you say you wanted the characters to live on for hours and hours. I felt the same way after the article. I wanted to read more.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
Just as Billy Wilder, Akira Kurosawa, Jean Pierre Melville, and Martin Scorsese are my heroes in film making, you are undoubtedly my hero in film critique. Your critiques have inspired me to expand my appreciation and exploration for films (as in truly great films) to a higher level within the last 5yrs. Having watched most of your top picks from every country, era, and genre, I truly pity many mainstream film-goers who are missing out on the cinematic treasures of this world. It's kind of like something you've once said to someone who thought Transformers 2 is a good movie "...if you think thats a great film, then your taste in movies have not evolved..."
Although I have a great deal of respect for the views of many of your colleagues like the late Gene Siskel and Pauline Kael, and even to a certain degree with your contemporaries like Armond White, your witty and objective articulation of a film truly helps people identify the merits and flavor of that film, without biases towards any ideology or contents about the film which people may find objectionable ...which I see as a big contrast between you and Armond White.
Again, just want to show my utmost respect and appreciation and hope you continue to inspire many other writers and cinephiles like myself!
-Nick C from Los Angeles, CA
Roger,
I'm very, very pleased to say that you will never have "last words." I just rented Citizen Kane from NetFlix and watched it for the first time in 20 years. Afterward, I took a look at the special features and was happy to see that I could watch the film again with voice-over commentary from you. I selected this option and the film began again with that great RKO logo and your voice. Your voice! What a thrill for me to watch Citizen Kane with you as my guide!
Thank you!
Steve Zeoli
Brandon, Vermont
Good article in Esquire. I don't take the time to read 6+ page articles about just anyone. As I said when I posted it on Facebook, you're my favorite liberal.
My sister has always thought it's corny that I put so much stock into what you and some other movie critics have to say about movies (my libertarian-conservative principle are too firm to be dented). But you and Gene, I think, made me a better movie-goer. You probably also saved me a few bucks over the years.
Long you live. Thumbs up.
Mr. Ebert-
Put simply, you're one of the biggest inspirations of mine. I can't wait to go to Ebertfest again this year. I went last year and saw, "My Winnipeg." Watching you come up and introduce the film was one of the greatest moments of my life. I've admired you for years, and to actually see the man I call my hero in the flesh was powerful. The Esquire article was intense, and I'm glad it was written. Thank you for opening up to everyone. I'll never listen to Cohen's "I'm Your Man" the same again.
Now at a certain age with an accumulation of memory and experiences, I've found the value of pictures lies beyond what we see, a physical reflection incapable of capturing the fullness of a thought. But within a flash of frozen time, there is a spark that sets the mind wandering and the senses engaged- where a Thanksgiving photo unveils smells and comforting voices long past, where two bodies at the beach return you to the laughter and embraces of friends that survived their health and youthful loveliness. Within a memory of you and Mr. Siskel sitting in the balcony, there will always be that period of living we all experienced together.
Mr. Ebert, over many years and various media, I have always enjoyed and valued your knowledge about film- an interest of mine taken root in the next generation of my family. Of more substance, at least of the lasting kind, is your profound influence on this new adult who balances career with a cultivated interest of culture through books and film. An admirer and faithful reader of your words, intellect and wisdom, many of your columns are passed on to me in emails we share not as parent/child but of mutual interest. Your photo goes beyond the image, it keeps you close in hearts that are engaged in your struggles and successes, and in whose minds, your voice echos untouched.
That is a great portrait, not only of you but of the human will to live, and persevere. So what if your jaw is slack? It's still smiling. Kudos to photographer Ethan Hill -- this portrait stands shoulder to shoulder with the great George Lois Esquire covers. A thousand words, indeed.
Like many I was first exposed to you via television, but in retrospect that's almost a shame. Television conveyed your passion but not (sufficiently) your tremendous skill with words.
It's obvious you recognize that true writers, or thinkers/artists of any kind, require only a potent inner voice, not an outer one. It would be a much better world if more folks focused on cultivating that voice instead.
You've been a great gift to us all. Keep up the great work.
The Esquire article is fascinating, though it pales in comparison to your reviews, commentary, and journal entries. I've never met you and likely never will. But I've been reading your work for over a decade (and watching your show for years prior), and I have come to consider you a dear friend.
Thank you for your contributions to this world, Mr. Ebert. Your consistent spiritual triumph over cancer is truly an inspiration. I know I am not alone in feeling gratitude that you have chosen to share your battle with us.
I think it's a great photo of you. It's startling---I remember what your pre-surgery jaw used to look like, and the change is dramatic---but you look like Roger Ebert with a post-surgery jaw, and seeing your so-familiar-to-me face, especially your sparkling eyes, makes me happy. Even though we have never met in person (or maybe we shook hands at an opening once, but that doesn't count) your face is one I feel that I know.
And the article is beautifully written. And you are admirably candid. And, as always, I have a tremendous crush on your amazing wife! Every interview with her, every appearance of hers, just cements my opinion of her as one of the Awesome Humans who makes the world a magical place.
Thanks again for your integrity, Roger. It shines through.
Another aspect of the interview that also shines through is that you're a techie at heart, whether it's about the details of projecting and viewing a film, playing with your Apple products, or your dependence on having a working IP address. So here's some pragmatic advice on tethering: jailbreak your iPhone with redsn0w or sn0wbreeze (depending on whether it's a 3G or 3GS, OS version, and all that—be sure to back up beforehand), then use the accompanying Cydia app to install 3G Unrestrictor and PDANet to tether your Macbook to the internet over the iPhone's 3G network connection, anywhere and anytime you've got 3G access on the iPhone. You'll also probably wish to install WinterBoard and use some Third Man background for the iPhone. Please post a screen shot when you're done.
Hi Roger,
I enjoyed reading the Esquire article. It gave me a bit of an insight of who you are. I got pretty angry when I got to the Disney part. And I loved the Lee Marvin piece.
What I’d really like to read are your notes from that day. Did any of them include...
“I’m a little scared right now. I fear something bad is going to happen if this guy doesn’t get his beer.”
I hate to only think of this piece in terms of what effects me, but, hey, everyne already covered all the stuff about how moving it was and all, right?
So when can we expect to see Great Movies III? And any chance of it being offered in a signed edition? I missed out on the first one, to my thus-far unending chagrin.
There was definitely an elegiac tone to the piece, but man was it well written.
I don't want anybody thinking you're dying either. Fact is you are at the top of your game right now (even if you are more generous with the stars these days than you were before), and it only gets a lot better from here.
Love your work Roger.
As a faithful reader of your film reviews since becoming literate, I must say that you were always my favorite film critic. I cannot say that I have always agreed on your film reviews, but you regularly point me in the right direction. I cannot remember the amount of times I decided to watch or rent a movie based on your thoughts alone.
While I may have stumbled into you because of your thoughts on film, since you have started your blog, I have become an even bigger fan. I love all your topics and thoughts. I am sure it cannot hurt that you are liberal, a U of I grad, and a Chicagoan. I think it's important that you know how thoroughly enjoyable you are as a writer of daily life. Life in general. I don't know if your illness caused the creation of the blog as a way to get out all the thoughts out of your head you would normally speak, but If it was, then you made a fine wine with lemons.
As a side note, I would not dare call you a film critic again, probably never should have. You are just a fantastic writer who happened to be relaying your thoughts perfectly on film. Thanks.
Mr. Ebert,
As a student of Gay Talese, Joan Didion, Truman Capote and all those "new journalism," folk of the 1970s and made newer by Walter Harrington and Jon Franklin (still savoring the dinner I had with him) when I began my newspaper career in the late 1990s. I attempted with some modest success to follow in their footsteps. And it was a delight to read the Esquire piece. Chris has learned well from the giants who went before him. It was a classic Esquire profile where you felt, heard and just a little bit, maybe understood someone you have never met. Frank Sinatra Has A Cold is still my favorite Esquire profile, but this is a close second. But I read it with much emotion because I had no idea of your illness. I grew up in Chicago but left to pursue my career in journalism at age 17. You were as much a part of my life as anything as I was a film lover, but a book lover first. The profile shocked me. I was floored at all that had happened to you and it was like getting to know you all over again. Now I'm pleasantly surprised to get what I've always wanted as a writer - the full impact of words on article subjects. I feel like I'm overhearing a secret of the universe reading your thoughts about someone else's words about you. Amazing on both counts. I'm thoroughly happy to have stumbled upon both the Esquire profile and your journal.
So glad that you are still with us and will keep reading you, hopefully for years to come.
I must admit I have not read the Esquire piece but became interested in your situation based on our commonality: my having had a tracheostomy and immobile vocal folds that leave me gasping to breathe and struggling to create an (artificial) voice.
Is it possible that you have, or are about to, become, a voice for the voiceless, i.e., those of us who cannot speak due to cancer, throat injuries, car accidents, etc.?
I don't know, but I sure hope so, because the story of folks with the "invisible disability," the inability to speak, needs to be told.
Please consider delving into the topic of voicelessness. People need to understand the plight of those who can see and hear but cannot create a voice, human, artificial or otherwise.
God Bless You Mr. Ebert. May saint Blaise look upon you with love and care.
I saw the article yesterday at Jezebel (where they all adore you, by the by) and was shocked, pleased, happy, angry, and than happy again as I read.
I have to admit, though, that the tone at the end, while beautiful, rang a Naussica bell for me, as though you had waved your hand in sad and fond farewell, and were now about to seal yourself in a Wisdom Bubble with your books and internet and Chaz, to float off and away above the world. This clearly is not true. Anyone who has read your posts on London, or seen pictures of gorgeous Chaz, knows that you are absolutely present in the world, that you roll around in it, rub it in your fingers and pour it over your head.
And while I still don't tweet, I can see why the speed of it appeals--it really is as close as we get to just attaching a megaphone to our cerebral cortex and pressing the ON button. Perhaps this pendulum swing will lead us to the virtue of temperance, as a poster above described? We can only hope.
Keep enjoying, as much as you can, because the rest of us love hearing about it, as much as we can.
Dearest Roger,
What an extraordinary experience this has been. As thousands of others have commented, I have followed your reviews from Siskel & Ebert to your online reviews after Gene's death and now on to your journal, hanging on every word. What an incredible journey to know that as I type these words, you will read them. You! Roger Ebert, the famous movie critic and writer! I may never meet you or know you personally or even know if this comment disappears, but for a fabulous instant I can reach out through the universe, in this weird internet way, to connect directly to a human being whose profound observations simply astonish and inspire me. It gives me shivers. I'm just another middle-aged, Midwestern woman who grew up going to Steak n Shake and hanging out at the movies but wishing I was in Paris watching "Casablanca" in a tiny cinema while it rained outside. The movies are our last true art form, and no one in history has interpreted their artistry better than you.
I have a son who is 12, and is becoming the sort of reader and movie-watcher and general observer of life and art that I always hoped for, and he loves reading your reviews. Keep on pouring out those words, Roger. I tell my son it's like love -- you can never run out. We'll be reading you forever. Thank you!
I honestly think you should consider replacing your photo on your home page with this Esquire photo of you.
When I first saw it, I admit it was a bit shocking. I attribute this to the fact that after seeing your face on TV and in print for decades now, your image has been burnt into my brain. The juxtaposition of this new photo with past photos of you is jarring, to say the least.
So I looked at it again.
And again.
Then I just stared at it.
Now that the initial shock has dissipated, you know....I actually think it's a fabulous photograph. Obviously, you don't look like you used to, but I don't see anything hideous or monstrous in that photo. Not in the slightest.
Not only is it a true representation of what you really look like now, I think it projects a warmth that past photos of you have rarely captured. You are positively GLOWING in that photograph.
Maybe it's that smile. Most of your press photos show you as the serious, contemplative film critic, very stern and austere. But somehow this photo not only captures your piercing intelligence, but it captures two other characteristics I know you have in abundance...
...your wit and your joy.
What a great time we live in. A day after reading an interview in Esquire I can read the subject's own impressions of it via their own self-publication. I'm glad it was a good experience all around.
On another note, Esquire editors prefer short, neat abstractions in their prose (i.e. "Roger Ebert is no mystic, but he knows things we don't know.")which can become slightly irritating. It is supposed to make a piece lively and emphatic but it only makes it self-important, especially when the subject is some waif of the moment rather than an eminent journalist such as yourself.
Roger,
Unlike many here, I've never been a great lover of movies, and I don't know much about your esteemed film critic career. I found your journal through a link by Linda Holmes at npr.org's culture blog Monkey See. From the first day I found it, it's been bookmarked in my must-read column. You are an amazing, true, beautiful writer. Your tribute to Jermyn Street put a lump in my throat--and I've never been to London. I hate sensational, melodramatic, manipulative art (whether writing, movies, or music), but what you do is moving because it's so true and so human.
I thought that the Esquire piece captured that part of your work, and how it reflects your own true humanity. It was a brilliant piece on a brilliant subject.
Also--I've never seen a picture of Chaz before. You insanely lucky man. I could tell from the article that she was smart and caring and delightful. I didn't know she was also so hot! I wish many days of joy for both of you.
Since, I have been through similar, although not quite as drastic physical transformation, I think of my condition in terms of a movie reference. I think of myself as the black knight from Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Even after being hacked to bits he does not quit.
My trail started with a loss of my ability to deal with spicy food. Then a hemiglosectomy added a speech impediment and some challenges eating. Finally, a third surgery intensified the impediment and eliminated my ability to swallow. It is only living with the illusion that I can get up and fight every day that keeps me going.
I haven't read the Esquire article yet, Roger, but after reading this, will. For years I parted the waters of my life and went to see you at the World Affairs Conference in Boulder - Film Interruptus. I have so many great memories of just being in your presence - soaking up your love and enthusiasm for film. What a great teacher you were and continue to be. I would go home at night and have erotic dreams about you - turned on by your brilliance.
Last year, I went to see you when you came to Boulder and spoke with your electronic voice. Thank you for blessing your Boulder fans once more with your presence. What I always admired you for is your wit, transparency and honesty - your examined life. The best advice you ever gave me was to go out and "find new friends" in response to me whining about having go see "Wings of Desire" alone. May your wings of desire carry you on, dear man.
I'm so pleased with this journal. Such writing and remembering takes us all on journeys we would otherwise miss. Thank you for that.
I read the article. I wiped a tear over the telling of your grief for a lost friend, but I did not cry for you. I do not pity you. You aren't dead, you are living. Maybe not by the expectations you might have, or I might have, or others, but you're here, you're charging ahead. As you say, your most valuable asset, writing, has been unstoppered and flows with more clarity, abundance, and freshness than ever before. What's to pity? I waste such a good deal of my talent in idle chatter and spoken moments. I could be a great writer, but I prefer to chatter and so it flutters away, words on the wind, and profits me not at all. ~shrug~ I'm not here to profit anyway. But what you are sharing, thank you, it profits us all.
Will you take me to Paris some time? (I'll settle for any other destination too.)
In today's celebrity culture where we can't read a magazine or newspaper without being bombarded with stories about the wild but not particularly deep or interesting lives of the famous, the Esquire article about you was the perfect antidote. I found myself completely drawn into the story and enthralled by your touching and beautiful words. It is people like you we should be obsessed with, people who have something worthwhile to say, people who strive to make the world a better place because they were here.
I found it to be, from my selfish perspective of course, a look into the eyes of the beast. I have surgery coming up, not unlike your early rounds under the knife. I touched on the worst of my fears as a newly minted bit of throughput for the medical-industrial complex. The possibility of pain, disability and disfigurement loom large for me right now.
Despite all that, it's obvious that in spite of numerous medical setbacks and what could be generously termed sub-optimal outcomes, you are still you. And I suppose that may be the best one can hope for.
I caught a re-run of Gladiator the other night on HBO: "Death smiles upon us all. All you can do is smile back."
Keep smiling...
Roger: You are the true meaning of the word "MENSCH!"
Whether I agreed or disagreed with your reviews I always took great pleasure in reading your words and look forward to many many more!
Mr. Ebert, I've enjoyed your work for 30 years. In fact, you and Mr. Siskel were two of the important teachers I had earlier in my life. I came from a poor family in a small Texas town, and I had no idea that a world of such ideas even existed. It was luck that got me into a great school (Rice U.), and a gift that I was able to mature intellectually at a time when you and he were providing criticism.
As others have said, thank you.
Now, for your illness, I'm a bit more agnostic than you about the existence of God, it seems, but what I will say is that one of the reasons I think God doesn't exist is that death has to be so ugly. As you write, we're all dying in increments, but the end isn't terrible for but a privileged few. You keep heart, for the best judge of a person is the lives he's touched, not the shape of his face. And we all only have a little while.
"A full life leads to a peaceful death."
--Leonardo Da Vinci
The title of this entry is one of my favorite titles I've seen in some time. A far cry from Krapp's Last Tape in tone and meaning.
I have to echo what Pinto said: Having grown up watching you and Siskel (or is it Siskel and you?) on TV, whenever I read your writing, I hear your voice in my head. I thought the article was very well-written and a good compliment to your journal here.
Two things I was sad about in the article. You have to deal with Comcast (I hope you get better customer service than most of us), and the story about the old set. I didn't realize you had set it up to be saved at the Smithsonian. Cherished history destroyed is a crime.
I met Roger Ebert once in an elevator when I was just a teenager. He mentioned he had just been to Carson's and that they had 'the best ribs in town' He seemed like a really down to earth, genuine person, not to mention his obvious skills as a film critic and writer.
Ebert: Still pretty good.
I love your voice and what you express with it. You are one of the great writers of our time. Over the years I slowly realized that if Ebert liked a movie I would most likely like it too. Was it because of the gentle clear critical perception of a movie's strengths and weaknesses, the clear love of cinema done well, or the investigations of the effects of the writer's personal opinion? Or was it because all these elements are blended in a most extraordinarily artistic expression. The reviews often address the issues the film is taking on in a humane colloquial compassionate voice at an higher artistic level than the film under consideration. Cinema becomes a true conversation.
The recent blog posts expand this gift to new territories and I enjoy reading them thoroughly. Not many bloggers can evince such a deep understanding of human nature yet still allow the openness and mystery of what we do not know to have its space in the conversation.
My thanks for your contribution of passionate and spirited thought to our world and your artistic voice that fuses experience and talent in innovative and wonderful ways.
Interestingly enough, I absolutely hear your physical voice's pitch and tenor in my head when I read your writings. It is practically like you are speaking to me. Perhaps this because I became familiar with it through broadcast media in my youth and I think it is also because your writing is so personal and individualistic.
So again I give my thanks and I continue to read you with pleasure!
Patrik
Hi Roger. I've read your website for years and years and years now. This is the first time I'm commenting on your blog, which I began reading, ooh, say about a year ago. Not as faithfully as your reviews, but what can you do.
I just wanted to say that this blog almost made me tear up. Not about you, but of what it said about me. I have physical imperfections that, at times, depress me to a great extent. I harbor resentment towards a lot of people a lot of the time. I am consciously trying to not do this anymore, but it's tough.
After reading this article, it outright embarassed me. I waste so much time thinking negatively, be it about myself or about others. I'm 27, so I have a lot of growing to do, but best to get started now, right? You are a hero of mine, sir. Every time (EVERY TIME) I see a new movie, or an old movie I'd never seen before, I instantly race to the computer to pull up your review to see what you though of it. Seriously, it's borderline weird. I just did it the other night for Kenneth Branagh's 'Dead Again'. You were right!
Anyway, keep writing. I'll keep reading. Also, I loved your thoughts on Gene. I have a dear friend of whom I feel the exact same way. We've had outright bloody fistfights and then drank coffee and laughed together the next day. '..how meaningless the anger and how deep the love'. Perfect. I've also always liked what Robert Redford said about Paul Newman..."There are certain friendships that are sometimes too good and too strong to even talk about."
Thanks, and thanks again Roger!
Dear Roger,
Having read the Esquire piece last night, if I had to summarize it in a very few words, bottom line, it would be that you're still you. No matter what, you're still you, and that's a good thing.
You're my favorite movie critic ever. I may not always end up agreeing with you but always value your opinion, more than any other film critic. I've always liked that you are an honest critic and a superb writer without ever being anything like one of those mean, smart-alec type "critics" who seem to enjoy pooping all over any movie more than anything. It's like they'd hate if they actually liked something, you know? I dig that you are a true movie fan as well as being a critic. Basically, you rock.
Blessings to you and Chaz,
Barb
Roger, thanks for continuing. Thanks for continuing to write, to learn and to be fascinated with the world. Most of all, thanks for continuing to share that fascination with the rest of us. (I look forward to evenings on Twitter, which is -- understandably, now that I've read the Esquire piece -- your heaviest "tweeting" time. I eagerly await your latest finds -- articles, photos, videos and the like.) I had the pleasure of conducting a phoner with you and Gene for my newspaper in 1987. It was the weekend of the release of "Robocop," and I remember vividly the excitement that both of you had at what Verhoeven had been able to accomplish with what, in other hands, might have been just a tired special-effects action time-waster. In your online journal I continue to find that same kind of fascination with many different subjects. Thanks again for continuing to share it with us.
Hi Roger,
I appreciate your writing, especially the non-movie topics, very much. And a wonderful article by Chris Jones.
The Remembering Gene videos are on youtube.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bzsmNHrZVeY
Over the last 20 years of reading your reviews Roger, a surprising transition has taken place: I look more forward to reading your reviews than I do to seeing the actual movies.
When a new movie is coming out, the first thing I do is go to rogerbert.com and see if you have reviewed it. I am always a bit disappointed when you haven't.
I've puzzled on and off over the years why I'm such an addict of your reviews, why I enjoy them so much, and to a lesser extent, why my partner doesn't cuff me a good one when he wants to see a new movie and I say "No, I have to read Ebert's review first".
I think there are two reasons why I love your reviews so much. The first one is easy to communicate: you are an excellent writer. Your reviews are interesting, insightful, clever, balanced, reflective, and often downright hilarious. (I remember a few reviews from years back that I kept re-reading because they were such gleaming gems of writing brilliance, and frankly, I thought your writing was better than the screenplay)
The other reason is less easy to pin down and communicate, but I think it's something like this: your reviews often speak as much about the experience of being a moviegoer as they do about the content of the movie.
A movie is a talking monologue box of sorts, and we as moviegoers are a mute, captive audience being spoken to by the talking box. The box doesn't know we're there, doesn't care we're there and does not try to befriend us, or join in the experience with us in any way.
But your reviews do. Unlike the talking box that is indifferent to our laughing or crying, your voice is there along side us, like an enthusiastic movie-going friend. It gets excited when we get excited, it understands our disappointment when a good script is bungled, and it says "I told you so" when we need to hear that, too. In short, your voice is our human, champion spokesman of the movie going experience, and we love you for it.
Michael
PS Unlike you, I am not a writer, or at least not a good one. I hope you can make some sense of my blathering ;^)
This journal entry and the Esquire article brought a variety of thoughts to my mind, which I hope you'll take in the spirit they're intended and ignore or not as you see fit. :)
1. Chaz is positively amazing, isn't she? Does she ever get fan mail? I've half a mind to send her some.
2. I realize that this is irreverent and might perhaps be taken as cruel, but I feel like you'll know that that's not at all how I mean it; it was simply something that echoed in my head as I read the article: Roger Ebert is dead. Long live Roger Ebert.
3. "His new life is lived through Times New Roman and chicken scratch." -- This made me wonder, because I am, as ever, a nerd: do you actually prefer Times New Roman, as far as fonts go? I tend to use whatever the default is (unless I'm expecting to turn what I'm writing in for a class or send it off to another slush pile, in which case Times New Roman is still more or less de rigeur, as far as I'm aware), but I do get attached to some fonts over others from time to time.
4. Chris Jones is an exceptional writer. The way he captured everything from your walk in the park to that profound moment of anger... just, wow. I'll have to go read his other stuff now.
5. "If we think we have physical imperfections, obsessing about them is only destructive. Low self-esteem involves imagining the worst that other people can think about you. That means they're living upstairs in the rent-free room." -- Oof. Damn. That hits me where I live right now. I'm gonna have it tattooed backwards on my forehead so it's staring back at me every time I go to the mirror to bemoan the fact that I don't look like... I don't even know who I think I'm supposed to look like. At any rate, it's clear that the energy I'm using to dwell on such things would be much better spent doing just about anything else. Say, perhaps, saluting the sun in the four cardinal directions. :)
6. The wedding photo story is priceless. I'm reminded, as I frequently am, of my favorite passage from Raymond Carver’s poem "Locking Yourself Out, Then Trying to Get Back In": "If this sounds / like the story of a life, okay."
7. You've given me so much to mentally chew on, here and elsewhere. Thank you.
You know, Roger, I never thought of you as "dying." I still don't think of you that way now. But I will say this: I do expect your legacy as a critic to live well beyond your body does.
I am a professional critic (jazz) and you are one of my two heroes in the discipline, one of the two critics I've learned the most from in terms of how to respond on paper to what we've experienced sensorily.
And, having conversed via these comment threads, it will be one of the great honors of my career to tell people that I once interacted with you.
I gots to know. Would you appreciate a movie more if you didn't have to take so many notes while watching it? Thanks for being a happy presence in the world.
You would of course have no reason to remember the morning that you and I sat next to each other in a Gregory Hall classroom at Prof. Pugh's DGS-121 class, on the first day of classes in the University of Illinois's 1960-61 academic year. Glancing at your open notebook, I noted that you were a townie--Washington Street in Urbana--and that you were a Phi Delta Theta, a more prestigious fraternity than Lambda Chi Alpha, which I had pledged. Beyond that I took no notice of you--until you rose to announce that you would use the class as a forum to campaign for John F. Kennedy and the Democratic Party. I, coming from the solidly Republican and Protestant bastion of Tuscola, was horrified--but also envious, at such a display of self-possessed confidence and savoir faire.
I have followed your career since. As a newspaper person and sometime movie reviewer myself--for the Gannett dailies in Rockford--I was interested in your success at our shared craft. As a movie-goer, I depended on your judgments. It was a hoot hearing of your work as a scenarist for Russ Meyer (whom I interviewed in Rockford as he toured to promote "Beneath the Valley of the Ultra Vixens"). And then there was a kind of connection born of that first DGS-121 class.
I write now with no more purpose than to tell you I am thinking of you, and to express the hope that my recounting of that moment half a century ago might cheer you a little. At this point in our lives the noblest things we can do for our contemporaries, friends and strangers alike, are to give encouragement and, in small ways, to help each other get through all this. I offer this little scribble in that spirit. I might add that you are an example for your contemporaries in the way you are pressing through this cruel turn your life has taken.
So, hang in there.
PS--Chris Jones's piece reminded me of something of yours I read once, also in Esquire: "Saturday Afternoon at Lee F***ing Marvin's".
Ebert: Mr. Pugh. We had such good teachers, didn't we? You hear today about teachers who only want to publish, etc, and teach grad students. I didn't have a single bad teacher at the U of I.
Roger
I'm an "Esquire" subscriber and turned to that article as soon as I got the issue, mostly because I loved watching you and Gene. We all owe a debt to you for bringing movie criticism to the wider public.
The article was enlightening and a tribute to the human spirit -- especially yours.
I have urged my wife to read it. I'll remind her again tonight, only this time I'll say, "Here -- you have to read this article about Roger F---ing Ebert!"
The article makes me want to do and be more than I am with the resources that are available to me.
So, apparently you have contributed to multiple phases of my life. The first was steering me toward knowledge of what makes a good movie - Siskel and Ebert and The Movies (1986–99). Second was your skewering of Ben Stein’s anti-evolution film Expelled.
Thank you for the inspiration.
Apologized to Rush Limbaugh? Roger, say it ain't so. He's not a nice man and it would be hard to understate his contributions to the world.
Anyway, it was nice reading more about your wife. You found a keeper with her, and she with you. Best wishes for many more years of wedded bliss together.
As a neurotically photophobic guy, I have always found the consolation "But it's a nice picture! It looks like you!" to be salt in the wound. So I am as ugly in real life as the photo? Thanks for that.
On the other hand, I have come to learn that none of us are capable of seeing ourselves objectively enough to see beyond our warts, and I find comfort in the hope that I am equally as wrong about my looks as others appear to be.
All of which is my way of saying: jaw or no, you're a handsome fella, and I am not just being nice. If there's a reason for you to be ashamed to show your face, it's your positive review of Cop and a Half.
I love you, MAN.
I'm so glad to hear that you're OK with that article -- it was a compelling read, but I also felt that maybe I was intruding on something a little too private, or, worse, that private things had been twisted from what what they really were into something more melodramatic.
The funny thing is that, while we did often watch your show when I was growing up, I was really more interested in your syndicated reviews, printed in my local paper, which I can credit almost directly for making me think and care about films. (I always tell people that you and I agree on 99% of movies, with the disagreeing 1% being Jennifer Lopez movies, which you like way more than me.) I check your website every Friday (and sometimes during the week), I browse through the blog when I have spare time, and in general your voice to me is a printed one, so the article's presentation of your life without a spoken voice was somehow startling. It made me realize that honestly, any of the writers I like could be physically voiceless, for all the difference it makes to me.
And then I thought, boy are you LUCKY. What a great twist of fate, that you work in the one career to which a physical voice is of no consequence. So I shook off the eulogy-feel of the interview, and was thankful that your hands and brain are in the same fantastic condition as always.
I'm 34-years-old, and I've had low self-esteem for as long as I can remember.
"Low self-esteem involves imagining the worst that other people can think about you".
I'd never heard it put that way before. I'm going to marinade in that for awhile.
I'm so glad you're not *dying* dying. I can't afford to lose another therapist. :)
Thank you, Roger.
This blog reveals a marvelous world of readers and their fondness for you.
You are loved. I'll bet that rarely came through when your writing lived on only in the dead tree editions.
We hear you when we read you. Your voice does live in our memories of your TV program.
Which leads me to one item that intrigues me from the Esquire article.
How close are you to getting that custom-programmed software to allow the computer to speak in your voice? And if you are satisfied with the outcome, might you consider recording some podcasts for us to listen to here?
Some might say it could spoil a perfectly good virtual relationship developed here in simple Arial font .
But the curious among us might well love to "hear" from you again.
I have one thing to say about Rogert Ebert's face: beautiful. It makes me tremble to look at it. It is beautiful because it is the face of life. Sometimes when things have gone so wrong for us, we realize that while what we are left with is far different than what we used to have, it is far better than what we could have ended up with. It is enough and it is beautiful. He is right, we are all dying by increments. Shut up and show me your beautiful face, Roger Ebert. I miss you on tv, my movie-loving friend.
Haven't finished the article yet. Started reading online this morning and had to leave. Picked up a copy of the magazine this afternoon at the grocery store after attending a rally downtown in the Capitol rotunda.
I love hanging out with Mr.Lincoln and all in the rotunda, even Jeff Davis - another born Kentuckian (as I always say we have a lot of history to own up to). The rally was for a DUI bill requiring interlock devices for drivers after a first DUI conviction. We would be the thirteenth state to have it. My sole political talent seems to be showing up, but sometimes that is what is needed.
Can't fit another magazine into the pile regularly right now, but Esquire ranks right up there as a treat. This issue will be savored. Thank you and Chaz for agreeing to it.
Roger, as always thank you. Your post reminded me of something my late mother said years before she died, to the effect that what she dreaded most was the possibility of Alzheimer's, losing her mental abilities. I think she was resigned to physical decline. But she wanted to be herself to the end.
So when I read your entries here, you come across as alive and vibrant; brimming with vitality. That may no longer be true for you physically. But it's still you here, and the most important part of you, that makes you Roger Ebert, an international treasure. And your fans and readers are so lucky for the experience.
Last words? I only hope these are the start of your last millions of words.
Dying? You better not die, ever. You and Peter Gent are the only two writers I've ever read who seem to have the ability astound and reassure me at the same time. Don't even think about it, pal.
Mr. Ebert,
You must know how much I enjoy your guidance when choosing what films to avoid and what films to watch. I've seen lots of films I never would have heard of because you mentioned them as examples in your reviews. I just love everything you write about films, art, and life.
And, by the way, I don't pity you. Pity is for the weak, the ignorant, and you're neither of those things.
The article is excellently written and truly is very moving. I'm glad you've mentioned it in your blog - otherwise I would've missed it!
What I found amusing was just how much we already know about you. I've been following your blog long enough to have known most of these things already! And I've enjoyed every moment of it... I must say however, your writing reflects such a strong and vivacious attitude, and such clear thoughts and attitudes - it never occured to me you would 'shuffle' down a hallway! Funny - I'm sure all of your followers have an image of you in their heads (we all know you so well by now). Yes, my image includes your new 'happy face'. But 'shuffle', I'm clearly having trouble with. (Regardless of how slowly you may move, or how deliberate each step.)
I'd like to thank you for your honesty, and your forethought in allowing the article to be written. It's always good to have another's perspective of all things. Even when it comes to others we care about.
I'm sure many others feel as I do - like we KNOW you. And that you've come to be a part of our 'cyber' lives - and far more than that. Your kindness of spirit, your intelligence, and perserverance. It all means so much to me - to us.
Before I close - I'd like to thank you for a few more things. I finally decided to vacation out of the country last year and went to Ireland and England. London, Liverpool, Dublin, and Doolin! It was wonderful! And, I read 'The Road' recently. It ripped my heart out! You once suggested my father read 'All The Pretty Horses'. He never did read it - but I will! Thank you for opening your heart to us all! And thank you also for opening ours. You are loved and thought of well!
KarenJ
Mr. Ebert, I was a faithful "Siskel and Ebert" viewer every week when I was little. It wasn't just because I wanted to hear about the new movies come out, but also because I enjoyed the banter between you and the late Mr. Siskel. The Esquire article moved me to tears, and I just wanted to thank you for being so honest and forthcoming, warts and all, about what you've been through. Even now when I read your reviews online, I still picture you as in the opening credits of the show, typing away on an old typewriter. The photograph startled me at first, but it was beautifully done, eloquent and dignified. I wish you and your wife all the best.
i am weeping at work as i type this. yes, i'll admit it: the picture drew me in, very much like a tractor beam. it's the eyes: changed but triumphant. the article has brute force, matched evenly by your eloquent response to it. you are a true survivor roger, your love of life and cinema not diminshed by diagnoses and hospitals and surgeries and all attendant stress and upheaval but instead transformed into a something glorious: a full-throated roar, a celebratory reminder of the momentary beauty of being alive. thank you for that.
I'm glad you liked the Esquire piece. It was inspirational. What came through more than your disabilities were the grace and imagination with which you've come to terms with them. So much of life is about accepting reality without bitterness. You're an astonishing example of the power of acceptance.
I did presume that the news of your death had been greatly exaggerated. Nothing delights me more than to be proved wrong in this case.
Bad Math Skills dept. (can't blame the U of I for that..)
I came to the Sun-Times in the fall of 1972, just before the election in which Nixon crushed McGovern (not his spirit, though!) That means I have known you for nearly four decades, which is what I first wrote, then changed, then the editor-in-my-head said, whoa, wait a minute...I left Chicago, on a crazy, cross-country trip via Seattle to San Francisco (accompanied by Scott Jacobs, on the road), in late 1973, so that means I have not seen you in person for 37 years...so, if you feel like it, you can copy edit my post for accuracy's sake.
Best, and DO hope to see you again one of these days.
Nancy
Ebert: Scott Jacobs. Now there's a dude with enough stories about me to last through a trip to Seattle.
He made the single truly great Royko video.
Roger,
You look kinder and gentler than you did in your younger years. Hope you have many more quality years.
Susan
Ebert: Hi Susan. I think you might agree that those qualities were not the first to come to mind when I was the raging bull of The Daily Illini.
I'm very picky about what I set as my default tabs in Firefox when I browse the web. I want to have easy access to the content that is important to me on a daily basis. Several months ago, I set your blog as one of my tabs, and have been consistently entertained and informed by your blog, and by the people who comment on it.
I'm also a longtime Esquire reader, and when I opened to your photo, quite unexpectedly, I was a little shocked, and then immediately felt guilty for feeling shocked! And then I felt guilty for feeling guilty!
You seem to have such a rich life despite your health issues, and your fans and followers hear your voice as clearly as ever when you write to us. In fact, I'd suggest we know your voice better now than we did in the Siskel and Ebert days.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
You are an amazing man, and Chaz is one amazing woman. Reading Chris Jones' article on Esquire's site today moved me to tears. Not because I am sad for you, but because of how inspiring you both are.
No offense to Gene, but your reviews were the ones I followed most, and now I find myself clinging to your writing (including your tweets).
Thank you, and a big hug to the lovely Chaz.
Chuck
This is a minor editing of what I posted yesterday on Facebook after reading the article, which was referred to me by my daughter. I think I have the dates right, but could be senility. :-)
Why is this [the article] important to me? First, we're a "cancer family". Second, Roger has been important to me since day one, when he first wrote for the Sun Times in 67. At that time we were both students at University of Chicago, though I never met him there or elsewhere. From the start he was a superb writer and reviewer, and I looked forward to every column.
Then in April 68 I moved to Ohio for a job and couldn't read his pieces. My younger brother, Irv, clipped the articles and mailed them to me regularly. For my birthday in 69 he made a "book" of them, with a couple dozen of his reviews pasted to colored construction paper. It was a fantastic and very thoughtful gift, made with love. I wish I still had it.
Of course I saw him a great many times on TV later in our lives, and knew he had cancer, but not how far it had progressed. Seeing this now in the context of the last few years is particularly difficult. In 2006 Irv died of cancer. (previously my father and a sister had died of cancer, 1960 and 1996, respectively). And last week my brother in law, Phil Brown, the widower of my sister who died in 96, also died of cancer. Living 2000 miles away, I was unable to go to his memorial yesterday, or the burial and later celebration of his life today, Ash Wednesday.
But this somehow fits, as simultaneously sad and celebratory as this article is, and the timing is perfect. If/when I get cancer, or something else, I hope that I have his strength and love, as my sister, brother, and brother in law did.
God Bless Roger and them all, and may they all rest in peace.
It seems to me that I only seem to comment on your personal blogs, and I must always come across as desperately fangirl--but I am desperately fangirl when it comes to you, and we must all come to terms with things like that about ourselves, as you have shown us anew.
I was linked to the article through the Onion AV Club; there are several people there who may well become great critics but aren't yet--though there's a good feature about analyzing scenes from various movies, where your name is invoked--and they made sure we knew about this article. I made sure various of my friends did, too, and I read bits aloud to my boyfriend. Mostly your own words, because it is your words that strike me.
A friend is in physical therapy twice a week, and there's an older couple who come in as well. Today, I ended up talking to the husband while we waited for the people we were there with--I drive my friend, who broke her hand. One of the things he likes about me is that, when he talks about Dick Tracy serials and dish night at the movies, I know what he's talking about. I can speak intelligently about movies made fifty years and more before I was born, I know who Bernie Schwartz is, I am willing to take his suggestions about movies starring people who died before I was born and which I should watch. That, in part, came from my mother, and it came from you as well. When the article mentioned Great Movies III, I squealed in delight, because that would mean even more movies to read about and probably even love. Then, I got surly because an Amazon search didn't provide it.
We are, as you say, all dying by increments. I didn't really grow to love Gene, but I have grown to love you, inasmuch as one can love someone from an indirect perspective. You and Gregory Peck. However many increments you and I have left to share together, I will treasure them to the end of my days.
Roger
I'm an "Esquire" subscriber and turned to that article as soon as I got the issue, mostly because I loved watching you and Gene. We all owe a debt to you for bringing movie criticism to the wider public.
The article was enlightening and a tribute to the human spirit -- especially yours.
I have urged my wife to read it. I'll remind her again tonight, only this time I'll say, "Here -- you have to read this article about Roger F---ing Ebert!"
"Well, we're all dying in increments."
Ha. I don't just read your work to read about movies, I read it for perspective. Roger, you're living a full life. Keep on trucking.
Dear Roger --
The entire article strikes an admirably balanced tone, the glimpse of your relationship with Chaz is a rare and moving privilege (and as far from the typical voyeuristic celebrity journalism as it is possible to be), and Chris Jones has a gift for the well-turned phrase. I think my favorite line is "Anger isn't as easy for him as it used to be. Now his anger rarely lasts long enough for him to write it down." Imagine how much more civil our lives would be -- how purely better they'd be -- if we could only express anger through writing? Think how often our anger would look absurd once we set it down on the page and viewed it from even the slightest distance of space and time. The Clash once sang, "Let fury have the hour / Anger can be power," and while that contains an element of truth, the power it offers is hard to wield constructively.
Of course, as Jones (Chris, not Mick) makes clear, you can still get angry when given sufficient cause: the Mouse should just alter its corporate symbol to a rat and abandon all pretense. This journal is the wisest, most circumspect place (and it does feel like a place, even though it's a virtual one) I've found on the web, but I still enjoy Angry Ebert on those rare occasions he makes an appearance.
Something else --
I was not shocked by your photo. I'd already seen pictures of you since the surgeries. But this time I decided to do something that would be rude in real life. I stared. It was as if I were trying to bring two images seen by different eyes into focus. To make an analogy I hope you appreciate, it was like watching a 3-D film without the special glasses. One image was the one before me. The other was an aggregate image of you from my memories that go back to "Sneak Previews" on PBS. Gradually they came together. Yes, those are the same eyes. Yes, the bottom lip droops now, but it's the same lip, the same basic shape and proportion. The one sticking point was the hair -- which made me appreciate your comment that its being neatly combed was the one part of the photo that bothered you. However, I overcame that, and after a few moments all the distinctions between your new appearance and your old appearance had, if not vanished, become irrelevant. Not a pretty sight, you say? How can that be, when that is the face of someone who has taught me so much and given me such pleasure for three decades?
Where we draw the boundaries of the self is a choice we make. Who is -- what is -- Roger Ebert? It's not the body, clearly. We can draw the boundary at the brain, or to be more metaphysical, the mind. We all accept that losing an arm or a leg doesn't change the essential self. The voice and the ability to eat and drink? Okay, that's more intimate, but yours is hardly as extreme a case as we saw in My Left Foot or The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. People talk about whether someone is still "in there," as if the self is a spot of consciousness carried around inside a vehicle of disturbing fragility, a prison, or worse:
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is
But rather than Yeats, I'll take my cue from Whitman, who inverts that common conception. The self of which he sang does not stop at the mind or even at the body, greets God as a "loving bedfellow," says to the earth, "Smile, for your lover comes!" and dangles planets on his tongue like ripe cherries: "With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds and volumes of worlds." The poem that became "Song of Myself" (though the untitled 1855 version is far superior to the later revisions) is about everyone and everything because Whitman knew that the boundaries between ourselves, our fellow man, and the universe are all just convenient, practical fictions.
Who, what, and how is Roger Ebert? He is his words, this website, the community that has sprung up out of him like Pallas from Zeus's forehead. Look around -- he is large and contains multitudes. He is good health to us, fibre and filter for our blood. If we miss him one place (this site), we can search for him in another (the Great Movies essays).
Full disclosure: I loathed Whitman when I was twenty -- "the scent of these armpits is aroma finer than prayer"? get away from me, you disgusting lout! -- began to have some grudging respect for him at twenty-five, appreciated him at thirty, wrote about him at thirty-five, and if I am still reading poetry on my death-bed, my guess is that it will be Whitman who takes my hand as I finally do merge with the universe.
One more thing, Roger. I was pleased to read in your journal some time ago that other than the obvious your health is good, and that you have every reason to look forward to many more years of life. I say this in utter selfishness: live a long time. The elegies can wait.
Roger,
To be honest, seeing the Esquire photo was more a relief than anything. I was beginning to imagine that your scarves were hiding some kind of David Cronenberg grotesquerie. I am a long-time admirer, and I enjoyed seeing your face again, unobstructed. Thanks for sharing so much of yourself, and keep up the good work-
Hello,
I wanted to tell you I really enjoyed the Esquire interview....I commmented earlier on your blog, but somehow I just keep going back to read the interview again. A major part of the interview stuck out for me.
"I believe that if, at the end of it all, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do. To make others less happy is a crime. To make ourselves unhappy is where all crime starts. We must try to contribute joy to the world. That... See More is true no matter what our problems, our health, our circumstances. We must try. I didn't always know this, and am happy I lived long enough to find it out." - Roger Ebert
I posted this on my Facebook as well as a link to the interview in Esquire and I commented on it. This is what I said : Wow. This, my friends, is the meaning of life.
Roger,
I just want to say Wow!!! Thank you very powerful words....Good Luck to you and your wife.
Tina English
Mr. Ebert:
While certainly I know your work and have followed it in the past, the Esquire story had a profound affect on my perception of you, the man. Your bluntness in dealing with life and death and the love you and your wife share were things the world would have never known. A hell of a story. I look forward to following your work -- now, even more closely -- for years to come.
Thanks,
Jeremy
Roger, the Esquire article was very well done. Your response is spot on. It's so nice to hear that you remember Gene Siskel the way you do. You guys were the best! Thanks for your wonderful reviews. You are one very gutsy guy, indeed. I admire your zeal for living and believe your writing, along with the love of your wonderful wife, sustains you. Keep going! Best always.
You know, in some strange way, the picture Esquire ran was reassuring, rather than ominous or distressing. I had wondered, I must admit, if the tales of your happiness and renewed romance with writing were a cover for a very sad existence. Maybe I'm gullible (hell, I am gullible), but after reading Jones' piece, I am now entirely convinced that the frank joy you ooze in your journal entries is not some put-on-a-happy-face/ready-for-my-close-up-mr-demille/dont-worry-about-me put-on, but rather evidence of something closer to a hard to grasp (at least for a quote-unquote "healthy" person) grace. Not a religious grace, necessarily, but something sprouting from your soul - from within, not from without. Not sure if that still counts as grace, but you get the idea.
I must admit, prior to your illness, I had sort of drifted from your column. It seemed like there was a bitterness creeping in, a willful kind of disdain, as if you had about had it with grunting behind that critical boulder and were ready to let it roll down and away forever. (Truth be told, your LOVELY BONES review was a little bit more like the early 2000's Roger Ebert that I had started to feel less communion with - your BONES review seemed a little disingenuous, as if you were purposely not "getting it" so as to slam a movie that made you feel creepy...and your harsh blaming of Peter Jackson seemed a little nasty, considering you've liked his other films... but I digress, as that was the ONLY review of yours I've read in the last few years that rankled me...)
BUT, as is clearly implied in the above (not the bit about LOVELY BONES, above that), something seemed to happen around the time of your return to writing. It's cliched, it's Hallmark movie-of-the-week, but that doesn't mean its any less true: You did in fact seem to be reborn a virgin soul to the movies with virgin eyes, and your love/lust spouted out, unstoppable. It hardly mattered anymore if I agreed with you on a particular movie or not... what mattered was that I agreed with your righteous attitude towards life and art and humanity. (In fact, I think you should publish all your reviews from THE QUEEN on as some kind of "here's what I really mean" tome)
And so I wonder, maybe you have become a mystic! I know that's silly, but if you mind has swollen up and filled in all the places that the alien cancer stole (and let's face it, you already had a corker of a mind), then perhaps you have aquired a kind of a heightened sensitivity. Jones rightly states that you started giving out more "stars" in your film reviews, and while some might dismiss your recent work as a "Hey, I'm alive, everything is fabulous!" victory lap, it felt to me more like a movie lover practicing his now-tantric movie love. I believe you see the movies (and everything else you write about) more clearly now, not less. I don't think you put on rose-colored glasses after the illness, but rather than the old filter was stripped away. Not sure what that filter was, whether it was ego, critical defiance, or your innate smarty-pants-ness... but all I can say about your recent (and forthcoming) work is "Preach, Roger, preach!"
It sounds ridiculous to say, and I would hardly wish to go through the travails that you have of late, but I'd like to find a way into that grace you've discovered...
It's 2010, and you certainly seem to have no interest in "teaching the stars not to dance" - in fact, whatever the opposite of that is, you're ddoing it. So, in essence, here's my question: How does it feel to finally be the Star Child?
Just had to chime in with those who thought the Esquire article was great--and not sad. Except perhaps in the way that reality is sad because things change and you can't go back. Doesn't make the way things are now unbearably tragic.
Also, though I feel like it might seem shallow to assure you it, I didn't wince at the photo. You look very different, which must be unsettling for you, but with all the air-brushed faces we see all the time on magazines I almost find it refreshing to be reminded that people look all different ways for different reasons while still looking completely human.
Still more of your best, Roger.
In fact, if ol' Sam Fuller was still around to have ready all of this he might have noted that you have "Some Balls".
He can't, so I will.
Mr. Ebert,
Thank you. I'm not sure how many times a man can be told he is an inspiration before it becomes just another echo in the eardrums; but truly you are. Not only have you given me a new perspective on film, you have given me a new perspective on what it is to be a meaningful human being. You are a powerful voice of clarity and compassion; a warming ray of light in an otherwise cloudy and cold world.
Your flaw's, are my flaw's, are our flaw's. And in each there is so much is to learn.
Roger,
This article was very touching to me. You will never stop amazing me. I just want you to know that you are always in my prayers. Hope to see you soon....
Ebert: Hi, Jay! Yes, in March. I hear talk of sunshine.
Oh, Roger.
I love your words and that you have the guts to say them. That you say them so eloquently--well, you speak directly to my heart and mind.
As a child of the technological generation, "textual intercourse" is of major importance to me, and it's something at which you are very gifted.
Thank you for sharing everything. I don't know you, but I love you dearly.
I thought the Esquire profile was a beautiful piece of writing. Its honesty and lack of sentimentality made it that much more moving . As someone who's had their fair share of health problems and surgery this past year, I can only marvel at your strength and mental fortitude. I have an inkling of what you've been through and your attitude and bravery is truly inspiring. Bravo Roger.
Ebert: "What I hated most [about the Esquire photo] was that my hair was so neatly combed."
Not to sound presumptuous (or, godforbid, mean), but when I read that line I almost laughed out loud--because, when I first saw the picture, the second thing I noticed (after the cool-under-fire courage it took to surrender yourself to a mega-sized, crystal-clear, unblinking portrait) was that perfectly styled head of hair. How does Chaz resist running her fingers through that soft and sweeping suavity?
Roger,
we have watched you, listened to you, read your analyses, your books. All that due to your brain, your sense of humor, your clear analysis, your insights. We never watched you for your beauty. Thanks for continuing to share the important stuff with us.
Nicki
I was born in 1970, and consider myself a connoisseur of bad and not so bad North American film. I leave the really great stuff to the Academy... I have never seen Titanic, nor the English Patient. But I have seen both versions of Evil Dead, Dark Star, Soylent Green, the original Crazies, and as previous commenters on your blog have told you, Repo the Genetic Opera is well worth the time. My favorite director is Cronenberg, and my favorite movies are Star Wars and Dawn of the Dead (the originals). Like many others, you and Gene were a fixture in my living room as I was growing up. We watched religiously, not caring about your opinion, but hoping to get a glimpse of some cool upcoming movie. There being no internet in those days. Anyway, most movie critics make sick when I read their mindless drivel. When I new movie comes out I always go straight to your blog for the scoop. I don't always agree with you, but at least you have respect for your audience. My only quibble is that you missed the mark on GI Joe, the balance of old and new was perfect. I felt like it was 1982 again. At the point when Snake eyes dropped out of a jet on a bungee cord in the thick of battle I was completely sold. I feel much better getting that off my chest, thanks.
Dear Mr. Ebert,
“The Little Mermaid” was my first theatrical experience, though I cannot say I saw it, because my mother thought she would honor me with my own seat, and at two, what I saw was entirely and nothing but the scalp of the seat in the row before me. It was later remembered for me that I loved the sound of the picture, though, and the limpid shapes that played on the obstructing upholstery were secondary for the child I was to the sensation I had of hearing the parades that lay just beyond.
The images came later, on videocassette, in the familiarity of our first house, the one my parents sold in anticipation of the birth of my sister. The raucousness was lost in that transfer of venue from theater to living room, and stunning as the colors were, the image shrank the sound, managed it, contained it.
Absence breeds invention. There is a moment in Mr. Jones’ Esquire piece that finds you with your wife and a friend in a restaurant. Your friend has apologized for speaking of the combination of flavors in that dinner--scallops, cream, fish, wine--“that combine to make a kind of delicate smoke.” This, I think, is very much the essence of successful art, the parts wholes themselves, and yet bound, like the flavors of meals to their harvestings and breweries, to their actors, their budgets, the text. When we are blessed with a rare perfection of elements, what results skews sublime, and as though from some stranger, lovelier hand, from a palm of delicate and common elements, smoke results.
You wrote a note to this friend, insisting that such talk was more gift than insult. “You’re eating *for* me,” it read. For more than forty years, yours have been the seeing eyes: not simply my father’s, on any of the countless nights he spent reading your 1988 Movie Yearbook, or mine, when I was given your Glossary on my graduation from Sixth Grade, but the eyes of the whole and growing audience throughout the theaters of the world. You have seen the themes and the gestures and the shafts of dancing light, unafraid of the harried or languid, the unfamiliar in cinema, nor the settled domestic comforts of our best filmmakers, at their leisure in genres rubbed worn from love and practice.
My favorite of your reviews belongs to Kurosawa’s “Ran,” made when the filmmaker was 75 years old, and dependent, as your review notes, upon storyboards of oil and watercolor. What amazes about “Ran” is the fluidity of emotion and narrative, twined like the paints of Kurosawa’s practice-canvas, and as autobiographical for the filmmaker as memoir. The story is taken of course from Shakespeare’s “King Lear,” and watches with a mixture of judgment, pity, and regret for the unlived life of an ailing king languishing in the halls of his former kingdom.
Hidetora, the king, is equal parts Lear and Kurosawa, flitting from despair to bravado and back, accompanied only by his Fool. Your years of seeing have placed you in the court of the kingdom, ever the Fool, wiser and of clearer eyes than any royalty, and yours is the most indispensable of elements in the order, an honesty and joy inseparable, in a glad marriage that bears, always and only, smoke.
Your review of “Ran” closes with a praise of Kurosawa, who, as Hidetora demonstrates early in the film, is a proud model of unity and strength: that an arrow, though deadly, can easily be broken when isolated, but three arrows unified cannot. Of Kurosawa you wrote, “the image I have of him, at 75, is of three arrows bundled together.” The image I have of you, Roger, I am proud if humbled to say, is entirely identical.
Thank you, Roger, for doing this interview. I thought it was well done and it reminded me of what a great writer and human being you are. I will be reading you more again now. Whenever I look for reviews of a movie, on mrqe.com or elsewhere, I always look first to see if you have reviewed it. When a friend asked me one time why I always watched Siskel & Ebert so regularly, I told him I felt like between the two interpretations I could know whether I would like a movie and why. I said that you, Roger, looked at movies the way a reviewer should, not just to analyze and critique it, but to also get into the intent of the director, writer, and cast, the humanity of it. Because I have always felt that you love movies, love art, and love human beings. So thank you. I look forward to reading you more often again. And I'm inspired by the love story of Chaz and Roger. Kudos.
February 18, 2010
Dear Roger Ebert,
You are, without reservation, the most important film reviewer I’ve had in my life. Sure, there was Pauline Kael and Judith Crist and others (most notably, Gene Siskel), but I will always remember you and your writing the most. I have always been poor, so I was unable to visit the movie theater much as a child. I lived in a rural area, and my parents did not share my love for film. The local PBS channel was the first place I saw Knife in the Water and The Seven Samurai and other terrific classic films. And I first saw you with the great Gene Siskel when I was still in high school in the 70s. I watched your PBS show from the beginning days, always especially relishing the “Dog of the Week.”
You are probably the one person I most admire as a writer. You do your job, and you do it well. And you rarely get the kudos you deserve. I’ve read most of your reviews, and I must say, when you are ON, you are perfect.
I am a lowly copywriter who lives in Binghamton, NY. I’ve been earning my living as a writer for several years now. I’ve disagreed with your assessments of many films (including, and, in my humble opinion, probably most egregiously, Blue Velvet). I’ve disliked very little of your writing, with the exception of Beyond the Valley of the Dolls.
I don’t know why, but one of my most recent memories of your writing is of your review of The DaVinci Code. You said that Dan Brown’s book was, in your precise phrasing, “inelegantly written.” That is precisely the phrase that describes the book, though I doubt I could ever explain it like you did in as few words as you provided.
But beyond all that, when the old “push comes to shove,” I’ve always admired the way you string words together to make the emotional impact, and give the important information, you want and need to make.
I will always respect your opinion about films. You are probably the only reviewer who will tell me to see or skip a movie, and I will—even though I also take exception to your review of the re-edited version of The Brown Bunny. It still sucks. But to be honest with you, I will always remember you and your terrific writing. I just wanted you to know that I will read you for as long as you put pen to paper, or fingers to a keyboard. I will read you. And I hope to read you for many years to come.
I believe that compliment is the best thing that an honest and true writer can hope for.
Your unabashed fan,
Terry D. Trask
You are my hero. You are the one who got me interested in Journalism. Thank you for everything you have done, and most of all, your bravery.
Even without speech, you're still talking, Roger. And in ways you don't even know. Last month our son sent Steve and me something you had written about swilling beer and other refreshments at The Capitol and wanted to know if this was the place Dad always was talking about.
There are a host of us who remember the great days at Illinois, coffee in the union and nights at The Capitol, and that guy who wrote for the Daily Illini and then suddenly for the Sun Times which all Democrats read religiously.
We love you and hope to read your work for years and years. You still speak to and for us.
Regardless of my connections real or virtual connections with you, I certainly liked the piece, and your walks around the pond really resonated with me (especially when Chaz was encouraging you). I suppose that many of us would rather live with any struggle while being truly loved, than to die in comfort, alone.
And, I especially liked the piece because it moved way beyond the plastic caricatures that so many people are or feel they have to be. I'm saying that the piece was down to earth. I wish we as a nation can move into a sort of post-plastic America.
I hope all is well.
Omer M
I don't want this to sound corny or sentimental but you are my hero and have been since 12. I'm going to teach film history because of you. I read your articles and always enjoy your perspective even if I disagree. Keep up all the amazing writing, The best writer in any form...Roger Ebert
Roger... Just wanted to say that overall I loved the Esquire article... I had to skip over the gory details of your surgeries (what was the point of that btw?) and I winced at the "Ebert's dying in increments" line... my immediate thought was the same as yours...
"We're ALL dying in increments."
But I was really glad I saw and read the article because I really did not know you are continuing to write, have your own blog, are continuing to review movies and are leading a wonderfully strong and active life... much more active, at least in the literary sense, than many people who have not endured numerous surgeries and had cancer.
So as I say... I agree with your observations on the article and am so glad I read it...
And you have a new reader of your blog... your writings are lovely. Keep up the good work, for us please.
Roger, I've joyously read your reviews, your inquiries and your musings for a long while now and I will continue to do so in honor and celebration of your insight, wit, and candor.
No matter what ails you you still have a voice that manifests itself within the thoughts you convey and the people you endear.
I just wanted you to know that I grew up with watching you and then later reading your Friday reviews. You have been a big part of my last 30 years of movies and a good story (not always the same thing). I've looked forward to Friday's for many years; the end of the work week, usually payday and your reviews. For many years, you were the only reason that I ever bought a newspaper. Now, I look forward to your online reviews and blogs as well. For the last fifteen years I too have a program and I guessed that you wrote like you did too. I have tried very hard to live my life with a type of open and sometimes brutal honesty that is not easy but I feel necessary to live well. I experience some of that type of openness from you as well and I think that it has endeared you to many people over the years. I hope that you live a very long time and whenever you do leave us, just so you know, I am taking that day off in your honor.
Regards,
Brian
I was very touched by the Esquire article. Especially your quote about bringing happiness to others. I think part of that is also expressing gratitude to those who have brought you happiness, whether they know it or not. I had an opportunity to meet the author of stories that I enjoyed as a child once at a convention. I remember blurting out some statement of thanks but in my excitement I didn't notice that he was human and was irritated and tired from several days at the convention. I hope that this medium will better allow me to express my gratitude to you in the spirit in which it is intended.
I wish to simply thank you. I have been reading this site for several years now and your reviews have made a great contribution to my enjoyment of the medium. If I enjoy a movie one of the first things that I do is to read your review to find themes or nuances that I might not have considered. I don't always agree with your assessments but I always respect your opinions. I feel that there is a refreshing optimism in your writing. A film may not score well, but it's successes are always well and concisely documented. In a sense your reviews allowed me to have a conversation about the films I have enjoyed, and even those that I have not. The nature of the conversation is somewhat one-sided, but has the depth of thousands of reviews.
Again thank you. If I were a religious man, I would say 'God Bless'.
Dear Roger,
Your new voice is stronger, more powerful, heard by more people and resonates with an emotional truth that few have found the way to express. You have found that way.
As a big fan of yours, Roger, all I can say is...
You're a braver man than I'll ever be.
Your courage and refusal to abdicate your happiness shames us all.
I noticed in the article that you got very upset when you found out your video tribute to Gene Siskel had been taken down. In case you haven't seen in already, I managed to find it again in 3 parts on YouTube:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=C0tRNy9rELg (Part 1)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtO4_--TRgo&feature=related (Part 2)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wKR9pQmMXv0&feature=related (Part 3)
(re-sending this, I have a feeling it didn't make it to your inbox on first attempt...)
You know, in some strange way, the picture Esquire ran was reassuring, rather than ominous or distressing. I had wondered, I must admit, if the tales of your happiness and renewed romance with writing were a cover for a very sad existence. Maybe I'm gullible (hell, I am gullible), but after reading Jones' piece, I am now entirely convinced that the frank joy you ooze in your journal entries is not some put-on-a-happy-face/ready-for-my-close-up-mr-demille/dont-worry-about-me put-on, but rather evidence of something closer to a hard to grasp (at least for a quote-unquote "healthy" person) grace. Not a religious grace, necessarily, but something sprouting from your soul - from within, not from without. Not sure if that still counts as grace, but you get the idea.
I must admit, prior to your illness, I had sort of drifted from your column. It seemed like there was a bitterness creeping in, a willful kind of disdain, as if you had about had it with grunting behind that critical boulder and were ready to let it roll down and away forever. (Truth be told, your LOVELY BONES review was a little bit more like the early 2000's Roger Ebert that I had started to feel less communion with - your BONES review seemed a little disingenuous, as if you were purposely not "getting it" so as to slam a movie that made you feel creepy...and your harsh blaming of Peter Jackson seemed a little nasty, considering you've liked his other films... but I digress, as that was the ONLY review of yours I've read in the last few years that rankled me...)
BUT, as is clearly implied in the above (not the bit about LOVELY BONES, above that), something seemed to happen around the time of your return to writing. It's cliched, it's Hallmark movie-of-the-week, but that doesn't mean its any less true: You did in fact seem to be reborn a virgin soul to the movies with virgin eyes, and your love/lust spouted out, unstoppable. It hardly mattered anymore if I agreed with you on a particular movie or not... what mattered was that I agreed with your righteous attitude towards life and art and humanity. (In fact, I think you should publish all your reviews from THE QUEEN on as some kind of "here's what I really mean" tome)
And so I wonder, maybe you have become a mystic! I know that's silly, but if you mind has swollen up and filled in all the places that the alien cancer stole (and let's face it, you already had a corker of a mind), then perhaps you have aquired a kind of a heightened sensitivity. Jones rightly states that you started giving out more "stars" in your film reviews, and while some might dismiss your recent work as a "Hey, I'm alive, everything is fabulous!" victory lap, it felt to me more like a movie lover practicing his now-tantric movie love. I believe you see the movies (and everything else you write about) more clearly now, not less. I don't think you put on rose-colored glasses after the illness, but rather than the old filter was stripped away. Not sure what that filter was, whether it was ego, critical defiance, or your innate smarty-pants-ness... but all I can say about your recent (and forthcoming) work is "Preach, Roger, preach!"
It sounds ridiculous to say, and I would hardly wish to go through the travails that you have of late, but I'd like to find a way into that grace you've discovered...
It's 2010, and you certainly seem to have no interest in "teaching the stars not to dance" - in fact, whatever the opposite of that is, you're ddoing it. So, in essence, here's my question: How does it feel to finally be the Star Child?
Roger Ebert, you are an awesome man. Keep on writing and doing what you do. Movie reviews on tv haven't been the same since you stopped doing them. We miss you!
Thank you for your passion, candor and gut level honesty. One day at a time you continue to live the hand that Life (or the Divine) h