In the February of 1999, just weeks before my
eighth birthday, my father and I took the subway downtown to Toronto’s Carlton
Cinemas to see a film called Children of Heaven. It was a terrific little gem
from Iran, the country’s first film to be nominated for an Academy Award. It
tells the story of a brother and sister from a poor family who have to share a
pair of shoes. It was a sweet and affecting crowd-pleaser, and the first
subtitled film I ever saw.
I went to see Children
of Heaven based on Roger Ebert’s recommendation.
Just a weekend earlier, I had my first glimpse (at
least from what I can recall from 14 years ago) of At The Movies with Siskel and Ebert, although the former host was
just two weeks from passing away. Ebert helmed the episode solo and had great
disdain for all of the films he reviewed, except for Heaven. Although I cannot find a clip of that show online, it is
known that much of his review writing is faithfully translated to his
television series. In his four-star review, he wrote:
“The movie is from Iran. Immediately you think kids would not be
interested in such a movie. It has subtitles. Good lord! Kids will have to read
them! But its subtitles are easy for 8- or 9-year-olds, who can whisper them to
their siblings, and maybe this is their perfect introduction to subtitles. As
for Iran: The theme of this movie is so universal there is not a child who will
not be wide-eyed with interest and suspense.”
That paragraph is essential Ebert:
clear and conversational, full of buoyant optimism and making the case to
introduce audiences (in this situation, children) to new films and kinds of filmmaking
(here, subtitles). Through his 46-year post as a writer for the Chicago
Sun-Times, few wrote about cinema with such heart, such simplicity and such respect
for the art form as Roger.
I would bet if you asked any North
American to name one film critic, almost all of them would name Roger Ebert. He became synonymous with the job due to the several television series
he originally co-hosted with the Chicago Tribune’s Gene Siskel (and later with
Richard Roeper) and the ‘thumbs up’ motto he promoted that gave the gesture a
universal appeal.
He became one of the most respected
figures in film culture for championing many up-and-coming talents (such as
Jim Jarmusch, Spike Lee and Quentin Tarantino) and using his public profile to
vouch for little-seen gems in a time when independent studios needed support.
He remained prolific as an exceptional writer of thousands of reviews, in print
and later online.
I have read plenty of Ebert’s reviews
and they are unique for many reasons. Foremost, the simplicity of the language
he uses is digestible for those who know little about the movies. Those
unversed in the lingo of cinema, who would find it hard to decode the work of haughtier
alternative daily critics, were at home with Ebert’s weekly commentary. He
brought conversation about movies down to the public level, a feat that likely
inspired many cinephiles to start loving the movies.
Also, Ebert was not often a man who
spent much of his reviews nitpicking the content or creative decisions.
Instead, he wrote about how the movies affected him. If a film excited him
tremendously, touched his heart or was full of transcendent visual beauty, he
would write, elegantly and succinctly, about the experience of how these
elements moved him. On the flipside, if a film enraged him, he would spare no
time seething his teeth and ripping the director and/or actors to shreds. Not
only were his reviews insightful, but they were incredibly fun to read –
especially his disgruntled columns on terrible films.
(For those unfamiliar to his reviews,
many collections of his raves and pans are available at bookstores and online.
His 2011 memoir, Life Itself, is also
a delight.)
He also became the people’s critic
for choosing to review films as they were relative to the values of their genre
and audience, instead of how they ranked against the whole scheme of cinematic
offerings. All culture writers can learn from this. I will let him explain this
concept in an excerpt taken from his Shaolin
Soccer review:
“…The star rating system is relative, not absolute. When you ask
a friend if Hellboy is any good,
you're not asking if it's any good compared to Mystic River, you're
asking if it's any good compared to The Punisher. And my answer
would be, on a scale of one to four, if Superman (1978) is
four, then Hellboy is three and The Punisher is two… And
that is why Shaolin Soccer, a goofy Hong Kong action comedy, gets
three stars. It is piffle, yes, but superior piffle. If you are even
considering going to see a movie where the players zoom 50 feet into the air
and rotate freely in violation of everything Newton held sacred, then you do
not want to know if I thought it was as good as Lost in Translation."
He outranked many others critics of the day by
embracing film beyond the written word. Of the various columns I have read from
mainstream reviewers after his death on Thursday, many of them were either
friends or had nurtured an e-mail correspondence with Ebert. He was classy,
giving advice to other writers who may have otherwise felt intimidated in his
shadow.
Starting in 2002, Ebert went through various
surgeries to deal with cancer in his thyroid and salivary glands. Although he
lost the ability to speak, eat or drink in 2006 due to complications with these
operations, Ebert never lost his voice. He continued, periodically, to write
reviews of films he missed during his rehabilitation.
Later, he embraced the Internet and became a major
force on Twitter. He also continued with EbertFest, the festival held in
Champaign, Illinois, where he selects all of the films (many of which were overlooked in theatres). His wife, Chaz, is set to continue with this year’s
EbertFest, scheduled for later this month.
Even while going through a tumultuous period of
poor health and rocky recovery, Ebert continued to do what he loved. On April
2, just two days before his death, he wrote a blog post titled “A Leave of
Presence,” signaling that even though the cancer had returned, he would still
write selected reviews, relaunch his web site and kick off an online campaign
to bring back “At the Movies,” which he introduced with Siskel many years
earlier.
Along the way (appropriately during his time in and
out of the hospital), there have been too many dour columns about the end of
arts criticism, as many daily newspapers have ditched their critics and writers for
syndicated reviewers. There is a general apprehension that critics do not seem
to matter anymore. Roger Ebert would not ever believe this finality: he was
always faithful that as long as there was an audience hungry for arts and
entertainment, it was the job of journalists like him to make sure these folks were well-fed.
Anyone worried about the state of arts criticism
would wash those woes away when reading Roger’s reviews. Those arts columnists
who still review films every week have a lot to learn from the man who, even
after his death, will still be considered the world’s most prominent film
critic.
Not that depth, description and detail is
unwarranted from film criticism, as great critics I adore like J. Hoberman,
A.O. Scott and the late Pauline Kael testify. But few outside of elite New York
circles know any of these names. Ebert was, and will continue to be, America’s
most prominent reviewer.
Ebert often proclaimed that his favourite film was Citizen Kane, and his life is as
multifaceted as that story’s hero. In a way, the beloved film critic was likely
used to the publicity and star persona enjoyed by newspaper mogul Charles
Foster Kane. However, Kane’s death in the film is shrouded in mystery. For
those who have not seen Kane, the structure comes from reporters heading out to
uncover the meaning behind his final word, “Rosebud.”
However, as the reporters interview each source and
peel back the layers behind Kane, they find a man of complexity and
contradiction. In the wake of Ebert’s death last week, if the same reporters in
the film were to venture out to examine the life of the great writer,
journalist and film enthusiast, the story would remain the same among each
source. Roger Ebert was a happy man, a loving husband, a charitable advocate
for cinema, a passionate writer, and a courageous fighter. He
was a smiling, buoyant child at heart – the movies were his “Rosebud.”
All arts writers, now writing or coming
soon, are indebted to the clarity and elegance of his writing, and the joy
and love that Roger showed as he treasured films, classic and current. His loss is
one of Xanadu’s proportions, especially given how personal he was to many
people. Nobody loved movies, or made millions of viewers
and readers love the movies, as much as Roger Ebert.
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