What’s interesting about Roger
Ebert is that no one could ever land a serious blow towards him, reviewing
films in a profession that practically places a bullseye on oneself. Rob
Schneider’s pathetic barbs towards him in retaliation for a spat involving his
classic “Deuce Bigelow: Male Gigolo” lacked enough teeth that Ebert’s returning
blows were actually career-damaging. A mano-e-mano with Vincent Gallo isn’t
really too distinguished, as Gallo gets into a row with everyone, while a
potentially-biting spoof in “The Critic” was flattering enough to allow he and Gene
Siskel to cameo as themselves, one of the few moments that show wasn’t taking
the piss out of Hollywood. Most Ebert takedowns were along the lines of Mayor
Ebert in Roland Emmerich’s pathetic “Godzilla,” as Ebert lookalike Michael
Lerner boasted of a city given a “thumbs up,” seeming more like the schmucky Ed
Koch.
There was always something
Teflon about Ebert’s appeal. Pal Siskel was the angrier one, the feistier
fellow with a bone to pick with some movies. With Ebert, his bone-deep hatred
of some films seemed to come as a by-product of his love and affection for
other films, whereas Siskel always seemed like an assassin. It’s what made
their dynamic so interesting on “At The Movies,” which most movie buffs of my
generation grew up watching: Siskel would take personal offense when the
industry would chuck a piece of junk in his direction, and he wouldn’t mince
words. And while Ebert had his share of pithy insults and clever put-downs, he
almost seemed either hurt or disappointed when a film was a let-down.
Of course, not many films were, not even
the bad ones. Ebert singled out a few he hated in a couple of his
seventeen published books, but in most negative reviews, it seemed like he was
having a good time. Writing seemed fun when it came from Ebert: his more
serious essays and reviews would have real intellectual heft, but he knew when
to boil it down to “just a movie” territory. The truth was, bad movies always
had some sort of redeeming asset to him. He once told a lie that feels like
truth to me: “All bad movies are depressing, no good movies are.” It’s a
testament to how beloved he was that I had trouble googling the exact quote,
his passing jamming the traffic at Ebert-related sites.
But I don’t think films
depressed him: even “Kick Ass,” which repulsed him to no end, established a conflict
within himself that proved more fascinating than the film: was this
entertainment, and if so, why? Was the escalation of on-screen violence
featuring children a changing of the times, or a lowering of standards? His
changing opinion of “The Texas Chain Saw Massacre” ultimately said more about
film criticism, and depictions of violence in society, than anything Ben Lyons
has ever written.
The strongest criticism of
Ebert came from those who derided the “thumbs up” school of thought. Most of
the time, the content of “At The Movies” would be summed up by a late-show
recap of thumbs, followed by a newspaper ad for a film that boasted the
treasured “Two Thumbs Up!” (or, sometimes, a cut-rate “Thumbs Up!” from one of
the two). The argument is that this led to the proliferation of odious sites
like Rotten Tomatoes and Metacritic, which boiled down film criticism into
arbitrary numbers or basic plus/minuses. Which may be true, but that was the
direction the public was going to take in the first place.
Film criticism itself was alive
and well when Siskel and Ebert found their way to television, but bringing it
into our homes made all the difference. Suddenly, a debate could be had as to
whether a film was good or not amongst family members, and film criticism wasn’t
the dinosaur it is today, an arcane nerd caste system. The writings of Sarris
and Kael would be even more obscure were it not for the public television
efforts of Siskel and Ebert’s shows, a gateway drug for those who wanted to
know about film, cinema’s “Mr. Rogers” that played to all audiences, not just
children. To some, it changed the way they think about film, and the way they
think about thinking about film.
But, to the rest of us, it was
sweet manna from Heaven. Even written at a fourth grade equivalency, the
newspaper reviews we would read had a certain dry academic air to them. Films
had to fulfill THIS criteria, said any number of syndicated critics. Others
would simply, humorlessly pooh-pooh anything that wasn’t an elaborate think
piece made for an audience much older than I was.
But seeing this paunchy dork
and his punchy, pencil-necked companion verbally duke it out was to see
something more unique. Reviews existed next to film, but film LED to this: a
genuine connection between two people who could freely agree or disagree all day
long, discussing bigger life issues, or smaller, dopier minutiae about today’s
biggest films. It’s funny, the desire to be cool felt so tangible when we were
young, but at the same time, we WANTED to be Siskel and Ebert, off-the-cuff
critics who could riff with ease. In contrast, Siskel’s replacement Richard
Roeper was never nearly as exciting, unless he was sparring with a female guest
host, when he would lean forward in his chair, top button undone. The less said
about the parade of celebrity fill-ins for Ebert (John Mellencamp, Harry
Knowles, Jay Leno), the better.
As Ebert aged, his health
diminished, he became more specific and incisive in his language. Films were no
longer a diversion for him, but they weren’t a way of life. As his writing
leaned more towards introspection, they seemed like a gateway into deeper
philosophies. His hate was no longer red hot, or even lukewarm: there was a
newer warmth, as if he recognized that the world of film was a place of
acceptance, and that we could appreciate the misfit toys that suddenly came his
way, whether they be dopey blockbusters or small failures. With the pillars of
the critic establishment having passed on, it felt as if Ebert was the
remaining acknowledgement that we were in this together, for the appreciation
of the craft, the thrill of film unspooling, the projector whirring, the lights
dimming and the movie beginning. With his loss, the feeling is that this is now
a world with a lot less love.
We’ll miss you, Roger.
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