Last night, I found on Netflix Life Itself, a biopic about Roger Ebert based on his book of the same name, and I stayed up until 1:30 this morning to watch it–something I almost never do anymore.
Growing up in the Chicago suburbs, I knew Roger Ebert from his movie review programs with Gene Siskel on TV–even before they were syndicated and became a national phenomenon. When I was younger, I didn’t really relate to most of Ebert’s film reviews, but I still watched his show regularly because I loved movies–and I was intrigued by the idea of being paid handsomely to watch them and talk about them on TV. I did eventually wind up doing movie reviews for an all-too-brief time at my local PBS TV station–though I was not paid handsomely (or at all, actually).
As I grew older (I won’t say, “matured”), and as I saw more movies and developed an appreciation for them, I grew to better understand Ebert’s genius for analyzing films–even if I didn’t necessarily agree with his reviews. I admired and respected the fact that he always devoted a great deal of thought and consideration to the films he reviewed, and I would argue that he made a concerted effort to do so within a film’s particular context. Meaning, he knew it was unfair to compare a film like The Godfather to something like The Iron Giant–even though I would argue The Iron Giant is no less of an achievement than The Godfather, and I think Ebert might even agree with me on that.
Reading Ebert’s reviews and watching his show helped me view films more critically and develop a better appreciation for cinema. Because while he may have seemed aloof at times with his vast experience and writing pedigree, he still made the study of film accessible to those of us who weren’t officially deemed “critics” by the intelligentsia. He advocated the notion that anyone could participate in a reasonably intelligent discussion about film and offer their own unique insight. Ebert simply loved movies and understood that they can be their own particular kind of magic unmatched by almost any other medium.
As I read more of Ebert’s reviews and learned more about him and his background, I developed something of a kinship with him. We are both only children raised in Illinois with a love for reading, writing, and movies. We both attended the University of Illinois. One notable difference being, he made the traditional migration from a small town to the big city (Urbana to Chicago), while I did the reverse. And then, of course, there’s his ascent to international recognition for his writing (including a Pulitzer), while I haven’t managed those achievements (yet).
Upon finishing Life Itself, I was left feeling both inspired and a little melancholy. Ebert’s rise to notoriety is certainly an inspiring tale for anyone who aspires for recognition as a writer. Equally if not more inspiring was his stubborn refusal to succumb to the cancer that would ultimately be his demise–he kept on writing and reviewing films until his final days. And it wasn’t until his final hours that he quietly surrendered to his disease and admitted a peaceful defeat with his family at his side. While I’m sure he would have scorned such pity, it made me a little sad to see the formerly-larger-than-life personality withered, frail and speechless and confined to a wheelchair. And I couldn’t help but think that such a remarkable personality deserved a more dignified departure–but then I am in no position to make those judgments. Ebert’s illness and death was yet another sobering reminder for me that no matter how great or modest our achievements in this life, the same fate awaits us all.
For what it’s worth, I give Life Itself my “thumbs-up”. Even if you weren’t a fan of Ebert’s and you don’t share his love for cinema, it’s still an interesting profile of a man who rose from small-town obscurity to an international celebrity–through hard work and a little luck. An inspiring and compelling story.