The End of A Life in Movies: Chicago's Very Own Roger Ebert

I'm going off topic because, well, I want to.

In the late 1990's, I walked into a nondescript office building on Lake Street between Michigan and Wabash. As I rode up in the elevator, I was excited but quite nervous. All I had was an address and a some names of movies written down in front of me. "The Leading Man" was one. "Spiceworld" was another. I think there was a third but the name escapes me.

I got off the elevator, followed the hall to the right suite and then made my way into the correct room. It was a very small screening room. That is to say, it was a mini-movie theater inside this regular office suite. But that's where all the critics in Chicago met to screen the films they'd review for the next few weeks. I immediately noticed that I was the only woman, I was the youngest, I was the only one who knew no one, and no one tried to speak to me.  Except one person. The chubby man in the back row smiled at me and said "Good morning". I smiled back, didn't answer, and quickly found my seat.

I couldn't respond as I was too intimidated. I was a 20-something academic who only wrote a few pieces for my college paper, the Daily Illini, because I won writing contests. I was a critic but academic, which is way different. All of the sudden, I'm in a room with all these "pros" and I'm writing for the third largest paper in the third largest market and I'm completely overwhelmed. Never mind that I was chosen to do the job because someone was familiar with my work.  They knew I would be fine.  But all I knew that day was that I was there with literally no experience. Never mind that the paper I was writing for was more prestigious than the guy writing for The Reader or the The Pioneer Press. But I was intimidated. And no one spoke to me but the chubby guy in the back row who defused a moment for me and was always very friendly and kind to me as time wore on.

It was Roger Ebert. Now, that's someone who you'd think wouldn't be friendly and warm, but he was, and I can't tell you how sad I am that he died today.

He was not only a generous man who was more down to Earth than most with his status, but he was a talented critic and author who was a "homeboy" in two of my favorite places in the world, Chicago and Urbana-Champaign. He also had a place in Southwest Michigan, so what more is there? A proud U of I alum, member of the staff of the Daily Illini, critic laureate in my mind, and just one helluva a nice guy,  he was basically the perfect man.  I doubt there was anyone in Chicago who didn't love him...except those who he criticized. But, hey, screw 'em! It was his job and their job to take it.

Ebert's work was filled with his passion and love for his field. He was a very good writer but his knowledge of movies as an art form and as a business was astounding. He seemed to remember every shot of every film he ever saw. But it wasn't just his knowledge but his way of expressing himself that made him special. He had a wonderful tone and voice that made his work not only interesting but distinctive. You always knew you were reading his reviews because he used the basic structure, but he had his own way of saying it. He was funny and biting and sweet and didn't mind standing out away from the crowd.

He lacked all kinds of pretense which runs rampant in this world in which he  held a privileged place. When I was in that screening room for those years, he was always the most "real".  I rarely spoke but I was always listening and there were some fascinatingly absurd conversations.  While so many others would take the time between the films to spout off about some esoteric topic no one really cares about, he'd eat smelly food and basically tell them to get off it. He knew more than them, so did I, but he had the nerve to tell them that they were buffoons at times. He could spar with them if he'd wanted, but he did so only when it was getting ridiculous. I don't need some guy who was a history major going on and on about Andre Bazin when it's clear he doesn't understand his work at all and couldn't explain any film theory if his life depended on it.

He was polite to the geeky ones who were stringers and got passes to the screenings because they "may" have some interest. You know what I mean. The ones who had triple wide lenses and tried to get everyone to come to their Star Wars parties on Halloween when everyone had to dress in character.  I often heard him feign interest but be understanding. He wasn't going to their dorkfest. He was Roger Fucking Ebert, damn it!! He met David Letterman and Oprah. He wasn't going to George's party in his one bedroom apartment in East Rogers Park with the garbage can filled with Pepsi and Shasta variety cans.

He was not the one giving the side eye to the critic who always brought his mother with him to screenings. I have to admit, I did. I was like "who's the old lady?" and when I found out, I couldn't ever read this guy's work again. I won't say who it was and he's no longer in town but it was uber-weird.

And he wasn't Siskel who would ask to have films restarted because he missed something. And he got it. Or had us wait to begin because "the bridge was up" and he was stuck on the other side of Wacker. And we'd wait. And wait. And, finally, they'd have to begin as he never showed up.  Or he'd come in to the screening, sit right behind me, put his feet up on the chair beside me so his gross, dirty shoes were in my face, and then make  strange noises the whole time. I refused to turn around. One time he dropped all the change out of his pocket and groaned as he had to pick up each penny....it was, well, interesting. I don't even want to know what else was happening back there. It was too creepy.

At any rate, Roger was there, he was on time, he was friendly and unassuming. He brought his lunch, for God's sake. And he was what you saw. A nice guy who loved his job. He always did charity work for friends of mine without asking for anything in return. Let me tell you, if you put that Roger Ebert will make an appearance, people showed up. He did it because he was a great guy. Not because he wanted to "look" good. He was good.

Well, I just wanted to say that I'm sorry he's gone. He was not only a good critic, but he was a good man. And you don't often find that in the same person. He was smart, successful, and lacked pretense. Which is even more rare. There won't be another like him. I'm glad I was around to appreciate him while we had him. He leaves a spectacular legacy of work behind him.

Even though a few won't miss him- like the actor who wished cancer on him. I guess he got his wish. You live with that, Buddy, and I don't even remember your name. But I'm writing all this about him and not you. You're not as memorable.

Think about it.