Roger Ebert died today. As a boy growing up in a small, rural town in the pre-internet days, he was the only film critic to which I had access, and, as such, he was—and for the very same reason, remains—a titanic figure for me. Back then, the closest movie theater to me was forty miles away, so I saved Ebert’s reviews in a shoebox so that I could consult them after I finally, if ever, got around to seeing the films.
In college, I wrote him an email, covertly picking his brain for a film paper I was writing for an English class (without a proper film major at The University of Georgia, I found every way possible to write about movies). I asked him what he made of films like American Psycho, Fight Club, and even Office Space that depicted men facing crises of masculine identity. Much to my surprise, he replied back, suggesting that it was that generation’s lack of a great, defining war that had so fractured their manly identity. Somewhere in a box, perhaps alongside his reviews, I’d imagine, a printout of that email remains.
Thinking back, my favorite review of his was his “Great Movie” revisit of E.T. (It took some time to find the link, as the site appeared to have crashed from the rush of people doing exactly what I’m now doing.) In it, Ebert doesn’t focus on the film so much as his children (or was it his grandchildren?) and their response to an at-home screening of the film. In a beautiful quasi-review, he delights in watching his loved ones love the film, in seeing them correctly read the film’s cues. It is a love letter to movie-watching, in accord with what I just days ago likened to the sharing of a mixtape.
I admired these detours away from film and into Ebert’s personal life. Indeed, I found myself increasingly disagreeing with his critical assessments, but I read him nevertheless. I recall him waxing nostalgic about his days at Urbana, passionately arguing about movies with fellow students in bars. I also appreciated how he didn’t shy away from politics, challenging and engaging his readers in debates about matters he felt should not be politely avoided. One of his phrasings has remained me for over a decade. In discussing school prayer, Ebert described two sorts of prayer: vertical, directed towards one’s maker; and horizontal, designed for others to see and to hear. The former could be done privately, he remarked, while the latter could not.
I was deeply moved and saddened by the news of his declining health over the last several years. I choked up reading his “leave of presence” from the Sun-Times just days ago. And I am heartbroken now, having only moments ago learned of his death. Rober Ebert meant a great deal to me, and for a number of reasons. He will be missed.