In fall of 1997, in my role as member of the Founding Triad of my college’s James Bond Society, I emailed a slew of celebrities and invited them to a barbeque. Many predictably didn’t reply, and it wasn’t hard to see why. (After addressing her as “Mr. Winfrey,” for example, we assured Oprah in our opening missive that although an airport limo might stretch our means, we would dispatch our Mercury Sable to pick her up curbside.) To his great credit, Roger Ebert wrote back — a simple little note, mentioning The Man with the Golden Gun and sending his regrets. That barbeque never happened in the end, so I can’t really be too surprised that this exchange didn’t make it into Life Itself, the Scorsese-produced, surprisingly powerful biopic about Ebert’s life.
For those who knew Ebert only as the pudgy square-faced silver-haired one on “Siskel & Ebert,” there’s a lot to see here. Life Itself paints an honest picture of the man: From his suburban Illinois upbringing and early fascination with journalism — here was a kid who knew at 15 what he wanted to do — to his time as editor in chief of his student paper and later his Pulitzer prize and his hard-drinking days with the other newsmen in Chicago dive bars. His involvement with AA is an interesting sidebar, though doesn’t occupy much time. Professionally, Ebert reviewed over 6,000 films, a feat even more remarkable when you realize that his time as a film critic spanned just about half the history of cinema. His influence, and that of his oft-pictured thumb, was outsized indeed.
Anyone who’s listened to Ebert’s commentary on Citizen Kane knows he was a deep-dyed and intellectually formidable film critic, though his writing and particularly his TV appearances tended to a more populist end. He, like longtime partner Gene Siskel and I would even say like Parsi and like me, loved movies not just as an excuse to wax philosophical about film school concepts or a chance to play haughty, but as visceral and enjoyable storytelling and entertainment. Any reader of these humble pages knows we enjoy blockbusters as much as anyone, sometimes to a fault.
Much attention is understandably afforded to his illness and accompanying struggles. In the last few years of his life, Ebert’s thyroid and jaw cancers left him without a jaw and unable to speak, drink, or eat. But in a well-timed dovetail, technology caught up and he was able to have his MacBook speak for him, to post on his blog, and to continue working, writing, and participating heavily in social media and public life until his death last year. Ebert always was very open about his condition, and in one of the more interesting moments in the film, we learn why.
Like Ebert himself, there’s more to this movie than meets the eye. There’s a potency here, a lasting effect, a glimpse at something deeper in life and in death that’s frankly unexpected for a film about this man. Ebert finds value in a measured departure from life, a chance to soften, to reconsider, to appreciate, and to improve.
Life Itself is informative, emotionally powerful, and lovingly made. It’s no whitewash, and certainly doesn’t dodge the tough moments. Ebert’s wife Chaz features prominently and to good effect. And Ebert’s own childlike joy at the prospect of sneaking out to see a movie — what he loves to do — offers a poignant glimpse at what made him such a memorable critic. He, like us, just loved to watch.
And so should you. See this movie.
HAUS VERDICT: Not only a surprisingly smart biopic of a surprisingly smart man, but also an at times very moving and very raw chronicle of the final act of a life. And if that doesn’t sway you, the B-roll footage of Siskel and Ebert badgering each other is alone worth the price of admission.
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