Young Roger Ebert (right) and Russ Meyer
I’ve been reading Roger Ebert’s memoir “Life Itself“ on my Kindle. The Kindle is a device I was slow to embrace. I purchased it for the same reason I buy most electronic crap: it looked cool and those using it on the subway appeared to have their act together. It hasn’t helped me get my act together but I’ve been reading a bit more and made a habit of finishing one book before downloading the next. The device represents another step down the internet road of removing human contact. Way back when I’d go to a bookstore to purchase something to read. Then I started ordering books through the mail on Amazon. Still, I ran the risk of running into my mailman or UPS guy. Now I press a button and word, page and chapter are stored in the internal workings of a slim device. No warehouse worker putting my book in a box with name and address on it. This is just slightly less offensive than emails replacing actual letters or Facebook as artificial means of sustaining friendships. The words are all there, minus physical pages, covers and sleeves. I was made aware of the cynical nature of modern publishing while working briefly for a literary agency. A pretty face on the inside flap now matches the importance of competent writing. This is particularly true in the “chick lit” genre. On a singular positive note, the Kindle may be a way of circumventing this fluff.
Roger Ebert’s face isn’t so pretty these days. He’s had multiple surgeries for cancer of the salivary gland and to restore his appearance. The cancer treatments have been successful although his particular ailment can never be completely eradicated and he reckons that it will eventually kill him. But the attempts to make him look ‘normal’ again have not worked. He notes matter-of-factly that he’s come to resemble the Phantom of the Opera. Ebert was never a matinee idol type to begin with and his appearance befit his role as the nation’s most celebrated film critic. His weight and speech inflection suggested intellectual superiority. His writing is concise with a straight-forward approach that shuns flowery prose. He doesn’t hide behind his vocabulary or obscure point with delivery. This same eloquent, plain-spoken manner helps in taking on subjects others might avoid. The surgeries also left him without the ability to talk or eat and there are fond memories of meals and restaurants from his past. As a corpulent critic his appearance could encourage cruel humor. Critics judge the work and society judges the fat. But he’s no longer fat and his physical deformities are no fault of his own. Previous assumptions about his self-discipline morphed into admiration for his courage and resilience. Still, there’s something amusing about all the references to Steak & Shake restaurant in the book.
Ebert faces other difficult truths bravely, including his lack of courage in standing up to his dominating mother. Her influence on his personal relationships shaped the better part of his life. The chapter on Gene Siskel, his long-time partner and rival, is particularly good. Ebert recounts their relationship and competitive barbs (Siskel once famously described Ebert as resembling a ‘mudslide’ when he wore a brown sweater.) But there is also affection and genuine connection. Backstage at Jay Leno’s show, an anxious Ebert asks Siskel if he looks O.K. Siskel replies: “Roger, when I need to amuse myself, I stroll down the sidewalk reflecting that every person I pass thought they looked just great when they walked out of their house that morning.” The two could rip the shit out of each other but still be there unfailingly when the other needed assurance. Siskel died in 1999 from a brain tumor and the loss has obviously affected Ebert. Sometimes our greatest antagonists eclipse the importance of most supporters. It’s a lesson that even the folks at Steak and Shake should take to heart.
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