I’m a decade older than my wife, a diabetic of nearly 14 years with a family history of Alzheimer’s and two particularly nasty types of cancer. And yet, I’ve felt pretty well this year, while my wife has had Lyme disease and other medical problems necessitating multiple day surgeries and more trips to the hospital in less than a year than I want to make in my entire lifetime. As I finished the final chapter of Roger Ebert’s glorious new memoir Life Itself, I was informed by my son that his mother had decided while they were out delivering a gift to her mother for her birthday, that she felt unwell enough to stop in and see a doctor at our local health center. This morning, I would have told you that my wife was recovering nicely from her recent procedures. Now it’s afternoon and that is in question. This seems to be the year I am learning one of the same lessons Roger Ebert has learned, which is that your health is subject to change without notice.

My one-way relationship with Ebert goes back to the days when he and fellow Chicago film critic Gene Siskel hosted a movie review program on PBS. I was probably in my mid-teens the first time I saw the two of them discuss (and frequently argue about) the movies of the day. Now, I know a lot about comic books and it seems like I always have, but I know little about film (although, as they say, I know what I like). It didn’t matter, though, because what I liked about Siskel and Ebert on my TV was not the movies they discussed, but how they discussed them. (The learned Ebert scholar will recognize that last sentence as a paraphrase of one of his frequent dictums, by the way.)

I always loved watching the two of them talk, battle, fight, engage. Whether on their own PBS series, or the syndicated commercial program that succeeded it, or the one after that, or on Late Night With David Letterman or on The Howard Stern Show, you could always, always count on Siskel and Ebert (back then it was really just one word) to make you laugh, and often to make you think.

But I’ll admit I was not always a faithful follower of Ebert’s actual day job, as a syndicated writer/critic whose pieces appeared daily, or nearly so, in newspapers around the country. I guess when he reviewed a movie I was interested in, I would read that sort of piece, but as I cruised kind of stupidly through my 20s and 30s, wasted decades I wish I could get back in many ways, I did not seek him out as a writer in the way I do now. And what changed that was the cancer that took away Ebert’s ability to ever eat, drink or speak out loud again.

I definitely noticed when Ebert first got sick and disappeared from the airwaves. I didn’t think a whole lot of it at the time, but I did notice that he seemed not to be reviewing anything on TV or in print, and by that time, the mid-2000s, I had come to count more and more on his opinion before venturing out for a night at the movies. In point of fact, there’s no one whose opinion I trust more when it comes to movie criticism. I was greatly receptive to Pauline Kael’s critical taste and authorial voice, but I only discovered it towards the very end of her life and had to work backwards to see what I had missed. But at the time Ebert disappeared from the scene, I really was quite accustomed to his company, his opinion, his presence in my life, however short the time we were spending together on a weekly basis.

If you’re at all interested in Ebert as a writer or human being, you already know the grueling details of the illnesses and accidents that took away his jaw and much of his mobility, so I won’t recount them here. Besides, he reveals all in Life Itself and I really feel quite strongly that you should read this book, so I’ll let him tell you what happened. The important thing is, what happened to him absolutely transformed him as a writer. No less an observer than Studs Terkel pointed out to Ebert that the way in which he turned to the internet and blogging to find a new voice to replace his lost one was a stunning and gratifying reversal of fortune. I can’t say I am glad Ebert suffered as he did, but I can say I am enormously grateful for the increased and enhanced output he has since issued forth as a writer. I know that every week I can count on one or more new Roger Ebert essays on life, family, politics, health, spirituality and many other subjects, popping up in my RSS feed reader and ready to nourish my soul with his intelligence, his wit, and a lifetime of collected wisdom.

Ebert wasn’t always wise, although I think he was always meant to be so. In Life Itself he is frank and open about his failures, many of which are connected to his alcoholism, which he overcame many years before life made it impossible for him to drink. Much of the pain in his life seems to stem from his mother’s own alcohol problems, and whatever grace and genius Ebert possesses now clearly comes despite, not because of, her treatment of him when she was at her worst. But he also concedes she could be a great woman, and in one brilliant passage explains in a universally relatable way how his mother could be one person around a group of people, and very different when tearing into him drunk, when they were alone. In this and other passages, Ebert clearly and lucidly explains the duality we all possess, and puts into words the bittersweet awareness of the good and bad in everyone, especially everyone dear to us.

There are many people dear to Ebert, some gone, some still with him, all memorialized and celebrated in Life Itself. The book is not just a recounting of his own life history – in fact, there is some jumping around in time and repeated anecdotes that reinforce his narrative and appeal like the chorus of a particularly hummable tune – but Ebert also delves into the stories and legends of many of the people he has known, from obscure, distant family members to noteworthy and notorious celebrities, fellow writers, and most poignantly to me, Ebert’s longtime partner Gene Siskel. The chapter on Siskel ends with what could be just a funny story about how the two of them would make sure they took turns sitting in the chair closest to David Letterman in their late night talk-show appearances, but in even this seemingly minor story, Ebert mines the experience for every bit of meaning and nuance. I didn’t break down in tears reading Life Itself, but I came close in reading that section. I love Roger Ebert as a critic, as a writer and as a human being, but Siskel and Ebert together were one of my first loves, and losing them as partners still hurts to this day. Perhaps that is why I am so profoundly grateful to still have Ebert’s voice to inform and regale me, and why I am quite certain you will love Life Itself as much as I did. Like the very best movies, I can tell you that I savoured every moment,  was sad when it ended, and was eager to tell others how wonderful it is, an obligation I learned from Roger Ebert. As Alec Baldwin once said in a movie I can never get enough of, “Go forth and do likewise.”
 

Buy Life Itself: A Memoir from Amazon.com. A copy of this book was provided by the publisher for the purpose of review.