Tribute: Roger Ebert (1942-2013)

There's no way I can let the passing of Roger Ebert go by without a word of regret and astonishment. Along with his Sneak Previews/At The Movies cohort Gene Siskel (who passed away in 1999), Mr. Ebert was honestly my main inspiration in becoming a commentator on films.  I began watching their weekly show sometime in 1978 or so, three years after it had migrated from their hometown of Chicago to PBS (and eventually syndicated) outlets all across the United States.  Then a 12-year-old kid with a voracious appetite for movies, I don't think I had ever considered writing and talking about them as some sort of career path.  With their wry rivalry, obvious passion, and singular charisma, Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel changed all that for me; as a sometimes lonely teenage movie buff, each episode made me feel as if they were kindred fanatics talking to me exclusively, teaching me how to take in and discuss a particular film's merits.  Looking back at television history, it seems clear they really changed that medium's landscape.  Siskel and Ebert were the natural outgrowth of "Point/Counterpoint," the contentious 70s-era 60 Minutes debate segment with Shana Alexander and James Kirkpatrick, and were thus also the precursors of such argumentative shows as Crossfire and Politically Incorrect.  But, here, these talking heads--the bald one and the fat one--were not talking politics (not directly, anyway) but instead were debating my favorite subject, and doing so not lightly, but with such intelligence and deep concern over what profound effects movies have on our lives.

When Siskel passed--way too young--Ebert did not let that crumble his world.  Instead, he reveled in the snarky friendship he had with his newspaper rival (Gene wrote for the Chicago Tribune, Roger for the Chicago Sun-Times, where he won the first ever Pulitzer Prize for film reviewing).  Ebert mourned the loss of his friend openly, with great affection and, as always, impeccable honesty.  It was one of the first signs of utter grace from this journalist who, in the years hence, would impress us first with his prolific writing (in the last year of his life, Ebert clocked in a record 306 film reviews on his website rogerebert.com), his embrace of the internet as a communication tool, his loving relationship with his steadfast wife Chaz, and finally with his open battle with cancer that cost him his speech and his lower jaw, but not his ability to reach out to his readers in such a way that, even beyond his film reviews, you really got the sense that you knew everything about the man, and from the man's own hand.

Ebert's approach to writing was always well-reasoned and breezy.   He was able to make even the normally boring parts of a review (the recounting of a film's story) into essential reading, in that he blended such necessities so seamlessly (and often hilariously, in the case of his glib negative reviews) with the recounting of his dynamic opinions.  Though his observations could occasionally be puzzling or infuriating, he was never too academic in style--he had an everyman kind of voice.  Even so, he was always able to engender thought about the greater meaning of a movie, about its effect on the culture, or on how we view movies in general.  In his later years, he received a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame and launched Ebertfest--a passion-driven annual celebration of both new and classic movies held yearly in Champaign, Illinois--while continuing to dominate bookshelves with scores of tomes examining both the great and the not-so-great films (plus he penned an autobiography, Life Itself, and even a cookbook--after he'd lost the ability to eat solid foods--called The Pot and How to Use It).  He was some sort of unlikely Superman.

And so now, after writing one classic film (Russ Meyer's 1970 cult epic Beyond the Valley of the Dolls), and after revolutionizing film criticism, television, movie marketing ("Two Thumbs Up" changed film adverts forever), the internet, and even the concept of bravery itself, Mr. Ebert is gone and it just feels as if the projector lights in movie theaters should go dark as tribute.  But, of course, he would not have wanted that.  He was much too devoted to having people see all the great stuff, and to having them avoid those titles that deaden the soul.  He reminded us there is often something to like in even the most mundane of films, that sometimes there is reason to question even the most acclaimed ones, and that there are always both old and new masterpieces in the ether to be endlessly adored--movies that could literally change who you are and how you thought about the world.  In that way, he might be my most treasured influence.  I started my own blog, Filmicability, in 2007 with the high-minded intent of leading readers to only the best movies.  The proudest days in this blog's history was one during which I noticed my hit count had shot up in the neighborhood of 7000 hits.  After some investigation, I realized Roger--as he had surely done with countless other film bloggers--had generously tweeted about one article I had written.  Having worked in relative anonymity, I was astonished the man had taken the time to appreciate my efforts.  I never got to meet him, sadly, but that event really felt like he had reached out from his Chicago home and, through the computer screen, patted me encouragingly on the back.  I'll never forget Roger, or Gene.  I miss them both terribly, and the world will always be indebted to them for showing us film lovers--the professionals and the hobbyists--exactly how to celebrate the movies.

Here is a link to MOVIE GEEKS UNITED's fine appreciation of Mr. Ebert...

And here are only a very few of my favorite Siskel and Ebert TV moments:

Their review of Martin Scorsese's Goodfellas:


A wonderfully negative review of Rob Reiner's North:


Their look at David Lynch's Blue Velvet, which Ebert was offended by:


A very memorable look at Louis Malle's My Dinner With Andre, which really helped that movie's critical standing:


Siskel and Ebert go at it over Stanley Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket:


A rave of the Coen Brother's Fargo:


Another Rob Reiner film, This is Spinal Tap, is gushed over here:


Their slam of Paul Verhoeven's Showgirls:


An entertaining compilation of negative reviews with Ebert, Siskel, and Siskel's TV replacement, Richard Roeper:


Finally, nothing says more about the Siskel/Ebert relationship than this collection of outtakes from some promo pieces they were doing for their show.  They could hurl nasty insults at each other, and then could be laughing and shaking hands soon after.  What a hardy and unique pair they were: 

2013 Atlanta Film Festival review: EUPHONIA

Euphonia, by Georgia's Danny Madden, is a movie that operates beautifully before its plot overtakes its more lyrical features.  Madden's gorgeously shot homemade piece, largely driven by its detailed soundtrack, follows a big-box-store employee (Will Madden, leading a small cast of talented amateurs) who discovers that his purchase of a digital recorder--a devise that fascinates him obsessively--has resulted in its literal possession of his auditory abilities.  As a result, this little handheld thingymajig ends up putting everyone in his life at a distance (including a new girlfriend, played with verve by Maria Decotis).

Obviously, sound takes a big role in the success of this movie, and director Madden makes fine use of this often-neglected feature in films (it leaves the viewer hyper-aware of all the sounds surrounding them).  The film would have been improved if Madden had not inserted those plot points that deliver it into Twilight Zone territory.  It works just fine as a movie that pays more attention to the marriage of sound and image rather than to its predictable, forced construct.  (Why couldn't this simply have been a piece about someone who takes joy in all the sounds the world has to offer?  Why did the sound recorder have to be a "haunted" one?)  Still, this boondoggle takes up very little time or concern in the story, so it registers only as a bitter aftertaste.  In the end, Euphonia is commendable for its realistic acting, its mesmerizing pace (it's just a bit more than an hour long), and its inventiveness on a budget of near zero.   It's a very "indie" indie, and that aspect lends the movie some vigorous charm.  . 

2013 Atlanta Film Festival review: CASTING BY

Tom Donahue's expertly constructed documentary about the casting process for movies and TV is suitably deemed Casting By, and it is an absolute corker, especially for confirmed movie geeks. It's set to air later this summer on HBO, but it's making the festival rounds now.  The film acts as a tremendously wide-scoped eye-opener, since the casting process is rarely discussed anywhere, at all, in even the smallest detail. In many ways, casting is an art form that's essential to the success of any given project (and, as this film makes clear, is certainly responsible for the great films of film's last golden age from 1967-82). But this aspect of filmmaking nevertheless remains cloaked in an fog of undeserved mystery. Donahue's ridiculously entertaining and invaluable documentary heroically aims to both decipher and lift that cloak.

The director has wisely chosen the legendary casting director Marion Dougherty as his thru-line for this immense subject matter. Dougherty (who passed away in 2011) was a casting pioneer.  Just a partial look at her resume is overwhelming. She started off in 50s-era TV, selecting performers like the little-known James Dean for live television productions (where she met her lifelong collaborator, director George Roy Hill). Then she moved on to groundbreaking, location-rich TV series like Naked City and Route 66. While casting for those shows, this NYC-based maven found herself in the epicenter of a seismic acting movement that would eventually produce such stars as Clint Eastwood, Jeff Bridges, Al Pacino, Robert Duvall, Jon Voight, Bette Midler, Dustin Hoffman, and Robert Redford (all of whom, in Casting By, gush almost tearfully over Dougherty's ability to get to the heart of what makes any particular actor special and just so right for a role). She broke into movies via George Roy Hill, cutting her teeth on his teen obsession comedy The World of Henry Orient.  She would go on to work with Hill on Hawaii (Midler's debut film appearance, as we learn in this doc), Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (she convinced Redford to get excited about playing Sundance rather than Butch), Slaughterhouse-Five, A Little Romance (she basically discovered the wonderful Diane Lane), and The World According to Garp (this sequence produces memorable visits with Garp co-stars Glenn Close and John Lithgow, both of whose efforts were Oscar-nominated).

But Dougherty's achievements don't end there, as Casting By reminds us. This is the woman who fought hard for Dustin Hoffman as Ratso Rizzo and Jon Voight as Joe Buck in Midnight Cowboy (Voight's interviews regarding his disappointing performance on Naked City, and how that outing possibly hobbled his hopes for winning the Midnight Cowboy role, are positively revelatory; also, this segment highlights the disappointing fact that Dougherty was not given just credit by Midnight Cowboy producer Jerome Hellman, who remains obviously regretful to this day). Even a partial recounting of her subsequent work--with which the IMDB cannot possibly keep up with--reads like a dizzying tour through the great films of the 70s, 80s and 90s: Panic in Needle Park (Al Pacino's first lead role), Across 110th Street, Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory, The Paper Chase, Lenny, The Day of the Locust, Looking for Mr. Goodbar, Escape from Alcatraz, The Killing Fields, Clean and Sober, Dogfight, Full Metal Jacket, Tim Burton's Batman entries, and Richard Donner's Lethal Weapon series (during which she convinced Donner to cast Danny Glover as Mel Gibson's counterpart, even though the Murtaugh character, as Donner protested, wasn't written as a black man; Donner later sheepishly admits to being small-minded here). Plus, she's the one really responsible for casting the most gilded of all TV achievements, Norman Lear's All in the Family (a triumph which, alone, should have netted her worldwide adoration). 

Instead of that, though, Dougherty--like most casting directors still do--toiled joyfully in anonymity.   Her requisite love of actors was so infectious that it inspired a host of future casting directors, most of whom were women (a particular highlight of the film is the characterization of Dougherty's East Side NYC office as being a boisterous, work-based hub of frenetic acting and casting creativity). In this fashion, Casting By also profiles other Dougherty-inspired stars of the craft, including Juliet Taylor (Woody Allen's longtime casting go-to) and invaluable Scorsese collaborator Ellen Lewis.  Donahue finds time, in this dense 90-minute doc (which, seriously, could have easily emerged as a multi-hour mini-series) to talk to, among others, John Papsidera, Douglas Wright, and Lynn Stalmaster (one of the few pioneering male casting directors, who tellingly got the first stand-alone casting title card with his work on Norman Jewison's The Thomas Crown Affair),

But still, most of the successful casting directors, as we learn through Casting By, are women, and Donahue's documentary does a superb job of explaining why this is so. The film also uncovers yet another of the industry's nasty layers of sexism in that it illustrates exactly why there is not yet a widely-called-for Casting category in the yearly Academy Awards (there was a vociferous movement to get Dougherty a Special Oscar, but we find--partially through an infuriatingly blunt interview with director Taylor Hackford--that the insecure Directors branch is standing in the way of this artform's recognition, mainly because they want the world to see casting solely as the director's job; this is something that Casting By is resolutely out to change). Expertly edited by Jill Schweitzer--who, given the astounding roster of interviewees, must have had to pick through a mountain of golden footage here--Casting By rivets even the most tentatively dedicated movie-lover with its ardent,  iron-clad grasp on this unsung craft's rich history and immutable value.

Below is the documentary's trailer, which is a tasty joy unto itself: