Looking back on it, the influence Roger Ebert had on pop-culture throughout my youth is unreal. Even when he appeared as a cartoon parody, he was immediately recognizable. I was probably a little too young to recognize his insight and his importance then; even now, I’d have to conduct a thorough perusal of his film reviews to really understand just how perceptive and influential he’s been to the movie industry. A friend of mine has put me on to some of Ebert’s viewpoints and in turn I felt compelled to read his memoir Life Itself.
Life Itself achieves what memoirs are meant to do: they provide some backstory to the author, explore and review some of the industry-related accomplishments of that person’s life, and discuss the trials and tribulations that give their life drama, depth, and texture. Ebert even makes a reference to the cliché of all memoirs starting with notable members of the central character’s ancestry before he cheekily does the same, diving into some backstory for his grandparents and the like. From there, he gives a reasonably chronological account of his life with some tangents and lack of linearity, each section designed to give some insight into his perspective.
The scope of the book is impressive. Ebert talks about everything from his first girlfriends to writing for his school newspaper and submitting his first articles as he worked towards being a newsman. He talks about his transition into working in television and his routine appearances at film festivals and even some work he did consulting on films or speaking with hot shot directors. His career is without a doubt an impressive one, but it’s the personal parts that really make the memoir notable.
The book also captures a cultural moment, explored perhaps most specifically when Ebert reflects on his favourite Americana diner. Ebert encapsulates a historical ‘moment’ and evokes that 1950s and 1960s diner culture that seems a prototypical experience. Something that strikes me as a little funny is that in both Roger Ebert’s memoir and David Lynch’s memoir there’s an affinity for ‘hamburger and milkshake’ culture and I just now looked up Ebert’s thoughts on Lynch, suspecting they might be kindred spirits—only to find that Ebert panned Lynch’s early work and praised his latter ones. I digress.
Roger Ebert presents an American life, and I was pleasantly surprised by how progressive Ebert was. There’s always a risk that public figures of the era botched their involvement in the civil rights movement, and while Ebert didn’t stake his claim to fame, I appreciated that he reported on his involvement and engagement in anti-racism initiatives. While grappling with questions of faith, Ebert demonstrates a great deal of thoughtfulness, doubt, and concern with issues of religion, and self-consciously slips out of easy categorization. He brings that up in the context of defending the LGBTQ+ community, and again I found myself heartened by Ebert’s outspokenness on historically oppressed groups.
To return to the personal level, though, the book is touching and funny, as well. Some chapters recount stories with old friends and build towards what is essentially a punchline. The humour extends into character studies of famous personages. There’s a chapter about John Wayne, for example, that reads like a Gatsbyesque character sketch. His chapter about writing Beyond the Valley of the Dolls is an absurd read, but also has a thoughtfulness and reflective aspect that feels wonderfully sincere.
But wait. I’ve drifted away from the personal again.
Life Itself has a number of touching accounts of Ebert’s personal experiences. In an early chapter, for example, he discusses the death of his beloved childhood dog and that classic tragedy of an American boyhood hits hard. There are a number of other personal topics discussed with such candor that it gives the book a special sizzle. Some of these topics are light and beautiful: his characterization of his wife Chaz and their relationship is lovely and it’s clear from the way he describes her just how enamored he was with her. One of the ways that comes out in his discussion of his alcoholism and the way Chaz helped him through it. The memoir reflects on the power of AA in Ebert’s life despite his initial reluctance. He discusses his regular attendance at meetings and the way he was able to find AA meetings anywhere he went essentially within ten minutes. The memoir takes an optimistic and inspiring stance towards recovery and offers some good insight into addiction as a whole.
Ebert’s health is a focus in the latter part of the book. He discusses his weight, but more so in terms of public perception. He reflects on how he was seen (the fat one), especially in contrast to Gene Siskel (the skinny one). Ebert offers an engaging perspective about how media and society reinforces expectations around weight and health. There’s a pain there in recognizing how cruel people were, and seeing it from a man’s point of view (and not from a toxic man) gives a fresh dimension to the conversation. Following that, there’s also a lengthy section about Ebert’s cancer and the impact on his life (i.e. losing a portion of his jaw, losing his ability to eat, losing his ability to speak). In one section, he discusses his interview with Esquire and the photo they chose of him: one that put on full display his facial deformity. Based on his narration, I feel really compelled to go back and watch his television appearances following his cancer to really appreciate the courage and strength it took for Ebert to return to public life after losing his ability to speak, which was clearly a devastating transition for him—but not one that ever reduced him to self-pity.
On the topic of Ebert’s television appearances, it was entertaining to hear about the frenemyship Ebert shared with Gene Siskel. He recounts times of their disagreement (and there are some clear public and televised ones) and the way they challenged each other. He characterizes their relationship as one of challenge, critique, and ribbing. In Ebert’s account, Siskel always had clever and cruel comments to make about Ebert and made him a punching bag of sorts. At the same time, Ebert perpetually asserts the depth of their friendship despite and perhaps because of their friction. It’s a nice insight into what became one of the most recognizable duos of the 90s—up to and including a reflection on the passing of Gene Siskel.
Life Itself offers a great deal of humour and tenderness towards Roger Ebert’s life. It’s clear he was a thoughtful, reflective man, and the sheer breadth of the text has a lot to offer. I sometimes wonder if a memoir is meant to serve as an ad of sorts for a person’s career. If I take that premise, I would say that Life Itself is an effective one: I feel more driven to revisit Ebert’s oeuvre and television show. He is a critic that has a lot to offer—ironically, perhaps, he keeps his commentary on film to a relative minimum in this memoir—and hearing more about his perspectives on life helps to elevate his significance to me.
May we all live our lives so fully. Happy reading!
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