Roger Ebert. Life Itself: A Memoir.
New York: Grand Central Publishing, 2011.
As reviewed by Ted Odenwald
Rituals are an important part of Roger Ebert’s life. He revisits people and events that have been formative for him. He revisits places through which his education and career have taken him: his hometown, Urbana, Illinois; the University of Illinois, Venice, London, Cannes, and Cape Town. “These secret visits are a way for me to measure the wheel of the years and my passage through life. Sometimes on this voyage through life we need to sit on the deck and regard the waves.” This memoir is wave-watching at its best, as the writer ruminates over critical aspects of his life. His method of self-examination shouldn’t surprise his loyal readers, for it reflects the manner in which he has always approached movies: he writes about “what happened to me in watching the movie.”
The best movies, according to Ebert, “…aren’t about what happens to the characters. They’re about the example that they set.” If we hold this author’s work up to the same criterion, we can safely say that he has proven himself a great man. Three failed surgeries have left him disfigured, looking “…like an exhibit in the Texas Chainsaw Museum.” He takes full blame for the failures, because he had elected pre-surgical radiation therapy that failed to kill his bone cancer; instead, the treatments severely damaged surrounding tissues, precluding effective microsurgery required for transplants. Instead of complaining, he praises the skilled surgeons’ valiant efforts to provide him with normal facial features and functions. He was confined to bed for extended periods of time; he became addicted to pain killers; he had to learn to walk four different times. His courage is obvious as he accepts where he is in his life: “damaged, but happy and productive.” Unable to eat, drink, or talk, he continues to do what he does best: observe life, write, and share with his beloved wife, Chaz. Ebert embraces the philosophy of his friend, Studs Terkel, who said, “Life is over when you stop living it.”
Several characters are prominent in his wave-watching of humanity. For many years he had difficulty building emotional relationships because of his domineering mother. He believed himself damaged by her “chaining and governing” him—a problem exacerbated by her religious zeal and alcoholism (a disease which Ebert inherited from both of his parents). His wife, Chaz, “…was like a wind pushing me back from the grave…”—two graves, actually—the figurative one in which his mother entombed his natural desires, and the literal one which threatened to swallow him up with two “catastrophic” carotid artery bleeds, and long, painful recovery and rehab periods. Sue Gin was a friend who shepherded Ebert through years of recovery from alcoholism. Her tough love enabled him to straighten out his life by opening him up to emotional choices.
In another type of wave-watching, Ebert recalls his dealings with members of the film industry. One of the more memorable chapters deals with his interview of Lee Marvin, in which Ebert played “the dead-pan witness” with no Q&A time. The result was an hysterical account of the actor’s idiosyncratic behavior (including his fixation upon keeping his Heineken stock replenished). The resulting article, a masterful handling of the “Just-the-artist-observed” technique, led to a professional breakthrough for Ebert in Esquire. His interview with Robert Mitchum is extraordinary. Mitchum seemed to be operating with a stream-of-consciousness flow, which Ebert reported: “I would drift with the occasion and observe what happened.”
Ebert also recalls several filmmakers whose work has affected him profoundly. While recovering from his surgeries, he immersed himself in Ingmar Bergman movies. “Recently hauled back from the jaws of death, I was immune to laughter as medicine and found some solace in [Bergman’s] desperate seekers who confronted profound matters.” Ebert had learned early on not to fake it when dealing with “impenetrable” films; he would focus on what he saw and how it affected him. His dealing with these works was influenced by an on-set observation/discussion with Bergman during the filming of “Face to Face.” Ebert admires the obsessive work habits of Robert Altman, for when “…the actual production of a film or play seemed to be necessary to life, he was incapable of not working.” Said Altman, “You fiddle on the corner where the quarters are.” Ebert feels an instinctive sympathy and a spiritual identification with German filmmaker Werner Herzog, whose life mission seemed to be “…to film the world through the personalities of exalted eccentrics who defied all categories and sought a transcendent vision.”
Ebert claims that he and his T.V. partner-rival, Gene Siskel, “…were tuning forks. Strike one and the other would vibrate at the same frequency.” Their relationship was brotherly: a definite camaraderie, mutual support, and occasional hostility. While there was definitely tension in many of their shows—after all, they were writers for rival Chicago newspapers—there was a strong bond: “…no one …could possibly understand how meaningless was the hate,… how deep was the love.”
Ebert and author Studs Terkel were mutual admirers, Ebert believing that Terkel “…represented the generous, scrappy, liberal, wise-cracking heart of the city. When Ebert resumed writing after long, painful recovery periods, Terkel wrote that the critic had grown through his horrendous experiences: Ebert had “…added NEW VOICE, a sound to your natural one. This—what you wrote now,–is a richer one—a new dimension. It’s more than about movies….[with] something added: A REFLECTION on life itself.”
Ted Odenwald and his wife, Shirley have lived in Oakland for 40 years. He taught HS English at Glen Rock High School for all of those years plus one more. Now he is enjoying time spent with his family, singing in the North Jersey Chorus and quenching his wanderlust. Ted is also the Worship Leader at the Ramapo Valley Baptist Church in Oakland.