4 stars out of 4
Roger Ebert died on April 4, 2013, at the age of 70. I distinctly remember where I was—in a first-year sociology class, checking my phone instead of paying attention to the lecture—when I learned the news. I’m not the sentimental type, but I felt devastated at the loss of Ebert, whose work as a film critic, writer, and journalist informed much of my criticism. In the first ever “The Weekly Scene”, I explained why I review films out of four, instead of using a five-point or 10-point scale; it’s because Roger used four stars.
Directed by Steve James, based on Ebert’s biography, Life Itself is an ode to Roger Ebert and everything he did for movies. The film’s title is decoded in several scenes: Roger Ebert simply loved movies more than life itself.
He did more than love them, however. He made them. He saw them. He reviewed them. He tore them apart. He built them up. He catapulted them to the forefront of popular culture. He made sure they always remained in the Pantheon of art.
Roger Ebert was a part of the movies in ways unlike any before—or after—him.
James’ film begins with footage captured from Ebert’s last few months. Roger was diagnosed with cancer of the thyroid and salivary glands in 2002. He lost the ability to talk and eat when treatment forced surgeons to remove his lower jaw. He returned to the hospital frequently over the next 11 years, until 2013, when he was hospitalized due to a fractured hip that proved to be cancerous.
As James so earnestly details, losing the ability to speak only made Ebert’s voice louder. In this film, we don’t see a man on the precipice of death, we see a man preparing for the next chapter of his life. Roger Ebert was 70 when he died on that April afternoon. In the film, even in his last few days, he looks like he’s not a day over 50.
Interspersed between Ebert’s hospital footage are scenes from Siskel & Ebert and interviews with the people whose lives he affected. James interviews filmmakers like Martin Scorsese, whose films were reviewed by Ebert and whose career was revitalized by Ebert’s contributions. James meets with journalists from Ebert’s early years in Chicago. They explain that Roger was always a big man, whether in personality, appetite, or sexuality. Finally, James interviews Chaz, the woman who changed Roger’s life—the woman he proudly, perhaps even boastfully, called the love of his life.
Chaz’s heavy inclusion in Life Itself should come as no surprise for Ebert’s biographers or his fans. Meeting her was a pivotal moment in Roger’s life—one imagines the coda swelling and the strings taking flight in the scene where Roger, eyes awoken after years of alcohol abuse, enters the Alcoholics Anonymous meeting where fate would intertwine his life with Chaz’s.
However, James’ decision to feature Chaz in the film is a result of Ebert’s own involvement in the production of Life Itself. Due to his relative inability to leave his hospital room, Ebert—trusty Macintosh computer by his side –answered emailed questions sent by James. On a good day, James received a comprehensive thesis. On bad days, James received indicators that Ebert’s life was quickly coming to an end.
Roger Ebert has always been meticulous about his expectations for documentaries. He expected documentaries to do more than document the lives of subjects. Films about people were to be about people, as well as their history, philosophy, and ideology. David Gelb’s Jiro Dreams of Sushi (3 stars out 4) failed to secure that final star because Ebert was disappointed in Gelb’s failure to capture Jiro’s life beyond his work.
“The existence of his sons are an indication that he has a wife, although we never see her,” criticized Ebert. “He must have a home, although we never visit it.”
Through James’ camera, we see Ebert for the man he was: his volatile relationship with fellow critic Gene Siskel, the inner dwellings of his Chicago home, the interaction between Roger and his close friends, and—most importantly—the existence, indication, and presence of Chaz. Life Itself, though directed by James, is a testament to Roger Ebert’s expectations for the movies. Filmmakers take heed: this is how you make a documentary about people.
Throughout every scene that James meticulously pieces together—alongside co-editor David E. Simpson—we get the impression that Roger Ebert was every bit the man we saw on television and in his writings. He was powerful, loud, impassioned, and in love with the movies.
Roger Ebert changed the way we all look at movies. He made us see that movies are more than moving pictures—he made us see that every frame of every film contains a story of no less than 1000 words. In his expansive time reviewing films—for his television program and for the Chicago Sun Times—Ebert captured the essence of cinema and dragged it to the forefront of his readers’ and viewers’ minds.
In short, thank you Roger—for the movies.