Monday's Words of Wisdom

"Movies do not change, but their viewers do. When I saw "La Dolce Vita'' in 1960, I was an adolescent for whom "the sweet life'' represented everything I dreamed of: sin, exotic European glamour, the weary romance of the cynical newspaperman. When I saw it again, around 1970, I was living in a version of Marcello's world; Chicago's North Avenue was not the Via Veneto, but at 3 a.m. the denizens were just as colorful, and I was about Marcello's age.
When I saw the movie around 1980, Marcello was the same age, but I was 10 years older, had stopped drinking, and saw him not as a role model but as a victim, condemned to an endless search for happiness that could never be found, not that way. By 1991, when I analyzed the film a frame at a time at the University of Colorado, Marcello seemed younger still, and while I had once admired and then criticized him, now I pitied and loved him. And when I saw the movie right after Mastroianni died, I thought that Fellini and Marcello had taken a moment of discovery and made it immortal. There may be no such thing as the sweet life. But it is necessary to find that out for yourself."

- from Roger Ebert's Essay on Federico Fellini's La Dolce Vita (courtesy of Peter Labuza)

Saying Goodbye to Roger Ebert

I haven't really had the desire to write anything about Roger Ebert's passing. There have been so many obituaries in the past few days and I've felt more comfortable reading them than contributing. Nevertheless, like any other cinephile, I'm incredibly sad. I'm not ashamed to say I shed a few tears. He had a major influence on me and was an inspiration when I started writing; but more than that, I feel there will be a hole in my life that no one else can replace. Whose review will I read first when a new film is released? For almost a decade now, every week, the first review of any film I've read has been his and I'm not sure the feeling I felt reading his generous, funny and incredibly smart review can ever be replaced.

I have a great memory of meeting him very briefly during the 2010 Toronto Film Festival, as I got to wheel his wheelchair to the press screening of Never Let Me Go at Scotiabank theater alongside his wife. It's a moment I'll never forget. Even in his cancer-induced silence, he was as magnanimous and kind as his reviews suggest. He will be missed dearly but he has a special place in my heart that will belong to him forever; and his writing will live on forever.