I love Roger Ebert. I’ll get that out right at the beginning; I don’t want my post to be misconstrued. I value every one of his reviews that I have read for one reason or another. They’ve been helpful to me not only as critical assessments of films, but also as style guides in terms of writing personable, helpful reviews. That said, I’d be dishonest to say that sometimes I have some misgivings about loving him so much…
Firstly, I should point out that you may take the unsophisticated route out of this whole argument by telling me that no review is ever “wrong”… “How could it be?” you would say. “It’s a review!” But that line of argument shoots out of a silly premise; if every review is “right” in some sense, then why have reviews at all? I’d argue that the mere presence of reviews points to the notion that films, books, and music are either “good” or “bad.” Surely, if films are “good” and bad,” then reviews can be “right” or wrong?” (Or at least some derivative of that…admit to me at least “fair” or “unfair.”)
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In a few of his reviews, Ebert professes to a kind of code by which he tries to rate films. For the review of the horror film The Human Centipede (PLEASE don’t look this up if you’re not already familiar—it’s disgusting and possibly nauseating to think about), he refused to attach any kind of star rating, noting:
“I am required to award stars to movies I review. This time, I refuse to do it. The star rating system is unsuited to this film. Is the movie good? Is it bad? Does it matter? It is what it is and occupies a world where the stars don't shine.”
Ebert’s review is careful; most of the text describes the plot and the characters, etc. as well as helpfully providing potential moviegoers with a few words of warning. But a straightforward opinion on the film is lrgely absent; if you return to the quote above, he does not define the film as either “good” or “bad.”
“I have long attempted to take a generic approach. In other words, is a film true to its genre and does it deliver what its audiences presumably expect? The Human Centipede scores high on this scale. It is depraved and disgusting enough to satisfy the most demanding midnight movie fan.”
But, I stop and ask, is that the point of criticism? I think that trying to step into the shoes (or eyes or whatever uncomfortable clichéd metaphor you’d like…) of some “midnight movie fan” isn’t quite the right approach. (You would like [blank] film if you are [blank] kind of person.) If a film is vile and doesn’t seem to have any redeeming quality (in Ebert’s not-so-amateur opinion), then why does he hold back?
The fear of overstepping boundaries seems evident to me at least; maybe Ebert isn’t the biggest fan of violent, depraved horror films…I understand that. But while I understand that he might not feel comfortable dismissing the film, not being a midnight movie fanboy himself, but he can still tell us that he thinks it’s crap.
I’ll offer myself as an example: I’m not much of a classical music fan. I can point out a composer here and there and sit down and enjoy some “Carnival of the Animals,” but as soon as you hit the Heitor Villa-Lobos and Bach’s massive back catalogue, I’m out of there. But as uncomfortable as I am with classical music, if I were asked to write a review about it, I’d be willing to stick my head out there and say something. It would silly to pretend myself into the shoes (yes, that metaphor again) of an aged symphony-goer and simply offer that I’m sure they would like it. If I think it’s boring…well…then I should say so!
(I’m afraid I’ve demotec myself a little in some of your eyes with that statement. I’m not sure Bach-bashing is ever the answer…)
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I’m not going to pretend that any of these issues are easy fixes or tell you that Roger Ebert’s job is simple. His job, in fact, is often very difficult. He must balance his personal opinion with the popular opinion. Sometimes his reviews of more popular, “box-office” films can’t help but follow the “generic approach” mentioned above.
For example, his review of The Longest Yard, the 2005 remake of the 1974 film, centers on his thumbs-up reaction to the film on first viewing (back when he was still taping the television show with Richard Roeper). Having been to Cannes in the meantime and seen a whole other side of the film world, he returns to this review of The Longest Yard and struggles with how to justify his thumbs-up reaction. He patiently concludes his way to three stars.
“I do not say that I was wrong about the film. I said what I sincerely believed at the time. I believed it as one might believe in a good cup of coffee; welcome while you are drinking it, even completely absorbing, but not much discussed three weeks later. Indeed after my immersion in the films of Cannes, I can hardly bring myself to return to The Longest Yard at all, since it represents such a limited idea of what a movie can be and what movies are for.
“Yet there are those whose entire lives as moviegoers are spent within the reassuring confines of such entertainments. In many cities and some states, there are few ways for them to get their eyes on movies that can feed their souls. They will have to be content with a movie in which Adam Sandler plays an alcoholic has-been football hero…”
Ebert zeroes in on these “moviegoers” who “can[not] feed their souls.” The end of the review finds him in murky waters as he admits:
“I often practice a generic approach to film criticism, in which the starting point for a review is the question of what a movie sets out to achieve. The Longest Yard more or less achieves what most of the people attending it will expect. Most of its audiences will be satisfied enough when they leave the theater, although few will feel compelled to rent it on video to share with their friends. So, yes, it’s a fair example of what it is.” (my emphasis)
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What I’d like to see is more of the rhetoric that emerges from his “Great Movies” writings. Every week, Ebert returns to a film that he deems “great” and writes a short essay on it. Some of the films collected in this list are obvious, but others are not as well known and intended to break up the notions of canon a little.
A little self-consciously, Ebert admits in an afterword the first 100 “Great Movies,”
“I like to sit in the dark and enjoy movies. I think of old films as a resource of treasures. Movies have been made for 100 years, in color and black and white, in sound and silence, in wide-screen and the classic frame, in English and every other language. To limit yourself to popular hits and recent years is like being Ferris Bueller but staying home all day.
“I believe we are born with our minds open to wonderful experiences, and only slowly learn to limit ourselves to narrow tastes. We are taught to lose our curiosity by the bludgeon-blows of mass marketing, which brainwash us to see ‘hits,’ and discourage exploration.”
And amen to that. Now if only his reviews could pack a little more of that punch! I don’t want to read about how Ebert plays a misguided sort of cinematic detective by trying to fit himself into the intended (or “authorial”) audience of a film. I’ll end with a quote from avant-garde filmmaker Ken Jacobs, who hits the nail (in my humble opinion) more or less on the head:
“Cinema creates an experience for its viewers and many people come to depend on the experiences provided them by the movies. Most movies are coherent. They are fairy tales that lead to something. Movies have resolutions. Many people live at the movies and tolerate fumbling through their real lives. Life is different; it does not seem to lead to anything. It’s diffuse, yet infinitely penetrable. So, the difference is between a cinema that is a cooked, or organized experience, and one that encourages viewers to reflect and have their own experiences. The difference is between living through the movies and using the movies to enrich your critical engagement with life and the real world. One is an experience that dominates while the other condemns you to be free.”
See more:
Ebert, Roger. Reviews of The Human Centipede and The Longest Yard, "Great Movies" collection
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