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10 Ebert facts
1. There were many firsts in Roger Ebert’s career. He was the first journalist to win the Pulitzer Prize for movie criticism in 1975. He also was the first critic to have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.
2. Ebert did something every year that he hated. In 2010, Ebert wrote a piece for The Wall Street Journal with the headline “Why I Loathe Top 10 Film Lists.”
3. He wasn’t afraid to die. Ebert wrote that he didn’t think there was anything on the other side of death to fear.
4. Ebert didn’t date Oprah Winfrey. There was lots of gossip to the contrary, but Ebert wrote in his 2011 memoir that it wasn’t true.
5. He was a fan of Studs Terkel. Ebert called the Pulitzer Prize-winning author the greatest man he knew well.
6. Ebert won the New Yorker’s weekly cartoon caption contest. It was one of his goals. He entered more than 100 times and often posted his entries on Twitter. He won in 2011.
7. He was at home on social media. Ebert had nearly 840,000 Twitter followers and had tweeted more than 31,000 times. He had more than 100,000 likes on Facebook and wrote a regular blog.
8. He had humble roots in Illinois. Ebert grew up the son of a union electrician who worked at the University of Illinois in Urbana. He graduated from the university and it hosts an annual film festival in his honor – Ebertfest.
9. He was also a screenwriter. Ebert wrote the screenplay for “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls,” directed by Russ Meyer. It earned an X rating and became a cult favorite.
10. Rice cooker recipes were a pastime. Ebert published a book of recipes in 2010 with the title: “The Pot and How to Use It. The Mystery and Romance of the Rice Cooker.”

Ebert’s legacy of joy – in movies and much more


– Roger Ebert was way more than the movie critic for the Chicago Sun-Times.

He was that, of course, inimitably, over the course of a 46-year career at the paper. In the late ’70s, Ebert rose to national fame as the co-host, with Gene Siskel, of the companionably kvetchy PBS film-review show “Sneak Previews,” which would later be syndicated as “Siskel and Ebert at the Movies” and would run under that title until Siskel’s death from cancer in 1999.

A few years later, when the Internet had begun its work of reducing journalism as Ebert’s generation had known it to smithereens, he reinvented himself as a prolific blogger, tireless tweeter and link-finder extraordinaire.

Simultaneously, Ebert became a passionate advocate for overlooked movies and a fosterer of young critics’ careers, with projects like the yearly Ebertfest in Champaign, Ill., or his global network of Far-Flung Correspondents, young critics from around the world – Turkey, Brazil, the Philippines – who contribute regularly to his site,

In the course of his 70-year-long life – he was born the year after Pearl Harbor and died the year after “Gangnam Style” – Ebert witnessed massive shifts in American history and global politics and journalism and technology, not to mention cinema and popular culture. But he remained relentlessly modern, always alive to the particularity of the current moment he was living and curious about the one that would come next.

It was that quality – paired with a seemingly bottomless reserve of intellectual and physical energy – that made him so keenly observant as a critic and such a master of the epigrammatic, fast-flowing Twitter form.

Even when he was debating gamers offended by his statement that video games could never be art, the charge that Ebert was somehow a calcified 20th-century fuddy-duddy was too ridiculous to stick. How many sexagenarian movie critics are out there pondering the question of the aesthetics of new media, marshaling everything from cave paintings to Aristotle to the films of Georges Méliès as evidence for their argument? Later, as he often did when his ideas caused pushback, Ebert reconsidered, apologizing to gamers (if not retracting his opinion) in a post hilariously titled “Okay, Kids, Play on My Lawn.”

It was in the last seven years of his life, after he lost most of his lower jaw to cancer and, with it, the ability to eat, drink or speak – a loss he describes unforgettably in his glorious 2010 blog post “Nil by mouth” – that Ebert truly seemed to expand as a writer and thinker, his sphere of influence and the reach of his generosity steadily increasing even as his once-hefty body grew smaller and frailer.

It wasn’t just that he inspired people by soldiering on through illness and disability (though that was certainly the case). It was that Ebert somehow seemed more powerful and prolific in this late incarnation than he had before, his already formidable life force ever more focused on the urgent, everyday task of writing and joking and arguing about the things that really matter in life. Movies, yes, still and always movies, but also politics and music and friendship and love and addiction and even, incredibly, food – more than four years after the last bite of solid food had passed his lips, Ebert published a cookbook about dishes that could be made in a rice cooker, the kind of dishes he still enjoyed preparing for his wife of 20 years, Chaz, and their friends. (In an expansive blog post outlining his one-pot cooking philosophy, he dedicates his simple-to-make recipes to “You, solitary writer, artist, musician, potter, plumber, builder, hermit. You, parents with kids. ... You, in the witness protection program. You, nutritional wingnut. You, in a wheelchair.“)

Cooking tips from a man who can no longer eat – that’s Roger Ebert all over.

In a wonderful mutual interview Ebert and Siskel did for the Chicago Tribune in 1998, Ebert responds to Siskel’s criticism that he tends to go too easy on “cheap exploitative schlock” with this telling reply: “I also have the greatest respect for you, Gene, but if you have a flaw, it is that you are parsimonious with your enjoyment, parceling it out as if you are afraid you will prematurely expend your lifetime share.”

Joy – in movies, in conversation, in language, in life – was not something that Roger Ebert meted out parsimoniously.

He had more than enough to last a lifetime, and now that he’s gone, he’s left so much behind.

Dana Stevens is Slate’s film critic.