Life Itself
So I like baseball, chocolate chip gelato, and Michael Connelly crime novels. But I love family, college football…and the movies.
And from the moment I finished reading the LA Times’ review of the documentary based on film critic Roger Ebert’s memoir, Life Itself; I knew this was a movie I had to see.
The film opens with Ebert sharing “Movies are like a machine that generates empathy.” And as I’m reading those words and remembering the last 2-hours that succeeded in landing me in someone else’s shoes, there’s more. I can also appreciate that the movies can generate even more than empathy; they can be the guiltless path to a place where it’s okay to look forward to finding comfort in being selfishly moved to tears.
This past weekend, the trip down Memory Lane was more local than most; it was the first anniversary of my dear Aunt Clara’s 100th birthday…and the first July Fourth in my life that we hadn’t spent time celebrating together.
And my thoughts, on checking out the first piece I read in the Times’ Friday Calendar Section, went straight back to about 20-years worth of Sundays spent with Aunt C’s best friend, my mom.
When I started writing columns (now “blogs”) for local papers, some 16-years ago, I had a system. I’d see a movie on Friday, screen it for Mom…and hopefully inspired somewhat by the wonder and creativity of the experience, sit down and write my stuff. On Sunday, if there weren’t too many expletives (they didn’t matter that much if Paul Newman was involved) I’d see the same film with Mom. The sweetest sound I could ever hear was, “Jack, this was a really good day.”
It was just Mom and me for about 25-years. Mom had lost two children and a husband; I’d seen my dad die right before my eyes. We both loved the movies, we both needed one another…and we both loved Sundays.
I still can’t watch Field of Dreams, Grapes of Wrath, or Citizen Kane without seeing my ball-playing, Teamster representing, ultimate Orson Wells fan…Dad. I’ve seen Stand by Me at least thirty times and every time, I’ve felt the same bottomless sense of loss as the kid who worshipped and lost his big brother. And when I see those films…over and over…the tears fill a void of emptiness with an emotional sense of gratitude. And along with laughter, is there any better medicine?
Mom and I used to watch Ebert and his film critic partner, Gene Siskel, on Sneak Previews Friday nights on public TV starting way back in 1979; we continued tuning in during their At the Moviesyears with semper fi –like loyalty through the late 90s (Siskel and Mom both died in 1999.)
Even though I’m a dentist and no stranger to observing the ravages of oral cancer, I’ll admit Life Itself isn’t the easiest film to watch. I shuddered on seeing the challenges life had presented Ebert. During the later years of his life, Ebert was twice diagnosed and treated for head and neck cancer. When we first see Ebert on the screen, we see a man with no lower jaw; the towel wrapped around his neck is clearly visible in the space previously occupied by his tongue. I couldn’t help but squirm while Ebert had his lungs suctioned for mucous; I couldn’t help but smile with him as he immediately got back on track, moving the keys of his computer, composing the latest film review. You don’t get to be a kid Pulitzer Prize winner without writing about something you love. Seemed like, even during the last four months of his life, during the shooting of Life Itself, you could tell the best medicine came from the love and humor Ebert shared with his devoted wife and his work.
Ebert’s persistent smile in the face of all the tests and unimagined physical consequences reminded me of a tough, loving little lady, the photo of whom I still say goodbye to every morning I walk out the door. It’s the same image I see every time I’m honored by the opportunity to serve anyone who is or could be a parent.
If you love movies half as much as me, see Life Itself. The experience is heart-warming and heart –wrenching; it’s funny, challenging, and inspiring…and that’s what I’d call “…a really good day.”
