Opposable thumbs come in handy

Roger Ebert is a living legend, and not only because he wrote Beyond the Valley of the Dolls. For over 45 years, he's been a film critic who, like the Constitution, has continued to change with the times while never shying away from his core principles about what makes movies good, what makes them bad and why they are worth analyzing beyond those poles.

As a kid, I relished Sneak Previews/At the Movies, loving the intellectual bloodsport and seeing my chubby self as a potential chubby critic in a sweater just like Ebert. I hung on their every word, even when I disagreed.

Over the years, when their shows ended and Siskel passed away, I sort of lost track of Ebert. But with his excellent blog, his enduring reviews and his lively, political Twitter, Ebert is as relevant as ever, inspite of losing his jaw and his ability to speak to cancer.

Tonight, I happily plunked down $37 to see Ebert at a New York Times TimesTalks event, where he was interviewed by Times critic A.O. Scott. It was a bit frustrating—Ebert communicates by typing into a computer and clicking to have a synthesized voice form the words (its name is Alex). Luckily, I think some of the questions had been screened so he was at the ready with a few of his answers.

Watching him is like watching a movie of a sort you've never seen before; his disfigurement has been addressed with a lower face that hangs over his turtleneck limply, giving the impression that he is constantly open-mouth grinning. It's a strangely reassuring sight, and one he plays off of with hilarious gestures and his still-expressive eyes.

He's an inspiration, and hearing him say he is happy to be alive and able to work is something I won't soon forget. (Nor should we forget him condemning 3-D movies as a "waste of a perfectly good dimension," or video games as a medium that "has never and will never produce a single piece of art, as we have come to know that word.")

Accompanied by his wife Chaz, Ebert stayed to sign copies of his book Life Itself: A Memoir (Grand Central Publishing, $27.99). He had about 100 people in line and allowed photos, but I was the first to ask for a photo with him. Chaz hemmed and hawed, wasn't sure, moved the table and checked the length of the line (approximately 10 photos with me could've been taken in this time) before saying no, then saying yes, then allowing the douchebag queen who was semi-running things to turn me down. It was frustrating because Ebert and his wife seemed willing, the timing was fine and it was a "no" for no good reason. And I knew as I left that others would be given a "yes." Ain't that always the way? (P.S. The book cost $31 there instead of about half that on Amazon.)

But it was still nice to meet him and have him sign my book to me, a surreal experience that makes me smile thinking back to when I would lie on my bed and watch my tiny black-and-white portable set to see what Siskel and Ebert thought of The Color Purple, Broadway Danny Rose or, yes, Desperately Seeking Susan.