Their Show Cracked Open the World: Siskel & Ebert Memories | Roger Ebert | Roger Ebert

To celebrate the 50th anniversary of “Siskel & Ebert,” we asked our writers to share their memories and appreciation for the greatest movie review show of all time. Here are their thoughts.

ROBERT DANIELS

Throughout much of my childhood, my family neither went to the movies nor owned a television. We lacked the disposable income for either. Lately, though, I’ve thought about lots of memories I’ve buried. But one that remains in front of my mind is when we did finally get a television. It was a junk TV whose knobs consistently fell off if you turned them too quickly, which was often—but it was a TV. The Bulls had just won the NBA Finals a couple of weeks prior, their final title run, and the city, via my parents’ portable radio, was still reeling from the possibility that this could be the end of a dynasty. At some point, I can distinctly remember my dad turning off whatever sports talk show they were listening to and switching on the television to watch “Siskel & Ebert.”

At that time, I didn’t know what a movie critic was or what they did—except talk about grown-up films I didn’t much care about. But then these two guys started talking about “Madeline,” an adaptation of the book and animated series starring Frances McDormand as a nun and the head of a Catholic boarding school where Hatty Jones, as the titular orphaned character, lived. I was immediately struck by the fact that two adults were speaking eloquently and glowingly about a kids’ movie, a film made for someone like me. And though I wasn’t an orphan, I certainly connected with a character like myself who came from meager means.

I didn’t totally comprehend how Siskel and Ebert spoke about the film, but I did notice how intently my parents listened to them. These were two people who wouldn’t have the income to ever take me to see this movie, and yet this was their way of staying informed. This was their trip to the movies without leaving our home, and I’d like to think this was their way of giving me a trip to the movies too. “Madeline” received two thumbs up from Siskel and Ebert; a few months later, my parents got a VCR; a little bit after that, they bought a VHS tape of “Madeline.”

BRIAN TALLERICO

As a kid, one of my favorite Christmas presents was always Roger Ebert’s annual yearbook of movie reviews, but it was only one way I digested the work of the best film critic in history, and only one way he shaped my life. I worked at a remarkable bookstore in the Detroit area that was actually half magazines and newspapers, which meant they carried the Sun-Times, which allowed me to often see Ebert in print.

However, the big event every week was the show. I can’t specifically remember the days or times (it’s been a while), but I know it was late in the Detroit region; I believe around 11 pm or midnight on Saturday nights. Whenever it was, I would stay up to watch it live, and I would write down what Siskel & Ebert thought of the latest movies, checking my local art theaters for when I’d be able to see the flicks that got two thumbs up.

They introduced me to so many great films, changing my life forever through not just their passion for movies but their desire to turn that passion into a living. But it wasn’t just recommendations for my free time. They turned what they loved into what paid their bills, and I truly think that role model shaped how I approached life when I entered education and then the work world, making me more likely to take risks to achieve my dreams. Much has been made about how much they made films accessible to the masses, but they made criticism a viable career for this particular viewer, too. And I wouldn’t be here without that lesson.

CLINT WORTHINGTON

I was never blessed enough to meet Gene Siskel or Roger Ebert. But I felt like I knew them through the tiny TV in my parents’ bedroom in our farmhouse in downstate Illinois. There, I was far away from life, family, and most importantly, pop culture; folks down there are the kind to just watch a movie, see the credits roll, and go, “That was just a good movie. You know why? You didn’t have to think about it!”

But I loved to think about them—how they work, what they do to and for us—and Siskel and Ebert were such a vital introduction to that practice for me. It was smart, it was incisive, and most of all, it was accessible; simple feeling and nuance, untethered to snooty theory and inexorably linked to the common human sensations that we have when we respond to art. I feel like that approach has informed my own work in criticism; I want someone to feel invited, rather than flabbergasted or intimidated, by the work I do. Ebert, in particular, was so good at that, even as I graduated from watching his show as a preteen to obsessively reading his work in college and beyond, most of it on this very website.

I even felt like I had my own version of their spit-and-vinegar dynamic with my first forays into film criticism, which included a seven-year movie podcast I did with my best friend, who has since tragically passed. I think about his death often, and I also think about Roger’s; while I never met the man in life, I did choose to attend his funeral, which was open to the public. It was a surreal experience, mourning a man whose space I never shared in life. But he still felt like a part of me: Of my understanding of film, of criticism, and of the practice of both.

Even now, as I work for the website that bears his name, I feel a sense of responsibility towards the man and his legacy. Most importantly, to his approach to the craft of discussing film: Informed and erudite, but not unapproachable or overly academic. I think of how he would write about a film, whether good or ill: solemnly, irreverently, with a twinkle in his eye or acid on his tongue. At all times, he wrote to be understood, not to be deciphered. Whether in my own work, or in my work with the other contributors here, I feel so privileged to be a part of that practice.

GLENN KENNY

I had admired Roger Ebert for a long time before I met him. His crisp, distinct, punchy writing style always made him a pleasure to read. His taste in movies was generally right on, as was his feel for directors. We all know the story of his writing on a young Scorsese, that he could be the American Fellini in ten years. (This was around the time of the little-seen “Who’s That Knocking At My Door.”) Scorsese’s response: “You think it’ll take that long?”

We first met at a dinner in Toronto in 2002, celebrating Denzel Washington’s directorial debut, “Antwone Fisher.” At the festival that year was an anthology film about the 9/11 attacks, and the New Yorker’s feathers were ruffled about it. I’d heard it was another “you had it coming” piece, and I wasn’t having it. So I huffed about the movie a bit after I sat down, saying now I understood the point of view of guys like Pat Buchanan who wouldn’t even SEE “Last Temptation of Christ.” I was being jocular, but Roger wasn’t having it, and he tartly reprimanded me for flaunting a closed mind. He was right. In the years after that, though, I’d sometimes get a note from him complimenting me for something I’d written in Premiere or telling me to come up with a new title for my movie answer man column there because he already had dibs on the title “movie answer man.”

Of course, by this time, he was not just famous among film people but worldwide, famous enough that he never had to even ask, “Do you know who I am?” It was not an uncomfortable position for him. He didn’t have any false modesty. By the same token, he understood what Peter Parker learned: that with great power comes great responsibility. His responsibility was to introduce his readers and viewers to great cinema and to help them understand it better. Bearing terrible pain and illness with a grace that’s still awe-inspiring today, he continued to do that for the rest of his life. And in founding and nurturing this website, he tried to ensure that his mission would continue after he was gone. I couldn’t be prouder to be carrying on his legacy in my small way as a contributor here.

WAEL KHAIRY

Growing up in Egypt, I didn’t have a community of cinephiles around me. What I did have was my father. He would return from work trips abroad with VHS tapes tucked carefully into his suitcase. It was as if he were smuggling pieces of another world back home for us. I still remember the first time I watched Hitchcock’s “The Birds,” then Oshii’s “Ghost in the Shell,” and how both films sparked my imagination in ways I couldn’t yet articulate. But the film that set everything ablaze was Spielberg’s “Jaws”. I watched it so many times I practically wore out the tape.

After that, each time my father travelled, he would ask my brothers and me which film we wanted next. We were allowed only one choice each, which made the selection feel monumental. At first, I fell into the inevitable trap of “Jaws” knockoffs. I picked titles like “Piranha,” “Orca,” and “Alligator”. But it didn’t take long before I realized that what I truly needed wasn’t more monsters. I needed guidance. I wanted films that carried the same awe, craft, and sense of wonder that “Jaws” had sparked in me.

That’s when my twin brother and I discovered “Siskel & Ebert At the Movies”. Their show drifted across continents and somehow found its way into our home. After each VHS screening, we would argue, debate, defend, and tear films apart the way they did. Their conversations didn’t just ignite my love for criticism; they transformed a childhood fascination into the beginnings of a vocation.

From their banter, I learned timing; from their openness to world cinema, I learned empathy; from their courage, I learned conviction. Years later, Roger honored me by welcoming my writing onto his website. But the truth is, long before I ever met him, he had already shaped me. As you’d expect, the VHS tapes that followed became much more impressive. “Fargo,” “The Elephant Man,” “Alien,” “Il Postino,” “Wings of Desire,” “Tampopo,” “Dekalog,” “Grave of the Fireflies,” and the list goes on. Their show cracked open the world for me, and nothing was ever the same again.

COLLIN SOUTER

I started watching in 1981, at age 8, when they talked about “Raiders of the Lost Ark,” “Superman II,” and “Stripes.” One of my favorite games was guessing which way they would go in a film as they set up the movie and showed clips. Are they going to like this movie or hate it? While watching the clip and hearing their general tone when introducing it, I could usually guess it correctly, but was always delighted to be wrong, or half-wrong. Also, as a kid, I enjoyed it when they had a cute little animal introduce the bad movie of the week. I‘m pretty sure they hated the idea.

At some point, they stopped bringing in four-legged critters into the theater with them, but the show was no less engaging for me as I got older. Recently, Ann Hornaday wrote Talking Pictures: How To Watch Movies, a fine book that is well worth your time, even if you’re a seasoned film critic who thinks there’s nothing left to learn. I feel like I got this schooling early in my youth when watching “Siskel & Ebert,” and that education has been ongoing ever since. I still think learning about movies is the best part of loving them. I’m 53 years old now, and all the layers of film history, theory, and craft (and all I still have yet to learn about them) continue to amaze me. It all started with this weekly TV show that talked about what makes movies great, what makes them terrible, what makes them frustrating, and what makes them essential to the human experience. I might not have always agreed with their takes, but wasn’t that always the point?

CRISTINA ESCOBAR

My dad’s the type of cinephile who kept getting disks from Netflix until they discontinued the service. He liked the range–being able to see movies old and new, popular and more esoteric. Of course, he put on “Siskel & Ebert.” Growing up, we’d watch it together, engrossed in the two famed Chicago critics’ reviews. The episodes reflect the diversity of film that my father appreciates and nurtured in me.

Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel’s ability to debate, disagree, and continue to model respect matched another tenet of my childhood–with two professors for parents who insisted on long, late dinners, ours was a dining table of ideas and discussion. I was raised to engage critically, and it was affirming to see that reflected on our small screen in the conversations of those two men.

I have no doubt that the time I spent on the couch with my dad watching “Siskel & Ebert” nudged me to become a critic. To see moving pictures as art, worthy of serious consideration. To take time to ponder their political, creative, and social merit. It’s a great example to follow, and I’m glad I had it.

JASON BAILEY

People don’t believe me when I tell them I started watching Siskel and Ebert when I was five, but it’s true. We didn’t have cable, so there were only the three networks and PBS, and when the Saturday morning cartoons were over, I certainly wasn’t going to watchsports. So one day I flipped to PBS, maybe hoping they were running“Sesame Street”reruns, only to find two guys on a balcony arguing about movies. I don’t know why I stopped initially—maybe they were reviewing a Disney movie—but I did, and I stayed. Something about them seemed familiar, familial even; these two plain-spoken, average-looking Midwestern guys reminded me of when my dad and my uncles would talk about movies, which would always turn into busting each other’s chops.

It became part of my Saturday morning ritual; when the cartoons ended, I’d flip over to the guys in the balcony. I followed them fromSneak PreviewstoAt the MoviestoSiskel & Ebert, and they shaped not only how I thought and talked about movies, but my entire moviegoing sensibility—seeking out greatness in everything from highbrow foreign films to goofy little B-movies. And then one afternoon, I was browsing in the local B. Dalton bookstore and I stumbled upon that year’s edition of Roger’sMovie Home Companion, which I started reading while standing in the aisle, and kept reading on my subsequent several visits to the mall. The new edition always came out in early November, and my birthday is in mid-November, so I’d ask for it every year, and spend the couple of weeks after my birthday reading it from cover to cover, like it was a novel or something.

Just like Siskel and Ebert taught me how to think and talk about movies, Roger taught me how to write about film, and now that’s what I do. I wouldn’t have the life or career I have without those two men, and one of the delights of becoming part of the critical community has been discovering how many people share a variation of the same origin story.

BRENDAN HODGES

The dad of one of my best friends, a movie buff in his own right, once ran into Roger Ebert in a downtown Chicago parking garage. Looking down at Ebert’s car, he laughed while noticing the custom license plate and said, “Rosebud, huh?” To which Ebert responded, “Why not?!” I wasn’t there, but it’s always been easy to imagine that exchange and the exact way Ebert would’ve said it. It’s the same quick-witted charm and playful but contentious energy he brought to Siskel & Ebert. Whether on air or in print, Ebert’s criticism thrived in its cutting brevity, knowing just what to state outright and what to suggest, anticipating where it would lead his audience.

Maybe that’s one reason Gene Siskel was the ideal pairing, whose “print the headline!” style so often prompted them into thoughtful disagreement. It seems every few months, a new clip from their famous blow-outs goes viral, showcasing their ability to draw a sharp riposte. I worry, though, that we forget what it meant when they would enthusiastically agree: “Raging Bull,” “Do the Right Thing,” and “Fargo,” and how they bounced off each other’s intellects to zero in on exactly what made a new great film succeed. They never let their keen wit blunt their sincerity, and that’s one of the things I miss dearly about them both.

SHERIN NICOLE

While I adored “Sesame Street” and “Mister Rogers” as a kid, the artsy child in me had other TV teachers. Elsa Klensch nurtured my sartorial sensibilities and sense of style. And while my parents gifted me with my love of film, it was Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert who taught me to appreciate the art of the movies, to talk about what makes movies matter, and debate cinematic greatness like a wrestler headed into the ring—with showmanship and unstoppable wit. Could entertainment journalism be as engaging without the Siskel-and-Ebert blueprint? Could video essays about filmmaking go as deep? Nope. We were all kindergartners in their class, tracing every trick of engagement on our shows, podcasts, and channels back to their time “At the Movies,” and what a time we had. Hold your popcorn buckets up high, this one is for the guys in the balcony.

DONALD LIEBENSON

One of my favorite stories to write was a 20th-anniversary pieceforThe Los Angeles Timeson“Siskel & Ebert.” Gene and Roger both declined to be interviewed for the story, but Wallace Shawn spoke to me, as did John Sayles, Sydney Pollack, John Dahl, Steve Oedekerk, and—good God—Harvey Weinstein. Perhaps Dahl said it best: “They review movies from that passion for the art of filmmaking. They have no other agenda. They walk into a theater and say, ‘Go ahead, entertain me.’ That’s why they’re so popular.” Weinstein admitted, “They call them as they see them. They’ve hated plenty of my movies. You can’t influence them. Lord knows I’ve tried. But they use their power exceedingly well. They’ve built trust with their audience, so their audience has become more adventurous.”

But I have to say they made my full-time job at the time more difficult. I worked at Films, Inc., in non-theatrical 16mm film distribution. My market was colleges and prisons (insert your own joke here), and if a film I was pushing didn’t get the iconic double thumbs-up, nothing I said could sway the film committee. A Chicagoan myself, I took parochial pride in the success of“Siskel & Ebert,” but I didn’t understand how highly regarded they were nationally until I tried to sell a Texas community college on“Oh, Heavenly Dog.” This was a small, remote campus in the proverbial middle of nowhere. They dismissed me out of hand: “No. Siskel and Ebert didn’t like it.”

TIM GRIERSON

I didn’t take debate in school, but Siskel & Ebert taught me a lot about the art of disagreement. Gene and Roger actually agreed quite often on the show—their shared love of a film deserving of championing, such as “Hoop Dreams,” was like a beautiful duet—but like most viewers, I remembered the arguments better. And it was here that I learned, as a kid, how to defend my position, think on my feet, and dissect the other person’s opinion to find its weak spots. But I also learned how to listen, how to be confident without being arrogant, and how to make a joke to get a point across.

Siskel & Ebert taught me how to talk about movies. Even when they debated a film’s merits, that love was always there. Sometimes Gene was right, sometimes Roger was right. What mattered was that each of them made the best case they could for their point of view. That’s all any of us are doing in this profession: trying to explain, in words, what we saw up there on the screen.