In Memoriam 1942 – 2013 “Roger Ebert loved movies.”

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Keanu

Keanu is fun, and even sometimes outright hilarious, but it doesn’t live up to the skills of its central performers.

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The Man Who Knew Infinity

An account of a remarkable person should strive to be as equally remarkable as its subject, not the timid and tidy boilerplate special of a…

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Ballad of Narayama

"The Ballad of Narayama" is a Japanese film of great beauty and elegant artifice, telling a story of startling cruelty. What a space it opens…

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Monsieur Hire

Patrice Leconte's "Monsieur Hire" is a tragedy about loneliness and erotomania, told about two solitary people who have nothing else in common. It involves a…

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Roger Ebert

Roger Ebert

Roger Ebert became film critic of the Chicago Sun-Times in 1967. He is the only film critic with a star on Hollywood Boulevard Walk of Fame and was named honorary life member of the Directors' Guild of America. He won the Lifetime Achievement Award of the Screenwriters' Guild, and honorary degrees from the American Film Institute and the University of Colorado at Boulder. Since 1989 he has hosted Ebertfest, a film festival at the Virginia Theater in Champaign-Urbana. From 1975 until 2006 he, Gene Siskel and Richard Roeper co-hosted a weekly movie review program on national TV. He was Lecturer on Film for the University of Chicago extension program from 1970 until 2006, and recorded shot-by-shot commentaries for the DVDs of "Citizen Kane," "Casablanca," "Floating Weeds" and "Dark City," and has written over 20 books.

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V/H/S

(2012)

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Frankenweenie

(2012)

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The Well-Digger's Daughter

(2012)

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The Paperboy

(2012)

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About Cherry

(2012)

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Escape Fire: The Fight to Rescue American Healthcare

(2012)

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Snowman's Land

(2012)

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Head Games

(2012)

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The Perks of Being a Wallflower

(2012)

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Won't Back Down

(2012)

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Pitch Perfect

(2012)

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Looper

(2012)

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How to Survive a Plague

(2012)

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Liberal Arts

(2012)

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Trouble with the Curve

(2012)

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The Master

(2012)

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End of Watch

(2012)

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Hello I Must Be Going

(2012)

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Detropia

(2012)

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Arbitrage

(2012)

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Beloved

(2012)

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Samsara

(2012)

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Alps

(2012)

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The Words

(2012)

I unwisely asked Marie Haws why it took so long for Snail Mail to reach her

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Marie is the Hon. Sec'y of The Ebert Club, and editor of our newsletter. As you can see, she communicates well in images.

Here is a free sample of The Ebert Club Newsletter. So hop on board, already.

Whenever you send me stuff in the mail, you always wonder why it takes so long. I live in a foreign country. :-) Otherwise, behold my physical mail box. Size of a shoe box, it can hold letters, flyers, DVD's, bubble envelopes, etc. Anything bigger than that, and you'll get a note from Canada Post to pick it up at the Mall, etc. When it's UPS or FEDX, they paste a sticker notice thing near your box so you'll see it. The building I live in was built circa 1973 and the style resembles Canadian architect Arthur Erickson, channeling Frank Lloyd Wright on Crack. LOL Wait till you see the "Mall".... it's a 19th century diorama. :-)

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We are so very, very, very small

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The graphic was created by the National Aeronautics and Space Administration to represent 1,235 planets we know to exist, and the suns they orbit. Each planet is a black dot. Our sun is below the top row at the right. It's estimated that millions of such planets exist in our galaxy alone.

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Finding the mysterious Vivian Maier

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I have the book. This great photographer died unknown, having made an invaluable photographic record of the Chicago of her time. The rediscovery of her work was a great event in the history of photography. The director of this film is Charlie Siskel, Gene's nephew.

Here is a story in Variety.

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Second-guessing my Oscar guesses

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In announcing my annual Outguess Ebert contest, I used a cocky headline: Outguess Ebert? I may have them all right, I followed by writing: "This year's Outguess Ebert contest seems a little like shooting fish in a barrel. For the first time in many a year, maybe ever, I think I've guessed every one correctly."

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Does anybody here know what time it is?

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By Roger Ebert

Note in particular what I am doing with my hands. Then see the happiness on our faces. This photo was taken when a plaque was placed on the sidewalk during Ebertfest 2010, marking my birthplace at 410 E. Washington Street in Urbana. The woman is Sally Omiston. The Ormiston family (her husband "Ormy" and their two boys Fred and Georg) lived directly across the street.

Sally celebrated her 100th birthday on Feb. 9. I received a mistaken message from Urbana (no doubt from someone who saw "100" under her photo in The News-Gazette and drew a hasty conclusion. I have never been happier to correct a mistaken tweet.

Sally taught me to tell time. Unable to speak, I'm pointing to where a wristwatch goes.

Sally's intervention in my life may have come in the nick of time. I had my appendix removed, and when I returned to St. Mary's Grade School, Sister Nathan did an evaluation to determine if I had lost any speed. She sent a note to my parents: "Roger doesn't know his multiplication tables or how to read the clock."

What grade was I in? Certainly a grade where this raised a red flag. My parents took direct action. On a cardboard that came with a shirt from the laundry, my father wrote out the tables in his sure, strong hand, using the fountain pen filled with green ink that my mother used as a bookkeeper at the Allied Finance.

I was to spend half an hour after dinner every day memorizing the tables while sitting on the living room sofa, while my parents had their coffee and read the Gazette and Courier while firing up their Luckies. The silence was punctuated from time to time by mom or dad, saying: "I see in the paper..." and by my stifled sobs. What other kid ever had such cruel parents?"

It was easier to learn about the clock. Sally had been an elementary school teacher before got married. She brought home a big wooden Playskool clock she placed on her kitchen table between us. Its hands and numbers were removable and could be replaced by the wooden slices of a Pie of Time so that any fool could see that a quarter hour or a half hour had been consumed.

On summer evenings my dad and Ormy would stand on the lawn and talk things over. This was an occasion for Ormy to smoke his pipe.

"The Ormiston Boys are allergic to tobacco smoke," my father told me. "He's given up on smoking his pipe indoors. A pipe smoker loves his pipe. Think how much he loves those boys!"

The Ormiston Boys, George and Fred, were enough younger than me that we existed on different planes of reality. For books of Green Stamps I got two flimsy aluminum bookcases, and stacked one on top of the other inside my bedroom door, so that when it was opened all you could see was a wall of books.

The Ormistons came over to visit one day, and when the boys started horsing around, they knocked into my cases and all my books came tumbling down. Oh, how I hated those boys.

Sally Ormiston and Pastor J. Michael Smith, Grace United Methodist Church, at her 100th birthday party:

The News-Gazette reported:

Sylvia "Sally" Ormiston of Savoy is celebrating her 100th birthday with an open house from 1 to 5 p.m. Feb. 9 at Parkview, 100 Parkview Lane, Savoy. She was born on Feb. 8, 1913, in Witt, Ill., a daughter of George and Rose Sellett Rushford.

She married Professor E.E. Ormiston on Dec. 21, 1940. He died on March 16, 1996.

They have two sons, George Ormiston of Georgia and Fred Ormiston of Texas; six grandchildren; and 10 great-grandchildren.

She graduated from LaSalle High School and LaSalle-Peru Junior College. She retired from a career as a teacher in Grand Ridge, Ill., when she was married in 1940.

She is a member of Grace United Methodist Church, the Carle Foundation Hospital Auxiliary and the Champaign County Nursing Home Auxiliary.

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The best bar in the world that I know about

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The first Chicago bar I drank in was the Old Town Ale House. That bar was destroyed by fire in the 1960s, the customers hosed off, and the Ale House moved directly across the street to its present location, where it has been named Chicago's Best Dive Bar by the Chicago Tribune.

I was taken to the Ale House by Tom Devries, my fellow college editor from the Roosevelt Torch. It was early on a snowy Sunday afternoon. I remember us walking down to Barbara's Bookstore to get our copies of the legendary New York Herald-Tribune Sunday edition. Pogo. Judith Crist. Tom Wolfe. Jimmy Breslin. I remember peanut shells on the floor and a projector grinding through 16mm prints of Charlie Chaplin shorts. I remember my first taste of dark Löwenbräu beer. The Ale House was cool even then.

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