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Scott Wilson

Reviews

Hostiles (2017)
The Host (2007)
Saving Shiloh (2006)
Junebug (2005)
Monster (2003)
Clay Pigeons (1998)
Shiloh (1997)
Pure Luck (1991)
In Cold Blood (1968)

Blog Posts

Ebert Club

#351 April 2, 2019

Matt writes: The full line-up for our 21st annual Roger Ebert's Film Festival (a.k.a. Ebertfest), running Wednesday, April 10th, through Saturday, April 13th, is now available on RogerEbert.com. We are dedicating the festival this year to the memory of one of our favorite actors and frequent guests, Scott Wilson, whose great 1984 film "A Year of the Quiet Sun" is among the selections. We also look forward to celebrating the longtime on-air partnership Roger had with Richard Roeper, who will be on hand for two special screenings, as well as the legacy of "Rachel Getting Married" director Jonathan Demme.

Ebert Club

#345 January 8, 2019

Matt writes: In our first Ebert Club newsletter of 2019, I am joining my publisher Chaz Ebert, editors Brian Tallerico and Matt Zoller Seitz, and fellow assistant editors Nick Allen and Nell Minow in wishing you a Happy New Year!

Ebert Club

#339 October 16, 2018

Matt writes: Scott Wilson (1942-2018) may be best known to modern viewers for his work on "The Walking Dead," yet his great screen career spanned several decades and included numerous memorable performances. His first two films, both released in 1967, proved to be classics: "In the Heat of the Night" and "In Cold Blood." He earned a Golden Globe nomination for acting opposite Stacy Keach in William Peter Blatty's 1980 horror offering, "The Ninth Configuration," and went on to be featured in unforgettable pictures such as "The Right Stuff," "Dead Man Walking" and "Junebug."

Features

Thumbnails 6/7/17

Crying through the fight scenes in "Wonder Woman"; Behind Wonder Woman is a great man; How Patty Jenkins saved DC; Tributes to 1978's "Superman"; Ebert on Jenkins.

Scanners

Why we love zombies

I made a wisecrack recently that, as far as I can tell, the zombies on AMC's "The Walking Dead" are metaphors for zombies. (Fortunately the show has the sense to hire guest stars like my friend Scott Wilson to add a human dimension to the endless splatter.) Another wise and talented friend, Kathleen Murphy, wrote something about the undying appeal -- and flesh-creeping significance -- of zombies a few years back that, unfortunately, can no longer be found on the web. But she was kind enough to send me the introduction ("It's alive!"), which I happily resurrect from the abyss for you here. Dig in:

Back to back, belly to belly I don't give a damn, I done dead already Oho back to back, belly to belly At the Zombie Jamboree

by Kathleen Murphy

In the hierarchy of horror movies, zombies usually come in dead last, behind glam monsters like vampires and demons, witches and werewolves. Ambulatory corpses are rarely pleasant to look at, and it's devilishly difficult to project personality through all that putrefaction, what with your fleshy bits constantly dropping off. Mostly zombies just shamble and chomp, activity that falls somewhat short of the meat-and-potatoes of high-class drama. 

Roger Ebert

Blackie come home

Every time I see a dog in a movie, I think the same thing: I want that dog. I see Skip or Lucy or Shiloh and for a moment I can't even think about the movie's plot. I can only think about the dog. I want to hold it, pet it, take it for walks, and tell it what a good dog it is. I want to love it, and I want it to love me. I have an empty space inside myself that can only be filled by a dog.

Not a cat. I have had cats and I was fond of them, fonder than they ever were of me. But what I want is unconditional love, and therefore I want a dog. I want to make its life a joy. I want to scratch behind its ears, and on its belly when it rolls over. I want to gently extend its tail so the dog can tell it's a fine tail indeed. I want to give it a shampoo, and sneak it bites from the table, and let it exchange the news with other dogs we meet on the street. I want it to bark at the doorbell, be joyous to see my loved ones, shake hands, and look concerned if I seem depressed. If I throw a ball I want the dog to bring back the ball and ask me to throw it again.