THE BALCONY IS NOW CLOSED: a tribute to "At The Movies" (1975-2010)

ROGER EBERT & GENE SISKEL

It was a typical night in my home, on one inauspicious evening back in 1977 as my family and I were settling ourselves down to dinner. My Mother, Father, Grandmom and myself were seated around our kitchen table, saying grace and preparing to eat. My Father then reached over to the nearby television set and began to change the channels to find something to either watch during our meal or simply to have something that consisted of some sort of visual background noise. And suddenly, as he arrived at the public television channel, I saw it.

The Millennium Falcon was engaged in an intense dogfight with four howling TIE Fighters. Mercenary Han Solo and Tattooine farmboy Luke Skywalker sat firing away in two separate gun turrets while Princess Leia and Chewbacca guided the ship in flight. The music of John Williams burst from the television speakers and I sat enraptured at the sight of “Star Wars,” a film that I had just recently seen on opening day and the film that made me fully aware of the power of the motion picture experience. I begged my Father to not change the channel, a request I believe he somewhat reluctantly agreed to and then, the sequence ended and a completely unfamiliar sight arrived next on the television screen.

On the television screen sat two men. One man was thin, unmistakably grumpy and tall and the other man was corpulent, bespectacled, slightly more jovial yet no less serious. They appeared to me as sort of a real world “Bert and Ernie”as they sat across from each other in what looked to be a movie theater balcony and then, they began to speak about the images I had just watched. They spoke in a tenor that was similar to the type I had heard so, so often on the Chicago sports talk radio programs my Father obsessively listened to yet this time, that tenor zeroed in towards my personal frequencies. While I didn’t understand everything they were talking about, the language somehow felt inherently familiar and I only desired to hear more of what they had to say. After some minor pleading, my Father allowed me to watch the entire program, which featured the two men discussing and debating one movie after another and after 30 minutes, it ended. The television program was called, “Sneak Previews.” The two men were Chicago Tribune film critic Gene Siskel and Chicago Sun Times film critic Roger Ebert. And this inauspicious introduction on this inauspicious evening back in 1977, when I was only eight years old, impacted my life on a seismic level, altering it forever.

And now, the era has ended. On the weekend of August 14th, “At The Movies,” the nationally syndicated television movie review program that evolved from Chicago public television’s “Sneak Previews,” concluded its legendary and profoundly influential run after an incredible 35 years. A casualty of corporate business decision making, the program's final episode, which now featured co-hosts Michael Phillips, Chicago Tribune film critic and A.O. Scott, New York Times film critic, was an unsurprisingly modest affair without hyperbole and histrionics. That said, it was also a surprisingly joyous affair that kept copious amounts of melancholy and bittersweetness at bay and stoically held its head high with the intelligence, grace, class and humor that has defined this revolutionary series from the very beginning.

Originated on Chicago’s WTTW public television station in 1975 as a monthly series, “At The Movies" began as “Opening Soon At A Theatre Near You,” and featured the deceptively simplistic set and format we have seen for over three decades. A balcony setting with two film critics, with obvious animosity and rivalry towards each other, engaging themselves and the audience in the discussion and debates concerning modern cinema. It was informative, educational, and often made for electrifying viewing. Each installment was like a four star film, a rollercoaster of emotions and opinions all contained within the act of debate. I was often pinned to the edge of my seat, hanging on every word of Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert in suspense. Like the greatest movie star couplings, Siskel and Ebert indeed had chemistry and screen presence to burn and their unwillingness to be upstaged by the other was palpable. But, even more than their own on-air duels, and witnessing the evolution of their growing respect for each other, it is what they shared and gave to absolutely anyone who chose to watch them, episode after episode, that remains to this day. It was, and remains, a supreme gift, the likes of which will never be touched in the same way ever again.

For me, “At The Movies” gave me a window into a world that I had really just discovered through the eye-opening viewings of George Lucas’ “Star Wars” (1977) and Steven Spielberg’s “Close Encounters Of The Third Kind” (1977). Before that, going to the movies was a rare event in my house and mostly for me, it was solely a place to get popcorn. After seeing those two movies, it was like witnessing the Big Bang in front of my eyes. “At The Movies” accomplished the exact same feat for me on, albeit, a much smaller scale, week after week after week. Its educational value was so immense, thorough, entertaining, compelling and most importantly, tangible that I would have PAID for it, if it were an option. I learned what it took to make a great movie and how difficult it is to do just that, even with the very best of talent, time and money on display. I learned about the art of visual storytelling. I learned about how all of the “invisible” techniques of movies, like editing, sound design, lighting, and cinematography worked in conjunction with the actors, special effects, set and costume design, and music scores to create cinematic alchemy. Without Siskel and Ebert, all of that artistry would have gone unnoticed by me and for anyone else who viewed their program.
“At The Movies” was film school long before I ever took any film school classes. By the time I actually did take film classes in college, I felt that I had already possessed a sizable advantage thanks to Siskel and Ebert and that advantage provided me with an unprecedented sense of academic comfort and calm with the material being presented to me by a variety of professors, instructors and film scholars. The only full bodied grade of “A” I ever received in college at the completion of a semester course was indeed a film production class and I am truly indebted to Siskel and Ebert’s weekly instructions.

Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert and “At The Movies” showed me there existed a universe of film that extended itself vastly from the weekly major Hollywood releases constantly being advertised in newspapers and on television. They championed the smaller films that would otherwise have gone unseen and undistributed. They introduced me to film styles and genre I otherwise would have NEVER heard of or even tried to view. I never would have seen a foreign film or documentary if it were not for them. I never would have seen experimental films if it were not for them. As I ponder appreciatively over how much they have contributed to the culture and art of movies, I am astonished. I think of how empty my film viewing life would be if I had never seen Director Jean-Jacques Beineix’s “Diva” (1981), Louis Malle’s “My Dinner With Andre” (1981), or even Steve James’ “Hoop Dreams” (1994). Consequently, I greatly appreciate how those works not only led me backwards to films by cinematic giants like Akira Kurosawa, Jean Luc Goddard and Francois Truffaut but also made current independent works by filmmakers like Richard Linklater, more approachable. Long established filmmakers, no less than Cameron Crowe, Spike Lee and Kevin Smith have often mentioned that it was Siskel and Ebert’s praise and celebration of their work that allowed their films to be seen by wider audiences than they would have otherwise. Their reach was vast and I could not help but to be caught up within their waves of cinematic influence. Conversely, Siskel and Ebert were unabashedly unafraid of taking on the giants of Hollywood when necessary and calling them out for being unimaginative, derivative, and especially when the material was of an insult to the audience’s intelligence, wallets and time. Siskel and Ebert were the ones who perfected the art of critiquing for me.

By the time Siskel and Ebert became nationally recognized celebrities in their own right, they were often criticized for dumbing down the act and art of film criticism with their now iconic “Thumbs Up! Thumbs Down!” rating system. I vehemently disagree. They never approached their criticism with the arrogant view of standing on high mountaintop delivering their critiques to the poor uneducated masses down below. They were always one of us; people who loved to go to the movies, were passionate about what they saw and eager to share their findings with everybody. “At The Movies” was an inclusive experience, a populist program that desired engagement. It was a discussion they wanted everyone to be a part of. Siskel and Ebert gave us the tools and the language they used themselves to judge and rate films and it was through that program where I began to really think about what I was watching, how I responded to what I was watching and how could I engage in my own discussions about it. They showed me that there is always a way to say something, a way express oneself intensely yet artfully.

The television show also led me to the written work. I read their reviews religiously and their work also led me to the written work of their contemporaries from a variety of sources. I read reviews wherever I was able to find them from Time, Newsweek, and Rolling Stone to legendary film critic Pauline Kael’s books, and to obscure film journals and magazines. Before I knew it, I was not just learning about the process of filmmaking, I was learning about the process of writing about film. I discovered there were as many pieces to the puzzle of critiquing as they were to the creation of the art at hand.

When I wrote a letter to Gene Siskel, at the age of 16 decrying his harshly negative review of John Hughes’ “Weird Science” (1985), I knew that it could not be a petulant rant that was entirely designed to defend my hero. I wanted him to read what I had to say and know that my intent was as serious as his own. (Who knows if he ever even saw it…) When I began writing screenplays of my own, also during my teen years, the voices and teaching of these two men echoed loudly in my head as I wrote. I imagined some completed film that I had made being reviewed on their show. I wanted that four star rating. I wanted that “Two Thumbs Up!!” endorsement and every time I found myself stuck, I could recall the words they spoke every week concerning character development, cliché, and being honest within the work. Furthermore, and as I have expressed many times since the birth of “Savage Cinema,” every single word I write would otherwise not exist if it were not for the groundwork these two men set out for me.

As the visibility and success of “At The Movies” ballooned, there was a period where there were no less than three movie review programs on the air and I watched them all. But, profound changes would occur at the dawn of the 21st century. Gene Siskel sadly passed away in 1999 after an operation removed a brain tumor. Roger Ebert continued the program with a revolving cast of film critics and special guests before deciding upon Chicago Sun Times columnist Richard Roeper as his permanent aisle seat partner.

In 2008, Roger Ebert exited the program after complications from cancer surgery removed his ability to speak. Roeper carried onwards with a revolving cast of co-hosts, including future and final co-hosts, the aforementioned Michael Phillips and A.O. Scott and as before, I never missed an episode knowing full well that even in their absence, the quality they pioneered would remain intact. Or would it?

I ceased to watch “At The Movies” during the now infamous season featuring the two “Bens” (Ben Lyons and Ben Mankiewicz) a desperate, disastrous and unfathomable effort to “modernize” a show that was already as modern as the films being released. It was the quintessential act of fixing something that was not broken, and in doing so, the powers that be broke the show. For the final season, the experience, intelligence and credibility that was a staple of the program from its inception returned with Phillips and Scott, and I returned with it and them. Now that it is over, I could not imagine two more qualified hosts to bring this ground-breaking program to rest.

As with my written tribute to John Hughes last year, these men were and remain heroes to me. They are the treasured teachers we have all had and it cannot be stated enough that major aspects of my life would not be the same without their influence. I never had the opportunity to meet Gene Siskel, but I do happen to posses an autograph from him and given to my Father, who met him one evening in Chicago. I did meet Roger Ebert very briefly during the 1990’s at a book signing in Madison, WI during the city’s annual film festival. I clumsily and quickly told him how greatly he affected my life as he signed my book. I mentioned that at that time I had not yet met Siskel, to which he jokingly replied, “You don’t need to.” Then I verbally flopped around for what seemed to be an eon, wishing I could have been more eloquent to this man who meant so much to me. Yet, I was star struck…

Before I bring this tribute to a close, I would like to recount to you something that heard on the radio on my way home from work just the other night. I was listening to NPR’s “Fresh Air” program and they played an interview conducted with Siskel and Ebert in 1996. As host Terry Gross volleyed a series of quick questions to both men, that electricity I felt when I watched them on television for so much of my life returned through waves of radio and archived history. When they were each asked about the first film they remembered seeing in a movie theater as well as the scariest film they had each seen, there were two moments that really jumped from the speakers to me and they both involved Gene Siskel. The first was his stirring recollection of Walt Disney’s “Dumbo” (1941) as the first film which made a lasting impression upon him. The second was a hilarious recollection of “Halloween” (1978), the scariest film he had seen. He described the evening he saw the film for the first time and how it had frightened him so terribly, he had taken a taxi back to his home…which was only two blocks away! Afterwards, and upon entering his home, the first thing he did was to go into his bathroom…and draw back the shower curtain, leaving the open space in full view. The audience roared with laughter and recognition and that is the reason I loved this show and these two men.

Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert somehow found the way to bridge the gap between the intellectual and the emotional and the result was a television experience so treasured, so special, so artistically relevant and necessary. They gave us a front row seat into the lifelong art of conversation, specifically to the continuing and everlasting discussion, appreciation and unabashed love of movies. But, their show transcended the subject of movies as they gave us a front row seat to the lifelong art of conversation concerning life itself. For in the movies, our lives and dreams are contained and represented.

May that artful conversation never, ever cease and may all of our voices become a part of it.

THANK YOU to Gene & Roger for getting all of us started...