Dear Mr. Ebert

Dear Mr. Ebert,

Thank you. I really could end this there, because there are few other words capable of encapsulating what I’m about to try to say, but it’s important for me to try - I think you’d be an advocate of that.

I love the movies. I’ve always loved the movies. I’ve always found them to be a mystical place that I can so, so easily lose myself within. A place of dreams, a place of disaster. A vicarious fantasy to achieve all of the levels of greatness in life that I either was too fearful of attempting myself, or were just, impossible to experience in reality.  I’ve always loved the movies.

As such, in my years as a cinephile, I’ve admired you. How could I not? You got paid to watch movies. No. You got paid to watch movies and tell people what you thought about them. I’d be lucky to find more than one or two people who I could pay to listen to me tell them about the last movie I saw. So, naturally, I was jealous of you, of your stature in the film community, of your wit, your humor, your unfaltering honesty to which you approached your film reviews.  I loved that I could disagree with you so vehemently - but I still wanted to hear what you had to say.

I long, long wanted to find my place in the small niche that film critics call home - truth is, I still do. I pursued it with vigor for some time in high school, and again in college, but neither with the dedication and devotion that was necessary. Maybe someday soon I will, and I will do it justice.

All jealousy and admiration aside for your professional career getting paid to do what so many of us just call a hobby, there was something I admired about you even more.  Your spirit. For a man who made such a prosperous and revered career by virtue of your voice - to learn that you were set to lose it in your battle with cancer in 2006 must have been little short of devastating.  A revelation which, for many (and likely myself included) would have forced us into isolation and utter silence - for you, it did…well, it sure felt like nothing.  What voice you lost audibly, you found again digitally, and, to be blunt - you kicked ass with it.

For a professional writer in his 60’s, you took one look at technology, and in spite of (or perhaps, in light of) your illness, you embraced it with a hearty hug of admiration and understanding. Seeing it for it’s full potential, your career continued to flourish in spite of your loss of voice, and for the last seven years, you’ve been an omnipresent feature of my Facebook newsfeeds, my Twitter page, and my daily blog readings. 

I will miss you, Mr. Ebert.  I will miss your wit, your humor, your honesty, your attitude, your mastery of our language.  Thank you for the years of your input into my theatrical experiences I had the privilege to consider, for the many years I was unable to do so with (due to not being born yet), and most importantly - thank you for your inspiration.  I hope that I too can find myself so lucky as to be as fortunate in not just my career, but my life as you were in yours.

Thank you, Mr. Ebert. Thank you so much.