I have a distinct childhood television-watching memory of watching two schlubby Chicago film critics talk about a movie about a fictional British rock band in freefall from their arena-filling heyday.
The reviewers were, of course, Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert; the film was of course, “This is Spinal Tap.” This being 1980s Billings, Montana, I had to wait a full calendar year to rent Spinal Tap on VHS, but there is no hyperbole when I say that five-minute TV review permanently altered my cultural awareness and future professional life.
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Screencrush editor Matt Singer’s new book “Opposable Thumbs: How Siskel & Ebert Changed Movies Forever” tells the duo’s story, from a disastrous 1975 public television debut through the show’s successful syndication years, a plethora of memorable David Letterman appearances, and a rotating cast of co-hosts after Siskel died of brain cancer in 1999 at the age of 53.
Ebert kept the show’s spirit alive, but in 2013, he too succumbed to cancer at the age of 70, his last days poignantly captured in the documentary “Life Itself.”
Singer spoke about the duo and the book. This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Q. You’re a critic. What was your upbringing like in terms of watching movies?
I grew up in suburban Jersey and would go see whatever was playing because that was what kids did, but I wasn’t a budding cinephile or even a movie nerd as a kid. Comic books were my first love.
I don’t remember how I came across Siskel & Ebert — having watched countless hours now, I wish I knew specifically what my first episode was – but by the age of 13, I was obsessed. They were the gateway to me discovering beyond whatever was playing at the Freehold Multiplex. We didn’t have a cool theater, so I would go to Easy Video, which in my mind was massive, as big as a supermarket with all kinds of crazy sections. Siskel & Ebert didn’t just review new movies. They had video recommendations, so I rented whatever they discussed that week. The show was hugely important in developing my love of movies.
Q. That’s the same for me, and your book makes clear, we were not alone.
It was appointment television! And it wasn’t always easy to find. Once they were syndicated, the times slots seemed to shift every September, often later and later into the night. It was self-selecting in that way; you kind of had to earn it. But it also wasn’t a cool thing to be into. At middle school, kids were quoting “The Simpsons” and “Seinfeld,” so it felt like belonging to a secret club.
One of the joys of writing the book, and talking about it in public, is meeting so many Siskel & Ebert fans and coming to understand how so many of us who work in film or just love movies were hugely influenced by them. Maybe we could’ve been out on the playground discussing their humdinger of a disagreement over “Cop and a Half.”
Q. Siskel & Ebert were often accused of dumbing down film criticism. Do you think there was anything to the chastisement?
In hindsight, the answer is obviously, no. If for no other reason than all of the incredible next-generation filmmakers, like Ramin Bahrani, who credit Siskel & Ebert as an inspiration to create a life for themselves in the movies. Even at the time though, the “dumbing down” argument was about the “thumbs-up” summary and not the show itself. Studios exploited positive thumbs in marketing campaigns and posters for sure, but if you watched Siskel & Ebert artfully and insightfully give their thoughts about a movie, you discovered new films that opened up powerful new worlds, or made you see your own in a different way altogether.
Q. Siskel & Ebert often get compared to a married couple, which seems facile. How do you see the duo?
They were not like a married couple. A marriage with that much yelling and arguing would definitely call for counseling and probably end in divorce. In the book, there’s an Ebert quote where he says their success was because they weren’t a team, they were individuals. I think seeing themselves in that way is the key to their relationship.
For a short while early on, the shows were scripted and it didn’t work. Roger and Gene wanted to be who they were, two hyper-competitive newspapermen who reveled in their hotly contested cinematic debates. They went from enemies to adversaries to friends to having a deep personal bond, but they were never best buddies, didn’t go out to eat after taping. They were thrown together, but what ultimately made them so successful for so long, is the authenticity of their relationship. The unique Siskel & Ebert chemistry never wavered.
Q. A major theme of the book is their competitiveness. By what metrics could they possibly decide who “won” a movie reviewer showdown?
Theoretically, they could “keep score” by newspaper circulation, but nobody was subscribing to the Tribune or Sun-Times strictly for Gene or Roger. The competition, however they defined it, could have derailed everything. Instead, that combative energy fueled the show. If one or the other had been willing to acquiesce, or worse, give into the other’s viewpoint (which happened exactly once, Siskel changed his thumb from half-heartedly up to down after listening to Ebert’s thoughts on John Travolta’s “Broken Arrow”) it wouldn’t have worked. Even after they became close friends, they would still never budge an inch.
Q. When they united behind something they believed in they could make a difference. I watched a 1982 stand-alone episode, “Changing Attitudes Toward Homosexuality,” that was moving and ahead of its time.
They had power. And they used it. One of the most important Siskel & Ebert episodes is when they came out against colorization of black-and-white films. Using clips, they showed how the “laughable” process defiled classics like “It’s A Wonderful Life.” They didn’t tip-toe around it either, labeling the practice “vandalism” and “cultural butchery.” Their voices were enormous in killing colorization. Ted Turner ended up with a warehouse full of bastardized “Casablanca” tapes.
Q. One of the joys of reading your book in 2023 is going through the YouTube archives. A random 1984 episode features the Tom Hanks raunch-fest “Bachelor Party,” in which Siskel says, “You might recognize the guy from ‘Splash.’”
Watching old episodes, you do get the journalist’s first draft of movie history. Whatever people were talking about in any given week, in any given year, is what they discussed on Siskel & Ebert. In that particular episode, Siskel labels Tom Hanks a “poor man’s Bill Murray by way of Michael Keaton.”It wasn’t until “Big” that they really warmed up to the guy who became arguably the most beloved actor of our time.
Q. Having watched so many hours of Siskel & Ebert, did you find interesting wrinkles about Gene and Roger’s specific tastes in movies?
Broadly, their top criteria was defending filmmakers against interference, championing directors to let them make the movies they wanted to make and say what they wanted to say, even if they didn’t always necessarily agree with the viewpoint.
Specifically, I was fascinated by how often Siskel gave sci-fi movies a thumbs-down. Ebert loved sci-fi, he created his own fanzine as a kid, but Gene had a major hangup with dark dystopianism. He wanted more movies that allowed for optimism about where we’re headed. He hated baked-in cynicism and pessimism about the future.
As for Roger, I was struck by how much he loved dog movies, but after reading the 2009 essay “Blackie Come Home,” it made sense. It goes back to his growing up and losing his beloved Blackie, a wake-the-neighbors dog that his parents got rid of when he was away visiting relatives. I’m sure there are a few thumbs-down in there, but the beautiful essay explains why he gave a thumbs-up to “Benji, the Hunted.” Gene didn’t share Roger’s love for dog pictures. He loathed that movie. Oh boy, did they ever go at one another over it.
