Life Itself Page #6

- Because it's too tough to take.

The reason Roger loved

being on television

is that at his heart,

he really is a populist.

Roger believes that everybody

ought to be able to get a movie.

I think they were conscientious

about trying to

do what they were doing

as well as they could,

and as seriously as they could.

But invariably, a show

like Gene and Roger's show

becomes a part of

that mainstream system.

This week,

Siskel and Ebert review

Arnold Schwarzenegger

in Last Action Hero.

And by and large,

the purpose of mainstream reviewing

is not just to valorize films

that get multi-million dollar

ad campaigns.

... Jurassic Park.

But to eliminate everything else.

I think what Gene and Roger did

was the opposite of that.

Roger went out and he looked

for people like Michael Moore.

He looked for people like me.

As a film critic,

he was somebody

who gave life to new voices,

gave life to new visions,

that reflected all the diversity

of this nation.

Different classes,

points of view,

he wanted it all out there.

My assurance to the pet owner

that they will be

reunited with their pet.

My first film, Gates of Heaven.

There was a newspaper strike.

And so the movie wasn't reviewed

by any of the New York newspapers,

which is a disaster.

I miss that little black kitten

so much.

I just thought, that's it,

the movie's just going to vanish.

Both of them wanted

to review it.

I was troubled

because the number of theaters

in which it was playing

was extremely small,

and here you have a show

that's being shown

on 300 some-odd public television

stations around the country.

How are people gonna get to see it?

Let's move on to a movie now

that I think is one of the most

brilliant, weird, and unusual

American documentary films

I've seen in a long time.

And then

really out of nowhere,

those guys started reviewing

Gates of Heaven.

Well, I agree with you completely.

I think it's a superb film.

Then they found an excuse

to review it again.

There are films that

we call "Buried Treasures."

And a third time.

I don't think anyone who's seen

this film can ever forget it.

I believe that I would not

really have a career

if not for those guys.

I made my first film.

I kind of made it alone.

I didn't know anyone

in the industry.

I don't even know

how I got Roger's email,

but I emailed, assuming

no one would answer.

And he answered. And he said,

"If your film gets into Sundance,"

tell me and I would

watch it there."

So then later,

the film did go to Sundance,

and I emailed him again,

and he said,

"Yes, I'll come to see it." I said,

"Here are the three times."

He didn't come

to the first screening,

he didn't come

to the second screening,

and the last screening

was a Sunday morning, I think,

8:
00 a.m., on the last day

of the festival.

I said he's

probably not even here.

In fact, he was one of

the first people there.

And I was there

with my actor, and he said,

"Do you mind

if I take some pictures

with you and your actor,

just in case I like the film?

If I don't like it, don't worry,

I'll never use them."

I was, I think, I was maybe

eight or nine or something,

and my Aunt Denise,

who was a massive film geek,

who passed

her film geekdom onto me,

found out about

these rehearsals for the Oscars,

and one day

he walked through.

And I remember saying,

"Thumbs up! Thumbs up!"

screaming, screaming,

and he came over.

I grew up.

I made this film

when I was 34 years old.

It was the first film

I ever made.

You're second generation.

Joshua Tree generation.

The film

was about my aunt,

my aunt who took me

to the Oscar's that day.

Nothing wrong with that.

And about

losing someone that you love.

And it was Ebert's review

that really got to the heart

of what I was trying

to articulate.

And just touched me so much,

that I sent him

the picture from the Oscar's.

His reply was,

"We were both younger then."

The next day,

a blog post turned up

where he wrote,

in a very heartfelt way,

about his own aunt

who kind of gave him the gift

of art and film as well.

You know, I broke down crying,

and it was a mess.

It's dangerous as a black woman

to give something that you've made

from your point of view,

very steeped in your identity

and your personhood

to a white man whose gaze

is usually the exact opposite,

and to say, you are the carrier

of this film to the public.

You're the one that's gonna

dictate whether it has value.

And you had a lot less fears

around that with Roger.

Because you knew it was someone

who was gonna take it seriously,

gonna come with

some historical context,

some cultural nuance.

I mean, everybody knows

Roger had a black wife.

You know what I mean?

You know.

He's like an honorary brother.

I mean, you live with a sister.

That's a whole different

understanding of black women, right?

So maybe you watch

my film differently.

Every time I see him, I'll walk away

with something new, you know.

And every time I sit down

at the table to do the work,

I think about him,

because what if something happens

and I don't get to see him again.

It was just a few days

before Christmas.

I said, "Well, Chaz,

can I come there?"

- So...

- Merry Christmas.

Come on over and say hi.

How are you?

Good to see you.

What are you doing in here?

Chaz is missing you at home,

you gotta get out.

Oh, I like the glasses.

Get off the road...

It was nice to see him

interacting with his grandkids.

Grandpa Roger, do you think...

I know that he must be

in pain physically,

but he ends up being

the happiest guy around.

- From the Christmas stocking.

- From Santa.

From Santa.

I just remember being so young,

and watching for the first time

so many movies

and him sort of explaining

to me, you know,

what's important about this one,

or this is a really great movie.

Ever heard of this film?

This movie begins

with seven children

who are seven,

and check in on them

every seven years

of their lives.

Are they 56 now? Really?

Oh, my gosh, wow.

All the great conversations

and things that he taught me

about movies and life

and family and books,

and you know,

all this stuff, I just...

Those experiences

mean a lot to me.

There's another

chocolate bar, chocolate bars.

So I spoke to Werner,

I said I was coming to see you,

and he sends his regards,

and he says

you have to keep writing

because he's very worried

about cinema.

Can you say it the way

Werner would say it?

Oh, gosh. No.

- Roger...

- Roger you must get better.

You must soldier on, Roger.

Really bad shape.

He's the soldier of cinema.

He's a wounded comrade

who cannot even speak anymore,

and he plows on,

and that touches my heart

very deeply.

I never dedicate films

to anyone.

I dedicated a film to him

where I ventured out

to the last corner

of this planet...

to Antarctica,

to the ice.

And from there I bow my head

in his direction.

He reinforces my courage.

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