Ebertfest 2013

             I learned of Roger’s death from a text I received from my sister-in-law.  I had just arrived at Café Kopi that afternoon to grade a pile of papers.  I went up to the counter and waited until Paul, Kopi’s owner, had served the customer in front of me, and then asked, “Did you hear that Roger Ebert died?”

            “Yeah.”  Someone from the local paper had just told Paul.

            “It’s so strange.  Hard to believe.  Ebertfest is supposed to be on soon,” I gestured in the direction of the newly restored Virginia Theatre two blocks away, where the fifteenth annual Roger Ebert’s Film Festival was to begin in two weeks.  “Well, I’ll be back to place my order in a minute.” 

            “You just wanted to tell someone?” Paul smiled.

            “Yes, so it would feel real.  I know he was sick, but still.”

            Paul nodded.

            When Chaz, Roger’s wife, announced that Ebertfest would go on as planned, my partner, Marilyn, and I were thrilled and relieved—as I’m sure were hundreds of other festival regulars.

            (Chaz.  Roger.  That’s how festival goers refer to these celebrities, even if they have never had a chat with them in person.  Even the festival guests, even the superstars, are drawn into the intimacy.  This year, we had Tilda [Swinton], with her film Julia. 

Chaz Ebert, Tilda Swinton, and festival director Nate Kohn chat after Julia.

            “Did Tilda make it in?” we’d ask, after Jack Black was kept away by weather too stormy for flying.  He was with us by phone though to discuss his role in Bernie).

            At the festival, interesting conversations occur in the line at the restroom.  On Saturday, after the screening of Escape from Tomorrow, a young woman in the restroom doorway said to all who could hear, “Does anyone know what it was we watched for the past ninety minutes?”

            “That was a film made for men by a man,” someone in line replied.

            “There sure were a lot of phallic symbols,” I chimed in, as I headed to one of the marble-walled stalls.

            I returned to the auditorium for the Q & A with the director and cast.  A woman in the balcony received the microphone: “In the ladies room just now, some people were saying yours is a film made by a man for other men.”  Hearing her slight German accent, I looked up and recognized the woman at the restroom sink who had been trying to make the line move efficiently. I chuckled.  Writer and director Randy Moore didn’t seem offended by her question and discussed connections between the film and his relationship with his own father. 

            That conversation coming full circle was quintessentially Ebertfest.  Roger always had a way of getting people talking to each other, and this year was no exception.

            The most welcome words from the festival stage this year came at the very end, when Chaz said, “See you next year!”

 

Chaz had gifts for those who had attended all fifteen festivals.

A detail of the gloriously restored Virginia.

Roger's presence was felt at the festival.

In the upstairs foyer of the Virginia.

A detail of the ceiling in the upstairs foyer.

I took this photo in downtown Champaign as I walked to dinner Saturday night.

Roger, of course, for bringing us the festival.