Rule of Thumb: Ebert at the Movies.

Ingle, Zachary

Rule of Thumb: Ebert at the Movies.

Todd Rendleman. New York: Continuum, 2012. 209 pages. $17.09. Paperback.

When Roger Ebert passed away in April 2013, I was coincidently in the middle of three of his books: his memoir Life Itself, The Great Movies III, and A Horrible Experience of Unbearable Length: More Movies That Suck. Yet despite Ebert's unrivaled influence on the way Americans watch movies, monographs analyzing Ebert's work have been lacking. Into the void arrives Todd Rendleman's Rule of Thumb: Ebert at the Movies, with a foreword by Ebert himself in which he expresses his surprise that a "newspaperman" could be taken so seriously.

Presented with an opening chapter entitled "Godchild," those familiar with Ebert's religious upbringing may expect an account of his childhood; instead, the author traces Ebert's influences as a film critic, most critically Pauline Kael and Andrew Sarris. In regards to auteurist approaches, Ebert forged a via media between the extremes of Sarris and Kael. While Ebert certainly had directors he loved to champion (Errol Morris, Werner Herzog, Ramin Bahrani), Rendleman points out that it was usually "a careful scouring of the movie, not the director's resume that govern[ed] Ebert's conclusion" (41). This middle ground may also be the result of Ebert's "healthy Midwestern pragmatism," which Rendleman often references. The author also proves himself almost as equally well-versed in the work of Kael, Sarris, John Simon, and a host of others as he is in Ebert's.

Rendleman helpfully identifies three key themes in Ebert's criticism: the critical relationship between style and content, a consideration of the film's moral implications, and a respect and protective attitude toward actors. On this last theme, compare Ebert's civility as a critic with John Simon's witty, but mean-spirited and almost juvenile insults of actresses, often concerning their appearance. Ebert sometimes expressed moral outrage when he thought actors were being exploited, perhaps most (in)famously in his one-star review of Blue Velvet (1986) to which Rendleman devotes an entire chapter. Rendleman does not address the fact that after his first book of "hated" films was released--I Hated, Hated, Hated This Movie (2000)--followed soon after by Your Movie Sucks (2007) and A Horrible Experience of Unbearable Length: More Movies That Suck (2012), Ebert would seem to have become less tactful. The author often refers to one of Ebert's greatest contributions, a quote Ebert himself would sometimes refer to as "Ebert's Law": "It is not what a film is about. It is how it is about it."

One entire chapter ("Turned On") is devoted to how Ebert appraised erotic in films, including some attention to his screenwriting partnership with Russ Meyer. Despite the critical reassessment of the Meyer-Ebert collaboration, Beyond the Valley of the Dolls (1969) by others, Rendleman remains resolute in his own evaluation: "So many D-cups, so little substance" (114). Adeptly moving from the physical to the spiritual, Rendleman writes one of his strongest chapters ("Cross References") on an aspect that set Ebert apart from most other critics--his exploration of religion in film and daily life. Indeed, Rendleman proves himself more capable of discussing theological matters than film scholars typically are.

Although he's a man after Ebert's own heart--as evidence I submit his ability to quote both Russ Meyer and G. K. Chesterton in the same sentence--that does not mean he is completely uncritical of Ebert's shortcomings. His criticisms are sprinkled throughout the book, but the penultimate chapter ("Misfires") examines where specifically Ebert was marked by "glibness, pragmatism, sentimentality, affection for content at the expense of style, and a boyish enthusiasm that posits easy solutions and misses what's really happening on the screen" (133). An example in his unabashed fondness for Terms of Endearment (1983) and My Dog Skip (2000).

Rule of Thumb is certainly an erudite, well-written book, one that I would recommend for undergraduate and graduate classes in American film criticism. Although much is covered, this is not an analysis of Ebert's entire creative output. Scant attention is directed toward Ebert's later work, such as his award-winning blog and his provocative dismissal of video games as an art form. Also, some readers may take aim at Rendleman's account as too personal, almost autobiographical at times. Still, it is the first of its kind--a book solely devoted to "seek[ing] to unpack Ebert's aesthetic sensibilities" (xix)--but with the recent death of America's most influential critic, surely others will follow. For supplemental information, one can also listen to Rendleman read the book with additional content through iTunes.

I can't resist: two thumbs up!

Zachary Ingle, University of Kansas