New book on ‘Siskel and Ebert’ goes inside the balcony

“Opposable Thumbs,” by critic Matt Singer, offers the complete story of the Chicago duo that revolutionized film criticism on TV

Is there a working film critic today, at least over the age of 30, who wasn’t inspired at least in some part by Siskel and Ebert, either apart or together? 

I for one watched the duo throughout my youth. When I was in college, and first writing reviews for the newspaper, I would email Roger Ebert at his old Compuserve address (76711.271@compuserve.com), and he would write back. I once got a question in his Movie Answer Man column — yes, it was about Kermit and Miss Piggy — and met him at a book signing in New York. Of the members of the Philadelphia Film Critics Circle, I’m guessing about half of us had some type of personal relationship with Roger. 

I had less of a connection with Siskel, but on a trip to Chicago a while back I made pilgrimages to both the Gene Siskel Film Center and the Lake Street Screening Room.

Now, another Chicago critic, Matt Singer, has written a book about the duo, their TV shows, and their partnership, called “Opposable Thumbs: How Siskel & Ebert Changed Movies Forever.” It’s a highly enjoyable read, full of great stories, and it’s a must if Siskel and Ebert meant even a little bit to you. 

The Siskel and Ebert partnership lasted for roughly the final quarter of the 20th century, beginning with their teaming in 1975 and continuing through Siskel’s death from cancer in 1999. Ebert died, also of cancer, in 2013. 

Singer offers a rough chronology of the Siskel and Ebert team; indeed, the most important part of the story is their relationship. 

Physically, they resembled, the author notes, most of the great comedy duos: A tall skinny guy and a short fat one. Early on the two men, who worked for rival newspapers in Chicago and often fought bitterly over scoops and other opportunities, seemed to dislike one another legitimately. Also, they frequently bickered, both on the air and in outtakes:

Later, especially once they earned wealth, worldwide fame, and frequent talk show appearances, the two became closer, although Ebert was not among the small circle of people made aware of the seriousness of Sickle’s health woes. 

But their on-air chemistry was never in doubt. The key to the show, the book makes clear, was the banter, and the crosstalk. That’s where the magic was, in every itineration of the show. 

The book goes into a lot of detail about everything from the duo’s contract negotiations, the changes in the name of the show, and its “balcony” set. One chapter notes that Siskel and Ebert took positions on various causes — film preservation, opposition to anti-“smut” campaigns by politicians, and resistance to fads like colorization and pan-and-scan VHS — for which history has shown them on the right side. 

It also goes into the various attempts to get the show to live on without Siskel or Ebert- including its doomed final incarnation, hosted by Christy Lemire and Ignatiy Vishnevetsky, with Ebert, by then no longer able to speak, shown typing his reviews while Bill Kurtis read them in voiceover. 

 (Vishnevetsky, still in his 20s at the time, shares the story about how he got the gig- Ebert overheard him talking after a screening and was impressed with his observations. So pay attention, young critics- if you’re witty enough after screenings, it might impress someone!) 

Siskel and Ebert’s influence is still felt on television today, although not so much on film — there exists no show on any network or streaming service based on two people arguing with each other about movies. Various sports and politics shows are built on that format, without really getting what’s great about it. 

The one true existing heir of Siskel and Ebert is the ESPN show Pardon the Interruption, with Michael Wilbon and Tony Kornheiser. Like Gene and Roger, they’re both career newspaper guys, whose banter with each other is inspired by the specific cadence of the newsroom, with a touch of the old-married-couple-style bickering that was also a staple of Siskel and Ebert, which they have acknowledged as an influence. PTI, which began in 2001, has now been on the air nearly as long as Siskel and Ebert’s shows were.

Ebert’s final act was so amazing and inspiring, as demonstrated in Steve James’ Life Itself documentary: Unable, thanks to cancer, to do two of his favorite things — eat and speak — he saw more movies in the final year of his life than any other, and his writing voice was as vital as ever. So many journalists of his generation eschewed the Internet, blogs, and Twitter, but Roger was a natural at all of them- and he even ensured his website would outlive him. My one byline at RogerEbert.com remains one of my most cherished. 

 Sure, some of this won’t be that new, especially if you’ve read Ebert’s memoir, Life Itself. But Opposable Thumbs is a very fun read, especially for long-time fans of Siskel and Ebert.