When I was offered an interview with film critic Roger Ebert, I leapt at the chance. I didn’t care what movie he was going to talk about, what time of day the interview was scheduled for, or how long a feature I would have to write to land the interview, I wanted to talk to Roger. Young and inexperienced as I was, there was one major reason that I wanted to talk to him: I was hoping that when he learned that I was based in Chicago he would want to go to lunch with me. At worst, I figured, I’d meet Ebert and maybe we’d ‘only’ nod hello to one another when we’d bump into one another in the future. It’s the kind of logic that makes perfect sense when you’re 24 and you can count on one hand the number of interviews you’ve done.
Two days before my interview with Ebert, I received the word... I was getting a 15-minute phone interview with him. "I’m doing a phone interview with a man who lives less than 20 minutes from my apartment?" I asked the publicist who was setting up the interview. "You are now," she said, completely unfazed by my begging.
The next day I was supposed to see a press screening of writer-director Richard Linklater’s film, Waking Life. Since the movie was playing at the Chicago International Film Festival, I called the festival office to find out what time the screening was taking place. I was told that the screening was to start the next morning at 10:30. Having never attended a press screening before, I decided to bring a friend with me for moral support.
We arrived at the screening room at 10:15, intent on getting a good seat and making sure that there were no problems. Entering the screening room, I met a publicist whom I’d never seen before. I told her that I was there to see the 10:30 screening of Waking Life and after giving her my name, the name of the magazine and mentioning the fact that I was going to be interviewing Linklater the following day, she directed my friend and I to two seats in the theater.
The screening room slowly began to fill up. I was surprised to see such notable film critics as the Chicago Tribune’s Michael Wilmington, Richard Roeper and Ebert himself filing in. I couldn’t believe that I was attending a screening with such illustrious critics. I’d done four interviews in my life; Ebert had been writing about film for thirty years.
I turned to my friend and asked, "Do you think I should introduce myself to Ebert? I have that interview with him tomorrow." My friend shrugged and told me he didn’t know. I didn’t see any harm in simply introducing myself, and stood up to do so. As I got out of my chair, I felt a tap on my shoulder coming from the row behind me. I looked back and saw the publicist who had originally told me about the screening.
"You guys are going to have to leave," he told me in a whisper. "They changed the screening times on me and you’re here at the wrong time." He nodded towards the door and told my friend and me to follow him.
Clambering over several people in my row, I accidentally kicked over a 24-ounce cup of Pepsi that someone had set on the floor. The liquid quickly surged towards Ebert, who was sitting in the row just behind me, rushing towards his shoes. I grimaced and tried to exit the theater as quickly as I could, promptly swinging my backpack into Ebert’s outstretched leg as I attempted to shoulder it.
I eventually managed to get into the hallway outside the screening room and cringed. Had anyone else ever physically accosted an upcoming interview subject before? And spilled Pepsi on them? It wasn’t purposeful, mind you, but Ebert didn’t know that.
The next day, as I waited for my phone interview to begin, a multitude of thoughts ran through my head: would he recognize my voice, could he have somehow known who I was, would he still invite me to his dwelling in Hyde Park for a dinner?
During the interview, it did come up that I had seen Waking Life, but I tried to keep the when’s, where’s and how’s under wraps, for obvious reasons.
Ebert really had the last laugh, though, as he mistakenly called me ‘Randy’ during our interview.
To date, I have yet to dine with Mr. Ebert, or visit his home, though I would still love to.
chris neumer
