If you haven’t seen it yet, there’s a really interesting profile of film critic Roger Ebert in the most recent Esquire. (I’ve been shunning the net the last couple of days to catch up on real print media.) You can access the electronic version of the article here. I grew up in the area near Chicago that is called Michiana or The Region by some, so I always got a double dose of Roger Ebert—both the print and television versions. He was never my favorite film reviewer in the world, but it’s hard not to check out what he has to say about things from time to time, no? So this article is an interesting peek into what’s been happening with him the last four years or so. He can’t speak, he can’t travel much, he writes constantly, and he’s gotten more pensive and emotional. Seems he sheds a tear for Gene Siskel almost every day now. But what does all that have to do with Spanish? Well, during the author’s research for the article, Ebert was in the midst of reviewing Almodóvar’s new film Broken Embraces—a film I still haven’t seen because of its ridiculously short run in St. Louis. Ebert gave it four stars.
Pedro Almodóvar loves the movies with lust and abandon and the skill of an experienced lover. “Broken Embraces” is a voluptuary of a film, drunk on primary colors, caressing Penélope Cruz, using the devices of a Hitchcock to distract us with surfaces while the sinister uncoils beneath. As it ravished me, I longed for a freeze-frame to allow me to savor a shot.