Roger Ebert

Roger Ebert cannot speak.

The acclaimed film critic lost his voice to complications from thyroid cancer four years ago. He can no longer relish solid food, drink good wine or talk about his favorite movies.

But in a way, his voice is still there, even if he can no longer move his lips. That's clear from this beautifully-rendered profile in the latest issue of Esquire.

I grew up on Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel. Their show, "At The Movies," was required viewing for this budding movie enthusiast. I had to see if they gave thumbs up or thumbs down to the latest movies.

Siskel and Ebert were a contrast of physicality. Siskel was nearly bald and slim and given to harsh take-downs of films. Ebert had silver hair, a round face and a softer tone. They were like the good cop/bad cop tag team of film criticism.

But they knew their stuff and they were fair. Their arguments were well-constructed and not too high-falutin' for the average viewer. They just loved movies. It was that simple.

And I loved movies too. I didn't always agree with them. I still don't understand why Ebert loved Eyes Wide Shut, that strange film from the late Stanley Kubrick focused on marriage and S&M and that featured the now-divorced Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman.

Chris Jones, who wrote the profile, captures a man finding new ways to communicate other than through his lips. Ebert scribbles his thoughts on Post-it notes while watching Pedro Almodovar's film, Broken Embraces. He taps out his musings on a blog, keeping his voice alive via the World Wide Web, a distant yet intimate form of dialogue.

And with his wife, Chaz, there is an ease of communication where words aren't needed that comes from 16 years of marriage.

This is no against-all-odds tale, some cliched-filled happy-go-lucky story. Instead, what emerges is Ebert as a man taking it one day at a time, dealing as best as he can with the crappy cards he has been dealt with.

He gets angry. He gets frustrated. You can see it in the shaking of his hands and the desperate grab for paper to put down this thoughts, even though the moment he starts writing, the feelings have already started to dissipate.

The picture that accompanies the story shows Ebert with large smiling eyes staring back at us. His face is thinner than I remember and it slopes into a weird V shape, the result of his lower jaw being taken out years ago because of the cancer.

I imagine him to be a loud voice locked in a quiet body bursting at the seams to make noise. But there are more ways to make noise than with your mouth. He writes. He scribbles. He taps his fingers across the keyboards on his computer.

Ebert can no longer speak but we hear him nonetheless.