Here's my ranting and ravings on Ebert in my review of "I Spit On Your Grave".
And here's Ebert's review of "Last Tango In Paris".
Spoilers, 4 out of 4 stars.
And here's an article containing a video where the director of "Last Tango In Paris", admits the butter rape scene was real.
And apparently, Maria Schneider had been saying it was rape for years, and no one listened.
I didn't know about any of this, cuz I didn't know the history of the movie, and haven't even seen it.
Ebert could plead no such ignorance.
He lived through the controversy, and it's one of his favorite films.
So, artsy-fartsy movie with a real rape in it, 4/4 stars, and a big fat oozing of pretentiousness.
"I Spit On Your Grave", with fake rape, Ebert acts like it's a real crime, and wants the director's head, and tries to ruin him.
So, let's go back to my "I Spit On Your Grave", review.
Then Ebert died.
The bastard died.
What a dirty trick.
I felt horrible about my ranting.
I tried for the last few years to backpedal it, to apologize to his ghost, to philosophize about my misspent passion and fervor, and see his career from a more positive perspective in spite of it all.
To evolve past my former outlook, and put it behind me in a classy way.
And then this falls in my lap.
And the guilt ends.
Goes up like a piece of flash paper.
Fuck Ebert, fuck Brando, fuck Bertolucci.
Fuck you, you bastards.
You gross, boomer-age bastards.
My Ebert rants stand for all time.
Fuck you, Roger.
Fuck what you did to "I Spit On Your Grave", fuck what you did to Lloyd Kaufman's career, fuck what you tried to do to Freddy, and Jason, and "Silent Night Deadly Night", and on and on and on up to "Human Centipede".
Meanwhile, you watched a real rape, over, and over, and over.
And found it beautiful.
The guilt is done, and so too my journey with Ebert.
I admit, he was my hero in my teens.
His entries in Cinemania '93 (a CD-ROM movie guide before IMDB was a thing) were the best, I drank them like sacred wine.
He helped me develop as a movie hound.
I'll always be thankful to the nicer side of him for that.
But, Brando had a nice side too, he was Jor-El, but he raped a chick on film.
So, people are a mixed bag, is the take away.
Ebert taught me what to be and not be as a critic, and what not to be as a human.
I guess that's my philosophical lesson from the whole thing after all.
Goodbye, Roger Ebert, teacher, friend, enemy, and teacher again.
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