I am not on the op-ed page, have not written the novel, do not own the dog, but do have the cottage and a complete set of Dickens. I now find that I have been a film critic for 25 years. My reveries ended with a deep old wingback chair pulled up close to the fire in a cottage in the middle of the woods, where a big dog snored while I sank into a volume of Dickens. My master plan was to become an op-ed columnist and then eventually, of course, a great and respected novelist. At the time I thought that five years would be enough time to spend on the movie beat. I watched it from a center seat in the old World Playhouse, bursting with the awareness that I was reviewing it, and then I went back to the office and wrote that it was one more last gasp of the French New Wave, rolling ashore. It was a French film, I remember that much. Twenty-FiveYears In The Dark: Roger Ebertįor many years I remembered the name of the first film I ever reviewed, but now I find it has left my mind.
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