Looking back at recent postings, I realize that I somehow neglected to blog Roger Ebert's review of The Longest Yard, which is a masterpiece (the review, not the movie). Ebert saw The Longest Yard, liked it enough to give it a muted "thumbs up" on his television show, and then immediately flew to Cannes, where he saw twenty-five movies, "most of them attempts at greatness"—and then found himself in front of his computer, trying, without a lot of enthusiasm, to justify that vertical thumb for The Longest Yard. His response, chronicled at length in his review, has been a bit controversial, but I think he solves the problem brilliantly.

I've probably said this before, but I really do think that Roger Ebert is one of the best writers in America, and one of the sanest, most generous, and most literate guys around. (He also seems to have put together a pretty nice life for himself, judging from a recent profile in the New York Times.) I've been reading him regularly since I was seven years old, and owe him an awful lot—my love of movies, maybe, and my love of criticism, certainly. We don't always agree—he famously hated Blue Velvet, for example—but it's hard to think of a writer, of any era, for whom I feel more affection.