I've written a few hundred thousand words on music in the last few years, but what many do not know is that my desire to express myself came from my love of film. Back when I was in college, I found myself in a funk that would last pretty much my entire college experience. Music stopped speaking to me during this time and left me in the cold (aside from my insatiable interest in a number of classic artists). My only escape from the ache was cinema. Early in my freshman year I took a deep dive into the world of Martin Scorsese. What I discovered was someone who created art that shook the foundations of my soul and boiled my blood. Goodfellas, Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, After Hours, Mean Streets, The King of Comedy, Casino�each film pierced my heart, mind and soul as if I was struck by a bolt of lightning. When I watched Taxi Driver I no longer felt alone, my luck appeared to be far greater than that of Paul Hackett's in After Hours and the self inflicted loathing that Jake LaMotta imposed upon himself in Raging Bull proved to be a portrayal that was too thorny for me to watch more than once because it hit close to home. Yet, no matter how hard it was to see these characters rage with internal demons, it helped me understand and come to terms with my own. But then there was The Last Temptation of Christ, which took me at least four viewings to fully grasp it and ultimately allowed me to come to terms with my own Catholic guilt because he showed me a Christ unlike any other; one that was human and one I could relate to. I would often venture to the theater by myself and watch movies in my basement until the early morning hours seeking solace and answers from them. Even though Scorsese's world was one full of chaos and confusion, I felt at home when I spent time with his films. It reaffirmed my inner strength and ultimately reminded me that beneath all of the sin and ugliness of the world was redemption.

On the flipside of directors like Scorsese were the critics Siskel and Ebert. As early as I can remember, I watched Siskel and Ebert when they were on television. Ironically, I didn't see a lot of movies until I reached college, but somehow, it never stopped me from watching them every Saturday night on television and being enthralled by what they loved and hated. When I started watching two and three movies a day in college, their show became as vital as Sunday Mass to my life. Whether I agreed with their opinions or not didn't matter; I was enthralled by their camaraderie and was eternally grateful for exposing me to films I never would have known about which were often championed on the show. It was this same championing that brought Martin Scorsese and Roger Ebert together. Ebert wrote the first review of a Scorsese film in 1967, I Call First which was later renamed Who's That Knocking At My Door. That review is in this book, as is his latest Shine A Light from this past April. Ebert has been pondering this book for years, almost decades, but the University of Chicago press convinced him he had enough material from the last forty years to gather for an entire book and what a stunning tribute it is to both Ebert and Scorsese. What differentiates Ebert from other newspaper journalists is that he writes as if every piece were his last. There are no lazy reviews, each is well written, researched and edited as if it's readymade for a book. One of the most astonishing aspects I discovered was how spot on and concise Ebert's writing is over his entire forty year career. One part of me was disappointed that Ebert chose to not to start from square one and compose new prose for this book, but that ultimately would have been a mistake. The book contains every word Ebert has ever written on Scorsese including interviews and there are plenty of new reflections here to make this new to even the most ardent Ebert and Scorsese fanatics (like myself).

The book has something for everyone. It's split into six sections each with a new introduction, full length reviews of every single Scorsese film, interviews, special writings, six reconsiderations, a full 1997 conversation from Ohio State University and lastly five reviews from his "Great Films" series, entitled "Masterpieces". No stone is left unturned and the most interesting and revealing are the "Reconsiderations". The films chosen for the "Reconsideration" piece range from his conflicted feelings of The King of Comedy to his four-star review of The Last Temptation of Christ. Writers often don't have the ability to always accomplish everything they want in a review due to space limitations and deadlines. More importantly, time and further life experiences provide you with a new perspective. Some albums and films take time to reveal their true colors and in this space Ebert offers a new insight into these films rather than revisionist reviews and even in a few cases shakes the sugar off the lens. It's refreshing to hear him still be conflicted about The King of Comedy but on the other hand, he is able to do a more revealing and intuitive review for The Last Temptation of Christ (his original was more about the controversy surrounding the film rather than its artistic merit). He doesn't backtrack so much as offer fresh and updated viewpoints that are as engaging as any review ever written on Scorsese.

Martin Scorsese was the first artist whose admiration and love of his art forced me to try and find a vernacular I could convey. Watching and discussing the films wasn't enough for me. I needed to articulate something more. On the morning of March 13, 1998 my senior thesis Martin Scorsese: Made In America-The Great American Narrator was coming out of the printer in my house when I opened the paper to see that on that very day, a Twenty-Fifth Anniversary print of Mean Streets would be opening that day at the Music Box Theater (Ebert's review that appeared two days later is in the "Masterpieces" section of this book). It was such an ironic and suitable end to my college career, that I caught the film twice in the following week and felt like I needed to dissect it, discuss it and expunge my feelings onto paper. The world needed to hear it as well. The same went for Ebert whose career and life parallel's Scorsese (they were born six-months apart) and no other film critic has written as extensively on this master director, as this book demonstrates.

I have tried to think of a comparative relationship to the world of sports or music in relation to Ebert/Scorsese and I can't think of one. Maybe if Robert Christgau wrote a book on the Rolling Stones or if Chuck Klosterman wrote about KISS, we'd have a viable comparison. Regardless, I only wish that every book on film was filled with a tenth of the enthusiasm and sentiment as this one. Far too many books are light on heart and heavy on distant rhetoric. While these books are well researched and executed, I find myself detached from them. Ebert's prose is inviting and intellectual, especially when the topic is one he admires as much as Martin Scorsese. The book is a testament from two artists whose love of the cinema has no limits. Its one thing to be brilliant and knowledgeable about a subject and it's another to evoke emotions from your work; Ebert and Scorsese both have a way of ultimately poetically expressing a cathartic view of the world and that is why they are the greatest artists of their respective mediums working today. Scorsese by Ebert is an illuminating and insightful look at a virtuoso director written by a virtuoso journalist; it's the Citizen Kane of film criticism.

Anthony Kuzminski is a Chicago based writer and Special Features Editor for the antiMusic Network and his daily writings can be read at The Screen Door and can be contacted at thescreendoor AT gmail DOT com.

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