Roger Ebert Talks Movingly About Losing and Re-Finding His Voice (TED 2011)

Film crit­ic Roger Ebert, like Pauline Kael before him, leaves behind a great tor­rent of words. Those of us accus­tomed to seek­ing out his opin­ion can com­fort our­selves on the Inter­net, where his thoughts on the great (and not-so-great) films of the last four decades live in per­pe­tu­ity.

After a rup­tured carotid artery robbed him of the pow­er of speech, words assumed an even greater impor­tance for Ebert. Even though he felt lucky to be alive in an age when most home com­put­ers come equipped with a text-to-speech option, he mourned the loss of inflec­tion, tim­ing, and spon­tane­ity. Cere­Proc, a Scot­tish firm spe­cial­iz­ing in per­son­al­ized com­put­er voic­es, cre­at­ed a cus­tom ver­sion he breezi­ly referred to as Roger Junior or Roger 2.0, a Franken­stein’s mon­ster assem­bled from hours of tele­vi­sion appear­ances. A noble, but flawed attempt. Despite his Mid­west­ern attrac­tion to Apple’s com­put­er­ized British accent, Ebert returned to its Amer­i­can male voice, “Alex”, as the most expres­sive option.

In 2011, the speech­less Ebert gave a TED Talk on the sub­ject. “Alex” was giv­en his moment to shine, but there’s no way the tech­no­log­i­cal mir­a­cle can com­pete with the human spec­ta­cle onstage.

Rather than rely on the rel­a­tive­ly autonomous voice sub­sti­tute, Ebert arranged for his wife, Chaz Ham­mel­smith, and friends Dean Ornish and John Hunter, to read his words from pre­pared scripts.

For­get W.C. Fields’ caveat about per­form­ing with chil­dren and dogs. Ebert stole his own show, shame­less­ly upstag­ing his loved ones with jol­ly pan­tomimed thumbs ups and oth­er antics. When he’s on cam­era, you can’t take your eyes off him…as he clear­ly knew. A 2010 Esquire arti­cle by Chica­go-based the­ater crit­ic, Chris Jones, described how the removal of Ebert’s low­er jaw gave him the aspect of a per­ma­nent smile. The dis­fig­ure­ment was shock­ing, but espe­cial­ly so on one whose face was so famil­iar. It led to fre­quent mis­as­sump­tions that he had been men­tal­ly inca­pac­i­tat­ed as well. Ham­mel­smith’s tears when she gets to this part of her hus­band’s elo­quent TED Talk speak vol­umes as well. His will­ing­ness to place him­self front and cen­ter, where peo­ple who might think it impo­lite to stare could not help but see and hear him as a whole per­son, was a rev­o­lu­tion­ary act.

“With­out intel­li­gence and mem­o­ry, there is no his­to­ry.”  — Roger Ebert, 1942 — 2013

Ayun Hal­l­i­day is a writer in the Big Apple.

“Professor Risk” at Cambridge University Says “One of the Biggest Risks is Being Too Cautious”

To eat bacon sand­wich­es? Or not to eat bacon sand­wich­es? That’s a ques­tion tack­led by David Spiegel­hal­ter, who holds the title, “Win­ton Pro­fes­sor for the Pub­lic Under­stand­ing of Risk” at Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty. Some­times they just call him “Pro­fes­sor Risk” for short.

In his aca­d­e­m­ic work, Spiegel­hal­ter looks at risk and uncer­tain­ty every day, see­ing how they affect the lives of indi­vid­u­als and soci­ety. You’d fig­ure that this might make him more cau­tious than the rest of us. But that’s not how it turns out. After ana­lyz­ing all of the data, Spiegel­hal­ter comes to this con­clu­sion: some cal­cu­lat­ed risks are worth it. They have min­i­mal down­side and make life worth liv­ing. Or, looked at a lit­tle dif­fer­ent­ly, some­times “one of the biggest risks [in life] is being too cau­tious.”

You can stay cur­rent on Spiegel­hal­ter’s think­ing by fol­low­ing his blog Under­stand­ing Uncer­tain­ty.

If you would like to sign up for Open Culture’s free email newslet­ter, please find it here. Or fol­low our posts on Threads, Face­book, BlueSky or Mastodon.

If you would like to sup­port the mis­sion of Open Cul­ture, con­sid­er mak­ing a dona­tion to our site. It’s hard to rely 100% on ads, and your con­tri­bu­tions will help us con­tin­ue pro­vid­ing the best free cul­tur­al and edu­ca­tion­al mate­ri­als to learn­ers every­where. You can con­tribute through Pay­Pal, Patre­on, and Ven­mo (@openculture). Thanks!

Relat­ed Con­tent:

J.K. Rowl­ing Tells Har­vard Grads Why Suc­cess Begins with Fail­ure

Paulo Coel­ho on The Fear of Fail­ure

Find Cours­es from Cam­bridge in our Col­lec­tion of Free Cours­es Online

 

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The Popular Science Digital Archive Lets You Explore Every Science and Technology-Filled Edition Since 1872

popsci

Pop­u­lar Sci­ence is the fifth old­est con­tin­u­ous­ly-pub­lished month­ly magazine—a long way of say­ing that the mag­a­zine has done a fine job of main­tain­ing a niche in a crazi­ly fast-paced indus­try. Found­ed in 1872 by sci­ence writer Edward Youmans to reach an audi­ence of edu­cat­ed laypeo­ple, Pop­u­lar Sci­ence today com­bines reviews of the lat­est gad­gets with sto­ries about inno­va­tion in design and sci­ence. It’s an orga­nized mish­mash of news about “the future now,” lib­er­al­ly defined. A recent issue includ­ed sto­ries about the military’s use of 3‑D print­ing and an astro­physi­cist who ques­tions whether Shake­speare wrote the entire Folio.

With that kind of breadth, the magazine’s archives cov­er just about every­thing. And it’s easy to browse through back issues, dat­ing all the way back to 1872, since the mag­a­zine teamed up with Google to put a search­able archive on the web. The ear­li­est issues, like this one from Feb­ru­ary 1920, fea­ture col­or cov­ers that bring to mind sci­ence fic­tion with a fas­ci­na­tion for the imag­ined future.

One of the cool things about the mag­a­zine is its equal atten­tion to new and old tech­nol­o­gy. Search for “scis­sors” and you will find this 1964 arti­cle about the mechan­ics of sharp­en­ing your own scis­sors. The archive also offers anoth­er search tool that returns results in a visu­al word fre­quen­cy grid, which is espe­cial­ly cool if you click the “ani­mate” but­ton. Any social his­to­ri­ans out there able to explain why the word “scis­sor” would appear so often in the mid-20th cen­tu­ry?

Inter­est­ing­ly, although the word “inter­net” dates back to the 1960s, the word did­n’t appear in the magazine’s pages until 1989.

Peri­od adver­tise­ments are includ­ed, which adds to the fun. This issue from Sep­tem­ber, 1944 includes a house-adver­tise­ment on the table of con­tents page call­ing for all col­lec­tors of back issues to con­sid­er sur­ren­der­ing them for the war cause. “There’s a war going on and this is no time for sen­ti­ment,” the ad urges. “Grit your teeth and dig out those stacks of back num­bers. Then turn them over to your local paper sal­vage dri­ve!”

Kate Rix writes about edu­ca­tion and dig­i­tal media. Vis­it her web­site: .

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Cor­nell Launch­es Archive of 150,000 Bird Calls and Ani­mal Sounds, with Record­ings Going Back to 1929

The Alan Lomax Sound Archive Now Online: Fea­tures 17,000 Record­ings

NASA Archive Col­lects Great Time-Lapse Videos of our Plan­et

50 Film Posters From Poland: From The Empire Strikes Back to Raiders of the Lost Ark

Raidersofthelostark9

We do not, alas, live in the gold­en age of Amer­i­can movie poster design. Some Unit­ed States inde­pen­dent films (and espe­cial­ly their Cri­te­ri­on Col­lec­tion DVD releas­es, if they get them) still fly under the ban­ner of strik­ing imagery designed by dar­ing artists and graph­ic design­ers, but for main­stream Hol­ly­wood pic­tures, the thrill has def­i­nite­ly gone. Even when their most icon­ic posters of decades past show­case admirable crafts­man­ship, they often lack a cer­tain artis­tic zing. Every Indi­ana Jones fan, for instance, has a spe­cial place in their heart for Raiders of the Lost Ark’s clas­sic poster, but even the sternest Indy purist would have to admit that one of the film’s Pol­ish posters, shown above, imme­di­ate­ly com­mu­ni­cates some­thing the orig­i­nal, near-pho­to­re­al­is­tic image does­n’t. You can see anoth­er Pol­ish ren­di­tion of Raiders, one that con­veys even more ful­ly the unex­pect­ed inten­si­ty of Har­ri­son Ford’s all-Amer­i­can hero archae­ol­o­gist, in this col­lec­tion fifty Pol­ish film posters from wellmed­icat­ed.

herzog polish

Fol­low­ers of many vari­eties of visu­al art, espe­cial­ly ani­ma­tion, know that Poland has a rich visu­al tra­di­tion indeed. Exe­cut­ed by the hand of a Pol­ish artist, ideas that would seem non­sen­si­cal or ridicu­lous any­where else in the world sud­den­ly make sense. Just above we have the Pol­ish poster adver­tis­ing Stroszek by Wern­er Her­zog, whose movies, based on his own inex­plic­a­ble but some­how sat­is­fy­ing ideas of “ecsta­t­ic truth,” per­haps mer­it Pol­ish posters more than any­one else’s. Just below, we see what Pol­ish view­ers saw when they lined up to buy tick­ets for Star Wars’ sequel The Empire Strikes Back. Maybe it strikes you as heresy to accept any­thing but Drew Struzan’s hardy, Darth Vad­er-cen­tric, explo­sion-laden orig­i­nal, but this one urges me to think about the entire­ty of Star Wars’ project in a whole new — or at least new­ly askew — way. The oth­er coun­try which has long led the way with inter­est­ing home­grown posters for Amer­i­can movies? Ghana.

via @sheerly

Polish-Movie-Posters-The-Empire-Strikes-Back

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­lesA Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

Borges: Profile of a Writer Presents the Life and Writings of Argentina’s Favorite Son, Jorge Luis Borges

“Al otro, a Borges, es a quien le ocur­ren las cosas,” begins the very short sto­ry “Borges y yo”. That trans­lates to “It’s to the oth­er man, to Borges, that things hap­pen” in Eng­lish. The tale’s author, Jorge Luis Borges, lived his life between Eng­lish and his native Span­ish, just as he lived between his pub­lic and pri­vate per­sonas. No sur­prise, then, that his writ­ing gen­er­ates so much ener­gy from mat­ters of iden­ti­ty, lan­guage, and thought, and thus makes you want to learn more about the mind behind it. Here at Open Cul­ture, we par­tic­u­lar­ly enjoy doing our learn­ing through Are­na, the BBC’s intel­lec­tu­al­ly omniv­o­rous and artis­ti­cal­ly lib­er­at­ed tele­vi­sion doc­u­men­tary series. The 1983 broad­cast above, takes as its sub­ject the imag­i­na­tive Argen­tine mas­ter of the short sto­ry. The show has always done well by what we might call cult writ­ers (see also its episode on the no less imag­i­na­tive Philip K. Dick), and the cult of Borges now seems broad­er and more enthu­si­as­tic than ever. If you count your­self as a mem­ber, this episode “Borges and I” makes for required view­ing.

Sit­ting down with Are­na, the elder­ly Borges speaks with­out hes­i­ta­tion on his rela­tion­ship to lan­guage, his dis­cov­ery of his own lim­i­ta­tions as a writer, the regimes that have ruled his home­land, his pro­fes­sion­al life spent at libraries (includ­ing his time as direc­tor of Argenti­na’s Bib­liote­ca Nacional), and his accel­er­at­ing blind­ness. We see scenes of life in Borges’ beloved Buenos Aires. We see the writer step­ping care­ful­ly through the city streets, cane in one hand, feel­ing the build­ings with the oth­er. We see, per­haps most fas­ci­nat­ing­ly of all, dra­ma­tized pas­sages of Borges’ most famous sto­ries: “Funes the Mem­o­ri­ous”, about a peas­ant con­demned to remem­ber every­thing per­fect­ly, los­ing his abil­i­ty to gen­er­al­ize, and thus to think; “The Cir­cu­lar Ruins”, about a man attempt­ing to dream anoth­er human being into exis­tence, detail by minute detail; “Death and the Com­pass”, about a detec­tive who either acci­den­tal­ly or delib­er­ate­ly walks straight into a vil­lain’s elab­o­rate, tetra­gram­ma­ton-based trap. Borges’ fans tend to think of his sto­ries as thor­ough­ly wrapped up in, and insep­a­ra­ble from, the text that con­sti­tute them, but some of these seg­ments con­vince me that, as movies, they would­n’t turn out half-bad.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

Jorge Luis Borges’ 1967–8 Nor­ton Lec­tures On Poet­ry (And Every­thing Else Lit­er­ary)

Borges: The Task of Art

Jorge Luis Borges: The Mir­ror Man

Col­in Mar­shall hosts and pro­duces Note­book on Cities and Cul­ture and writes essays on lit­er­a­ture, film, cities, Asia, and aes­thet­ics. He’s at work on a book about Los Ange­les, A Los Ange­les Primer. Fol­low him on Twit­ter at @colinmarshall.

David Bowie Releases 36 Music Videos of His Classic Songs from the 1970s and 1980s

Last month, David Bowie released The Next Dayhis first new album in a decade. That’s a long time to go with­out an album — long enough that fans could per­haps use a refresh­er, a reminder of why they should splurge for the new mate­r­i­al. So, in con­junc­tion with the release of The Next Day, Bowie has opened the vaults and put online a won­der­ful set of videos record­ed dur­ing his gold­en years. It’s a visu­al and aur­al treat. Today, I’ve pulled togeth­er my per­son­al favorites, all from the 1970s. That’s how I roll. But, if you’re an 80s Bowie fan, there’s some­thing there for you too. Fash­ion, Ash­es to Ash­esChi­na Girl, a duet with Mick Jag­ger record­ed for Live Aid in 85 — they’re all includ­ed in the col­lec­tion of 36 videos.

Now watch a few of these clips — we’re start­ing you off above with “Life on Mars?” — and then ask your­self: Are you ready to down­load The Next Day?

Space Odd­i­ty (1972)

Star­man (1972)

The Jean Genie (1972)

Heroes (1977)

Relat­ed Con­tent:

How “Space Odd­i­ty” Launched David Bowie to Star­dom: Watch the Orig­i­nal Music Video From 1969

The Sto­ry of Zig­gy Star­dust: How David Bowie Cre­at­ed the Char­ac­ter that Made Him Famous

Lis­ten to Fred­die Mer­cury and David Bowie on the Iso­lat­ed Vocal Track for the Queen Hit ‘Under Pres­sure,’ 1981

David Bowie & Bing Cros­by Sing “The Lit­tle Drum­mer Boy” (1977)

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Read the Original Letters Where Charles Darwin Worked Out His Theory of Evolution

darwin letter2

So much has been writ­ten about hand-writ­ten let­ters, most­ly lament­ing their death. What else can be added about the beau­ti­ful vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty of hand­writ­ing and the sat­is­fy­ing feel of paper sta­tion­ary and envelopes, not to men­tion the mir­a­cle of let­ter deliv­ery? Think of all those heart­sick sol­diers in wars old and mod­ern receiv­ing an actu­al let­ter from home, thou­sands of miles away.

The only news about let­ter writ­ing is that we con­tin­ue to dis­cov­er its val­ue. Just recent­ly Cam­bridge Uni­ver­si­ty pub­lished some 1,200 let­ters exchanged between Charles Dar­win and his clos­est friend, the botanist Joseph Dal­ton Hook­er. The let­ters span 40 years of Darwin’s work­ing life, from 1843 to his death in 1882, and join the oth­er let­ters in the Dar­win Cor­re­spon­dence Project.

There is so much to appre­ci­ate about these let­ters. Call it 19th cen­tu­ry bro­mance, if you must, but the cor­re­spon­dence between Dar­win and Hook­er touched on near­ly every sub­ject, sci­en­tif­ic and per­son­al. Dar­win wrote Hook­er for his help nego­ti­at­ing with pub­lish­ers, for his opin­ion about whether seeds from islands with­out four-legged ani­mals are ever hook-shaped, and for his sup­port after his 6‑year-old daugh­ter Maria died.

From a sci­en­tif­ic point of view the most impor­tant let­ter may be the one Dar­win wrote Hook­er on Jan­u­ary 11, 1844. Writ­ing from his home, Down House in Kent, Dar­win fires ques­tions at Hook­er about seeds, seashells and Arc­tic species—his mind obvi­ous­ly a blur of activity—and then describes that his work has tak­en a “pre­sump­tu­ous” turn. After years of research and col­lect­ing spec­i­mens, he was begin­ning to form an idea that “species are not (it is like con­fess­ing a mur­der) immutable.”

Fif­teen years lat­er Dar­win pub­lished On the Ori­gin of Species. (Find it on our Free Audio Books and Free eBooks col­lec­tions.)

In his let­ters to Hook­er, him­self a great botanist and explor­er, Dar­win works out and wor­ries over his ideas. In one let­ter he express­es impa­tience with all oth­er exist­ing expla­na­tions for the geo­graph­i­cal dis­tri­b­u­tion of plants.

The Cor­re­spon­dence Project has archived more than 7,500 of Darwin’s let­ters alto­geth­er, includ­ing the mail he sent home while at sea aboard The Bea­gle. Dar­win was 22 when he joined a team to chart the coast of South Amer­i­ca, a trip that was planned for two years but which stretched into five. After a bout of sea­sick­ness, Dar­win wrote home to his father.

A quick aside to those who long for the days of long let­ters and who believe that our IQs drop a point with each text: Take note of Darwin’s lib­er­al use of amper­sands, numer­als and quaint 19th cen­tu­ry con­trac­tions (sh’d for should, etc.). IMHO, these are all just Vic­to­ri­an short­cuts to speed up the process of hand­writ­ing when the mind can work so much more quick­ly.

Kate Rix writes about edu­ca­tion and dig­i­tal media. Vis­it her web­site: .

A Young, Clean Cut Jim Morrison Appears in a 1962 Florida State University Promo Film

Here’s a weird one: weirdo Doors front­man Jim Mor­ri­son, native of Flori­da, the weird­est state in the Union (well, it is!), stars in a pro­mo film for Flori­da State Uni­ver­si­ty. Morrison’s char­ac­ter gets a bum­mer of a let­ter inform­ing him that he has been reject­ed from FSU, and lat­er meets with an admin­is­tra­tor who gives him the low­down. Of course, as one YouTube com­menter quips, “when one door clos­es, The Doors open” (heh). So, fine, Mor­ri­son didn’t need Flori­da State—he lived fast, died young, and left the most famous grave in his­to­ry.

Morrison mug_shot

But as his fans know, the well-read Mor­ri­son was no intel­lec­tu­al slouch; he start­ed the Doors while study­ing film at UCLA, to which he’d trans­ferred from Flori­da State, where he enrolled in 1962. In addi­tion to get­ting cast in the pro­mo above, while at FSU Mor­ri­son got arrest­ed for a school prank (see his ’63 mugshot at left), made some short films, and did his share of carous­ing. One fel­low stu­dent, Ger­ry McClain, remem­bers Mor­ri­son from his FSU days in an inter­view with the site Amer­i­can Leg­ends:

He hung around with a bohemi­an crowd: peo­ple who liked to wear pants with holes in them. Jim posed as a mod­el for the art depart­ment, and they would all sell blood to the Red Cross to get a few bucks. Once, I saw Jim go around the col­lege cof­fee shop eat­ing scraps off tables. I felt he–and the others–were liv­ing an image–the starv­ing young artist.

But Mor­ri­son was­n’t exact­ly a starv­ing artist. He was, in fact, the son of Rear Admi­ral George Stephen Mor­ri­son, com­man­der of the U.S. Naval forces in the inci­dent that sparked the Viet­nam War. Weird, right? Watch the elder Mor­ri­son and Jim’s sis­ter Anne in inter­view remem­brances of Jim in the video below.

Relat­ed Con­tent:

See Jimi Hendrix’s First TV Appear­ance, and His Last as a Back­ing Musi­cian (1965)

A Young Frank Zap­pa Plays the Bicy­cle on The Steve Allen Show (1963)

Jim­my Page, 13, Plays Gui­tar on BBC Tal­ent Show (1957)

Josh Jones is a writer and musi­cian based in Wash­ing­ton, DC. Fol­low him @jdmagness

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