Chicago is raising a bronze statue to Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel at Prudential Plaza, designed by sculptor Preston Jackson. The fundraising auction is full of genuine artifacts from their lives — memorabilia that will vanish into private collections while the statue remains visible and permanent, which is precisely the problem. A memorial to critics doesn't honor what they actually did. It ossifies what they happened to think at the moment they stopped thinking.
Ebert and Siskel spent nearly thirty years arguing on television, changing their minds, contradicting themselves, reversing earlier positions. That adversarial argument — two educated people genuinely disagreeing in real time. Was the whole engine. The moment it stopped, it became fixed.
But here's what happened next: the American Film Institute released its 100 Years lists in the late 1990s, canon-formation on an institutional scale. Film critics in the years that followed noticed that Siskel and Ebert's combined influence had already calcified those rankings into a consensus that felt constraining rather than liberating to a younger generation. The statue effect arrived decades before the statue did. Their taste, which should have remained alive and arguable, had become a floor plan.
You can feel this happening everywhere now. Every major voice gets memorialized before their thinking is actually finished, their positions lacquered into place while they're still alive to contradict them. The Celebrity Traitors finale airs and instantly becomes canon. A director's career is assessed in real time as if it's complete. We preserve the work before we've done the work of actually arguing about what it means.
What Ebert and Siskel proved was that criticism works best as a living argument, not a finished monument. A statue in Chicago will teach visitors that these men mattered. It won't teach them how to think. It will teach them how Ebert and Siskel thought. Is the exact opposite of what they spent their careers teaching us to do.