CHICAGO -- It was reviewing movies that made Roger Ebert as famous and wealthy as many of the stars who felt the sting or caress of his pen or were the recipients of his televised thumbs-up or thumbs-down judgments.

But in words and in life he displayed the soul of a poet whose passions and interests extended far beyond the darkened theaters where he spent so much of his professional life.

The Pulitzer Prize-winning movie critic for the Chicago Sun-Times for more than 45 years, and for more than three decades the co-host of one of the most powerful programs in television history (initially with the late Gene Siskel, the Chicago Tribune's movie critic), Ebert died Thursday in Chicago.

He was 70 years old and was no stranger to hospitals. In his later years he was beset by a series of maladies, including cancer, and many operations that robbed him of parts of his face and the ability to speak (he was a celebrated conversationalist), eat and drink (he was prodigiously accomplished at both) and take long walks in foreign cities (London and Venice, most romantically).

Still, his death came as a shock, coming only two days after he posted a relatively buoyant update on his popular rogerebert.com blog indicating that, even though his cancer had returned, he optimistically and hopefully would be taking "a leave of presence."

"It means I am not going away," Ebert wrote. "I'll be able at last to do what I've always fantasized about doing: reviewing only the movies I want to review."

He was also looking forward to the 15th-annual Roger Ebert's Film Festival later this month in his hometown of Urbana, Ill.

At the news of his death, the Internet filled with tributes and memories, local TV and radio stations broke format to cover the story, and statements were issued.

"Michelle and I are saddened to hear about the passing of Roger Ebert," said President Barack Obama in a statement. "For a generation of Americans - and especially Chicagoans - Roger was the movies."

Chicago Mayor Rahm Emanuel in his statement said, "Roger championed Chicago as a center for filmmaking and critiques. ... (He) will be remembered for the strength of his work, respected for his courage in the face of illness, and revered for his contribution to filmmaking and to our city. The final reel of his life may have run through to the end, but his memory will never fade."

Illinois Gov. Pat Quinn's statement offered this: "Roger Ebert was a great man. No doubt Gene Siskel is saving him a seat in the balcony upstairs."

"We are touched by all the kindness and the outpouring of love we've received," wrote Ebert's wife, Chaz. "I am devastated by the loss of my love, Roger - my husband, my friend, my confidante and oh-so-brilliant partner of over 20 years."

Prolific almost to the point of disbelief - the Sun-Times often featured as many as nine Ebert reviews on a given Friday, in addition to periodic interviews, and potent pieces for the opinion pages - Ebert was arguably the most powerful movie critic in the history of that art form. He was also the author of 17 books, a contributor to various magazines, author of a lively and award-winning blog, active in all forms of social media and an inspiring teacher and lecturer at the University of Chicago.

"Many people don't know, because Roger's movie reviews became so famous, that he was also a magnificent writer of magazine profiles," said Roger Simon, a former Sun-Times columnist, colleague, friend and now chief political columnist for politco.com. "I remember his early stuff for Esquire, especially. I used to study the structure and especially how he handled dialogue."

Simon and his wife, Marcia Kramer, another former Ebert colleague, had paid visits to Ebert over the last few years. "He was always in good spirits as we remembered old friends and wild times. He once told me, 'All writing is a journey. You take the reader by the hand and you lead him somewhere. And you want to make sure he never lets go of your hand.'"

Roger Joseph Ebert was born in downstate Urbana on June 18, 1942, the only child of Walter, an electrician, and Annabel, a bookkeeper.

His passion for journalism sparked early. He published his own neighborhood paper while in grammar school and in high school was co-editor of the school paper, published a science fiction fanzine and wrote for The News-Gazette in Champaign. His desire to attend Harvard University thwarted by his parents' inability to afford that Ivy League institution, he attended the nearby University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, majoring in journalism and becoming editor of the campus paper, The Daily Illini, where Simon and Kramer would later work.

He began selling freelance stories and book reviews to the Chicago Daily News and Chicago Sun-Times during this time, after coming to Chicago to pursue a Ph.D. in English at the University of Chicago. In 1966, he was hired as a writer for the Sun-Times' Midwest magazine. Six months later he became movie critic.

His reviews, from the start and ever since, were at once artful and accessible. In 1975 he was awarded the Pulitzer Prize for criticism, the first to be awarded for film criticism.

Those were raucous newspapering days (and nights). Ebert was part of the crowd that often congregated at such bygone saloons as Riccardo's, the Old Town Ale House and O'Rourke's on North Avenue. It was there that Ebert would entertain the crowd of colleagues and admirers with his sharp wit, boyish playfulness and charming erudition.

Competition between rival newspaper reporters and critics was savage in those days. As Siskel, then the Tribune's movie critic, later recalled, "We intensely disliked each other. We perceived each other as a threat to our well-being."

But in 1975, Eliot Wald, a producer at the local PBS station, WTTW-TV, had the idea of pairing Siskel and Ebert on a television show about movies and persuaded them both to give it a shot. Thea Flaum was the executive producer of what was then called "Opening Soon at a Theater Near You."

The early episodes now appear as crude and unpolished as some of the shows on cable access. But at the time they were refreshing: Here were two men who, in physical appearance and personality, were unlike anything else on the tube.

These were not the typically neatly coiffed and sun-brushed talking heads. And they were not prim and polite; they argued.

Their enthusiasm for and knowledge of movies was palpable, and by providing clips from current releases they were giving viewers a consumer-friendly, witty, intelligent and entertaining package.

Still, few could have predicted either the eventual success of the show or the natural fit of the two personalities; they were uncannily well matched and early on showed the ability to turn debate into an art.

The show became more popular with each season, taking a new name, "Sneak Previews," and gaining a national audience in 1978 when it was syndicated on PBS, where it would become for a time the most highly rated show in PBS history. In 1982, the pair signed with Tribune Entertainment and renamed the program "At the Movies." In 1986 they were lured into the fold of Buena Vista Television, a division of the Walt Disney Co., and changed the show's name to "Siskel & Ebert at the Movies."

By this time the TV show had made Siskel and Ebert rich and famous. It had also made them the most powerful critics in the world, according to many polls and industry experts, as well as American pop cultural icons, sometimes referred to as "Sisbert." They spawned imitators and were firmly embedded in the American celebrity fabric due to frequent appearances on "The Tonight Show," "Late Night with David Letterman" and "Oprah."

In 1999 Siskel died after a quiet battle against complications that arose after a growth was removed from his brain 10 months earlier. He was only 53.

"I remember after we first started out," Ebert recalled at the time, "and we were on a talk show and this old actor Buddy Rogers said to us, 'The trouble with you guys is that you have a sibling rivalry.' We did. He was like a brother, and I loved him that way."

Though the public deemed the on-air chemistry more contentious than it actually was, Ebert recently summarized the relationship thusly: "How meaningless was the hate, how deep was the love."

Ebert carried on with the show, teaming with Sun-Times colleague Richard Roeper for "Ebert & Roeper & the Movies," which began airing in 2000. Although his name remained in the title, Ebert did not appear on the show after mid-2006, when he suffered post-surgical complications for thyroid cancer and was unable to speak. He ended his association with the show in July 2008. His last TV venture, "Ebert Presents: At the Movies," ran for a short time early in 2011, his reviews voiced by others, including Bill Kurtis and this reporter.

He continued to write, devoting a great deal of time to his blog, where he discussed movies, among many topics, and detailed personal stories about his struggles and joys, including his bout with booze, which ended in 1979 when he joined Alcoholics Anonymous.

Many of those memories formed the foundation for his easygoing, candid and altogether charming 2011 autobiography, or, as he titled it, "Life Itself: A Memoir."

"I didn't intend for (my blog) to drift into autobiography, but in blogging there is a tidal drift that pushes you that way," he wrote in the book. "Some of these words, since rewritten and expanded, first appeared in blog form. Most are here for the first time. They come pouring forth in a flood of relief."

And so, he writes about his boyhood dog Blackie and a great deal about Steak & Shake, the fast-food chain. ("If I were on death row, my last meal would be from Steak & Shake.") He vividly reminds us that among his many writings was the screenplay for Russ Meyer's 1970 "Beyond the Valley of the Dolls" and the story for one of Meyer's later films.

An enthusiastic and self-proclaimed aficionado of beautiful and accomplished women - he had a bit of a crush on and friendship with Oprah Winfrey for a short time - Ebert married trial attorney Charlie "Chaz" Hammel-Smith on July 18, 1993.

His affection for her and her extended family peppers the book, and his love for her is palpable: "My life as an independent adult began after I met Chaz."

So is his gratitude for her indefatigable devotion during his operations and rehabilitations, writing: "I was very sick. ... This woman never lost her love, and when it was necessary she forced me to want to live. ... Her love was like a wind pushing me from the grave."

The pair were energetic hosts for parties at their homes in the Lincoln Park neighborhood of Chicago and in Harbert, Mich. Though Ebert's health did not allow them to travel as they once did, his memory could capture previous journeys. Here he is writing at his most elegant in "Life Itself": "Romance in the winter in Venice is intimate and private, almost hushed. One night we went to the Municipal Casino, carefully taking only as much money as we were ready to lose, and lost it. In a little restaurant we had enough left for spaghetti with two plates and afterward lacked even the fare for the canal bus. We walked the long way back through the night and cold, our arms around each other, figures appearing out of the fog, lights traced on the wet stones, pausing now and again to kiss and be solemn."

Most of his books understandably focus on movies. But in "Life Itself" one can get to know Ebert beyond the darkened theaters.

The book has also inspired a documentary that is in the early stages of production here. It is being directed by Steve James of Kartemquin Films, the team that brought forth "Hoop Dreams," the 1994 movie that Ebert tirelessly championed. One of the Ebert film's executive producers is Martin Scorcese.

In his career Ebert grew from celebrated critic to venerated and beloved icon. His courageous health struggles, first viewed with sympathy, eventually drew deep admiration and inspired courage in others.

In "Life Itself," Ebert tells us that the first movie he ever saw was "A Day at the Races." That may have helped set his course but there would have been no way to have predicted how many of us - reading the newspapers, watching TV or plugging into social media -would be along for the colorful, influential and meaningful ride.

He is survived by his wife, stepchildren Sonia and Jay, and grandchildren Raven, Emil, Mark and Joseph.

• Read more articles by RICK KOGAN

Order Reprint