Even Maverick's feeling nostalgic today.
Once upon a time, I literally got in Roger Ebert's way.
The year was 2010. I was leaving a screening of Werner Herzog's Cave of Forgotten Dreams at the TIFF Bell Lightbox downtown.
Having already seen Nicole Kidman and Keith Urban climb out of their chauffeur-driven vehicle, I was full-on celeb-watching alert. The only problem: I have zero situational awareness.
I had no idea that the car in front of me — with the door open and a uniformed driver standing watch — was awaiting the person walking behind me. So I stopped to chat with friends and blocked the important passenger from getting inside.
It was Roger Ebert.
By the time I realized what was happening, he was mere inches from my shoulder. Instead of keeping it classy, I ducked — and ran away awkwardly.
Assisted by his wife, he got in the car.
And I went home, slightly embarrassed but mostly excited that the world's most famous film critic almost collided with me.
Roger Ebert, thanks for the years of recommendations. You rarely (if ever) led my astray.
Two thumbs up.