As if that were a new thing.

Since Roger Ebert’s death on Thursday, many wonderful things have been said about his writing gifts at The Chicago Sun-Times, critical skills that led to a Pulitzer Prize in 1975, the first given for movie criticism. We can stipulate all of that, but let’s also remember that a big part of what he left behind was a remarkable template for how a lone journalist can become something much more.

Mr. Ebert was, in retrospect, a very modern figure. Long before the media world became cluttered with search optimization consultants, social media experts and brand-management gurus, Mr. Ebert used all available technologies and platforms to advance both his love of film and his own professional interests.

He clearly loved newspapers, but he wasn’t a weepy nostalgist either. He was an early adopter on the Web, with a CompuServe account he was very proud of, and unlike so many of his ink-splattered brethren, he grabbed new gadgets with both hands.

But it wasn’t just a grasp of technology that made him a figure worthy of consideration and emulation.

Though he was viewed as a movie critic with the soul of a poet, he also had killer business instincts. A journalist since the 1960s, he not only survived endless tumult in the craft, he thrived by embracing new opportunity and expanding his franchise at every turn.

Just as Jay-Z is more than a musician, Roger Ebert was much more than a guy who wrote about movies. He was a newspaper writer, a television personality, a public speaker, a book author, an event impresario and a Web publisher. And through his Web site, RogerEbert.com, he is still with us even though he is gone, demonstrating the kind of stickiness and durability that media brands crave.

Mr. Ebert’s credentials demonstrate that everything new under the sun started somewhere. He began working as a film critic at The Sun-Times in 1967. He was prolific and memorable, in part because he perfected the high-low split — the thinking man’s regular guy — while much of the rest of the growing world of movie criticism was huffing its own fumes. Mr. Ebert saw the power of syndication early on, negotiating rights to his written work and appearing in 200 newspapers and then repurposing the reviews for best-selling film guides.

In 1975, he formed a long-running television partnership with Gene Siskel, his rival at The Chicago Tribune, coming up with an on-air vaudeville act arguing about movies for a local public television station. The pair proceeded to turn their teeny little show into a national juggernaut.

In making the leap to television, they demonstrated that two rather unremarkable-looking newspaper hacks could make for good content, in part because they spoke their minds and crossed swords frequently. And their binary aesthetic — thumbs up, thumbs down — not only snatched back criticism from the rarefied confines of elite critics, it democratized the practice, neatly predicting an era of Facebook “likes” right down to the use of the thumb. (No dummies when it came to the business end, they trademarked the phrase “two thumbs up,” declaring legal dominion over the concept they helped popularize.)

In 1982 they left public television and cut a deal with The Tribune Company, which was getting into the TV syndication business, that not only paid them well but cut them in on 25 percent of the profits. Mr. Ebert once jotted down some of that math on a napkin to show a local television personality in Chicago how syndication could make her very well known, and perhaps, wealthy. Oprah Winfrey took that advice to the bank.

Together, Siskel and Ebert became the most famous and well compensated film writers in history by using television to spread the word. Carson, Letterman, they were all happy to have Mr. Ebert and Mr. Siskel stop by to brandish their thumbs on the late-night couch.

They continued to roll, signing on with Disney in 1986 and changing the name of their show — which had been “Sneak Previews” and then “At the Movies” — to “Siskel and Ebert and the Movies.” A year later it was shortened again to just “Siskel and Ebert,” because everyone know what their names meant by then.

Mr. Siskel was the more business-minded of the pair, and Mr. Ebert wisely allowed his frenemy and their agent to cut the deals for their show. But Mr. Ebert was hardly a dummy when it came to business, and in some respects he was a visionary.

He used technology to reiterate and reinvent time and again. When illness wiped out his voice, he took to the Web, developing a manic and persistent presence on RogerEbert.com, and when it became clear that no surgical remedy could restore his voice, he used a synthesizer to continue his life as an impresario and showman. At a time when media companies are scratching their heads about how to successfully stage special events, he was 15 years deep into Ebertfest, his personally curated movie festival in Champaign, Ill.

His footprint extended beyond the come-and-go world of print and television. He wrote two dozen books, including one about computer viruses and another about meals that could be made in a rice cooker. He wrote several scripts, including most notoriously “Beyond the Valley of the Dolls.”

Though his voice was gone, his typing seemed only to increase. In 2012, he wrote more than 300 reviews, the most of his career in one year. And after reluctantly joining Twitter in October 2009, he took over the joint, issuing over 30,000 posts on his way to amassing some 840,000 followers.

On the day before his death, he filed yet again to his blog, announcing a “leave of presence” that was thick with self-assignments.

“For now, I am throwing myself into Ebert Digital and the redesigned, highly interactive and searchable Rogerebert.com,” he said. “You’ll learn more about its exciting new features on April 9 when the site is launched.”

For writers and media companies looking for yet more ways to adjust to the digital tide, Mr. Ebert demonstrated that it is much easier to surf a wave enthusiastically than to crankily swim against it. Great writing, constant reinvention and an excitement about what comes next seem to have done the trick for him. And besides, typing your way off this mortal coil is not a bad way to go.

E-mail: carr@nytimes.com;

Twitter: @carr2n

Article source: http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/08/business/media/roger-eberts-legacy-as-a-relentless-empire-builder.html?partner=rss&emc=rss