Since Roger Ebert's return to writing after the 2006 thyroid surgery that left him without part of his jawbone, he's been a notably more adventurous scribe, unafraid to toss off deadpan satire, rice cooker meditations, and a good Ben Lyons slam now and then. Now, though, after a thoughtful essay on the internal, decay-obsessed Synecdoche, New York, Ebert has been moved to write one of his most personal stories yet: a digressive, Charlie Kaufman-esque meditation on life, death, and his new, Phantom-like face.