Probably the question I have been asked most during my long tenure on the show now called "Roger Ebert & The Movies" is, what does a producer do?

The most honest, and best, answer would be, you'll never know the half of it. Trust me, there's so much minutiae entailed, your attention wouldn't hold for a whole column So here's the skinny.

Working as part of a capable and close-knit staff, the producer covers these basics: track films (via print and internet outlets, on the festival circuit, through pitches, telephone conversations and eavesdropping in theatres); obtain and attend screenings; secure clips; plot a show rundown; edit and fact-check the script; tape show; post (that's editing, for the uninitiated) the show for satellite delivery. That's the drill, augmented in any given week by talent meetings, planning sessions for special installments, location shoots, meals caught on the run with film publicists or journalists--and tons of office e-mail, which carries on into the evenings and over weekends.

Note what's missing above: movie stars. Most of us on this show do not hang with actors. (We don't even interview many.) We shoot in Chicago, where some, but not many, film actors live. Lots of starstruck interns have split when the non-glam reality of the work sets in. Those who stay often do for the same reason our staff is so stable: we are united behind Roger and our mission, which is to keep faith with audiences as the television program of record on film criticism and the movie industry. And like anyone else in syndication, sell a few commercials for our parent company while we're at it.

That's a nuts-and-bolts list of production factors, and the spirit behind the enterprise. But why the show WORKS also involves more intangible elements, most revolving around the same core as the movies we review, which is simply...story.

Anyone lucky enough to know Roger Ebert personally can verify that as well as a Pulitzer Prize-winning critic, he is a fabulous raconteur. Next to a good movie, there is nothing that thrills Roger more than a good story, any kind of story. He is a born journalist. What we try to do with him each week is capture that thrill of telling the tale. Each program becomes, in effect, the saga of that week's movies, filtered through the sensibilities of Roger and his co-host.

So while I have to function like a broadcast professional, meeting deadlines and shifting priorities, another side of my brain kicks into a different gear. What will make the best mix of movies, and how do we best tell their stories? Like Sheherazade of the "1,001 Arabian Nights," we're all mindful we have to regale in a compelling enough manner so that we're back next week to spin another round of tales.

How do we do that? Three words: tight and bright. Combine incisive copy with images that best support the commentary, illustrate the movie's facets, and inspire viewers to seek out the films themselves (or avoid, in some cases). Add the frisson from across the aisle of a shared passion for movies, and possibly, although certainly not always, an opposing viewpoint, and you build another dimension to the storytelling. If the chemistry is there, as it was when the series was being built on Roger's partnership with Gene Siskel, the show then becomes as much the story of the two critics' relationship, as it does the week in theatres.

Film crit purists point to this approach--the dominant emphasis on story-as what's wrong with movie criticism on television (beyond, of course, the time/space constraints that don't exist in print reviews). Meet enough critics and you will hear every old saw imaginable on the death of movies, with the blame usually directed at Hollywood and the American moviegoers' dependence on linear narrative. But like it or not, it's ALWAYS about story, linear or otherwise, across genres. Even in a complex experimental feature like this year's Sundance entry, Jesse Lerner's Ruins, the magic is being worked in part because a primal human need is tapped.

All the other cinematic components--direction, acting, cinematography, editing, scoring, effects--aren't going to win the day if the story doesn't hook. (They may win the box office opening weekend, but...more on that later.) Yet obviously a screenplay alone does not a film make. Movies, like television, are a collaborative medium, and this is what makes criticism tricky. The critic's job is to find the meaning of a film, and that requires discerning which aspects of the collaboration work better, or how harmonious the final achievement is, and why, as well as where that movie fits in film history or current cultural trends.

That's a tall order for five movies in a half-hour, and one reason why our show generally doesn't devote time to celebrity interviews or weekend grosses. The movies that make the cut are largely studio fare--even more so now that so many indies have become boutique divisions of the majors. We have a mandate to weigh in on the "big" movies opening any given weekend, ranked must-see either by star power, director, number of screens, roll-out schedule, amount of advertising, controversy, or--a rare commodity these days--freshness. People want to know. Also...I'm not going to pretend that we don't benefit from the heat generated by movies with a strong buzz. It's another part of getting the story, and we are a competitive bunch.

But every title reviewed is not mainstream. Chunks of air time will always be devoted to the smaller movies that don't make it into many markets, because those are frequently works that resonate, and inspire Roger. Plus, this show has a history of championing the underdog. What with home video, cable and DBS, audiences can find these specialized titles, even if they don't play Peoria in their theatrical runs. (A heads-up: anyone invested in the future of movies should check out Susan Stahl's impressive cover article about the Starbucksing of the American independent cinema, in the April 21th issue of the Chicago Reader.)

Most aspects of my job are truly enjoyable. I love movies (film school major!), and I get paid to watch them. I love making television, and am proud to have been so long associated with the class act that is this show. If there's anything lamentable about where commercial television is headed right now, it's how much time is allotted to ads. (Watch prime time and count.) Content is really getting crunched, and that poses incredible creative challenges. It's reality, so you have to roll with it, but there has to be a ceiling somewhere.

For anyone who's stayed with me this far because you're trying to glean some info on how to pitch a film for review, I have some brief bits of advice:

1. Television is a visual medium. Do not put us to the trouble of carving out time in a crowded screening schedule if you can't furnish--by our deadlines--video in an acceptable broadcast format (beta SP is currently preferred, although that, too, in time will go the way of the dinosaur 3/4" tape).

2. Please, please cut more than two clips--we usually use 4 or 5. And there are other actors in the movie than just the top billed star.

3. Don't push to screen a movie months before it opens because you're looking for an advance quote. The show has a policy of not giving them. And we'll only need to view it again closer to the opening date.

4. Show a little faith in your product. Drop this coy practice of combining press and promotional screenings. Critics are not going to love a movie any more just because "real folks" next to them are eating it up. Plus, it really backfires when the invited public doesn't like the picture.

If there's one singular realization that has struck me in recent years, it's that life is short and can be over at any time, with hardly any warning. I miss Gene very much, and regret that I never adequately expressed my gratitude for how much he did for me, and how much he shaped my life.

Since I don't want to make that mistake again, and as roughcut.com has so generously given me this forum, let me formally thank my Buena Vista Television colleagues, Stuart Cleland, Mary Kellogg-Joslyn, David Kodeski, Janet La Monica and David Plummer, and my director, Don DuPree, for the privilege of working alongside them.

Thanks to all the guest critics who have graced our balcony over the last year and a half.

Thanks beyond measure to Roger Ebert; I can't imagine what my life would be if our paths had never crossed.

Thank you viewers for your loyalty over the years. And last, but by no means least, thanks to all those who put everything into making the movies that mean so much to all of us, and without which this show would not exist.

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