There is no way to address the untimely death of Rob Reiner without saying the worst part: Last night, Reiner and his wife, Michele Singer, were murdered in their Brentwood home, likely by stabbing. It’s horrifying to contemplate, especially after this morning’s news that Reiner’s son, Nick, has been arrested as the alleged perpetrator of the crime.
Regardless, this is a moment to set conjecture aside, let the authorities do their work, and in this dark moment, focus on the life of Rob Reiner, the filmmaker and activist.
Rob Reiner was the son of Carl Reiner. A comedic legend on television and the big screen, Carl Reiner was the creator of the Dick Van Dyke Show, and co-creator (with Mel Brooks) of the classic sketch routine 2000 Year Old Man. When Carl Reiner turned to film, he found success in that medium as well, as the director of Oh, God!, The Jerk, Dead Men Don’t Wear Plaid, and the classic body-switching comedy All of Me, starring frequent collaborator Steve Martin, along with Lily Tomlin. The elder Reiner was also a fine actor, perhaps most remembered for his role as Saul Bloom in Ocean’s 11, 12, and 13.
Carl Reiner cast a long shadow, and to step into television and film, Rob Reiner took on the sizable task of carving out his own name. To say that the son was able to do so with aplomb is to traffic in no small amount of understatement. Rob Reiner paid his dues with years of acting on episodic television and writing for variety shows like The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour and The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour.
In 1971, Reiner would score his big break with a supporting part in the legendary sitcom, All in the Family. As Michael Stivic, Archie Bunker’s son-in-law, Reiner butted heads on screen with Carroll O’Connor’s Bunker for 184 episodes over eleven years. Reiner’s Stivic was much like Reiner himself in terms of his politics: an unabashed liberal. Archie Bunker was a hard-right, casual racist (with some redeeming values), and their small-screen arguments echoed those of many an American household. Bunker may have called Stivic a “meathead” so many times that the character became known better by that moniker than his actual name, but one thing Bunker’s insults couldn’t do was take from Stivic his dignity. One could say the same of Reiner, despite all the grief he received for his outspoken advocacy. Reiner would go on to receive five Emmy nominations for Best Supporting Actor in a Comedy (winning once in 1978) over the life of All in the Family.
But what Reiner really wanted to do was direct, and in 1984, he made one of the most memorable feature-film debuts behind the camera with the delirious rock-and-roll satire, This Is Spinal Tap. Along with his lead actors Christopher Guest, Michael McKean, and Harry Shearer, Reiner co-wrote the story of a fictional British metal band making some of the loudest and dumbest rock-and-roll in an alternative reality that few could imagine. Not only did Reiner co-write the screenplay, but he also co-wrote the songs. Tunes that were so stupid they were brilliant. Tracks like Big Bottom, Sex Farm, and my personal favorite, the hilariously redundant Tonight I’m Gonna Rock You Tonight.
Both This Is Spinal Tap, the movie, and its soundtrack received rapturous reviews and have become cult classics. Reiner may not have invented the mockumentary, but with This Is Spinal Tap, he set the standard. Everything from The Office to Borat owes Reiner and Spinal Tap a debt of gratitude.
For his next film as a director, Reiner would go in an altogether different direction (moving from genre to genre would become a theme in his career), with the ultra-smart teen road comedy, The Sure Thing (1985). Starring John Cusack and Daphne Zuniga as mismatched college students who fall in love while making their way to California. The Sure Thing is sort of a precursor to John Hughes’ Planes, Trains, & Automobiles, as Cusack and Zuniga’s characters meet with one cross-country calamity after another. In my favorite scene, Cusack and Zuniga are caught in a torrential downpour without any cash. Zuniga locates a credit card her father gave her. Cusack is relieved, but then Zuniga’s face turns grim. Cusack asks her what’s wrong. Zuniga replies, “My dad told me specifically I can only use it in case of an emergency.” A soaked and incredulous Chaco replies, “Maybe one’ll will come up!” The Sure Thing was an unusual comedy about young people that received warm reviews. It was also a modest box office hit and turned John Cusack into a star.
One year later, Reiner would direct one of the most beloved coming-of-age films in the history of film, Stand By Me. Based on the Stephen King novella The Body, Reiner coaxed outstanding performances from a young cast that included River Phoenix (in an early signature role), Will Wheaton, Corey Feldman, Jerry O’Connell, and Kiefer Sutherland. Told in flashback, Stand By Me recounts the story of four twelve-year-old friends who go looking for the body of a missing boy. Along the way, they must deal with a local bully (Sutherland) and his ne’er-do-well friends.
Reiner expertly weaves in a story of friendship and the power of memory, while also maintaining that distinct Stephen King feel for small-town life and the sometimes dark underbelly that can be found when one takes a closer look at their surroundings. Stand By Me also has one of the finest final lines of any film of its era. As Richard Dreyfuss (playing the adult version of Will Wheaton’s character) reminisces on that fateful summer, he states, “I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?” Stand By Me was a sizable critical and box office success. The film’s screenplay (written by Bruce Evans and Raynold Gideon) earned an Oscar nomination, and the film was nominated for two Golden Globes—one for Best Drama, and another for Reiner’s direction. More importantly, the film, like Field of Dreams, has become a touchstone for many men, even those not often given over to sentimentality.
As if to say, “Look what else I can do!” Reiner’s next film was the adventure/fairy tale, The Princess Bride (1987). Adapted by the two-time Oscar-winning screenwriter William Goldman (from his own novel), The Princess Bride starts with a grandfather (Peter Falk) reading a story to his under-the-weather grandson (Fred Savage). These humble beginnings give way to the story coming to life on screen as the swashbuckling Westley (the never-better Carey Elwes) attempts to save Princess Buttercup (a luminous Robin Wright) from the clutches of kidnappers. The Princess Bride is nothing short of a miracle of a film. It embraces whimsy; it’s a comedy that mixes warmth with Monty Python-like zaniness. It counts among its cast the diminutive Wallace Shawn and the massive Andre the Giant. But there may be no character more memorable and amusing than that of Mandy Patinkin’s Inigo Montoya, a man set on revenge against the six-fingered rascal who killed his father. I’m not sure if any scene from an ‘80s movie gets quoted or referenced more than the one below.
The Princess Bride, like Stand By Me, went on to become one of the most adored movies of its decade, if not the twentieth century. Despite widespread acclaim, the film was only a modest box office success upon its release, but time has been more than kind to it, and The Princess Bride is now rightly seen as a full-fledged classic.
After directing four movies in four years, Reiner took a little time away before returning to the big screen with his Woody Allen-esque comedy, When Harry Met Sally (1989). Written by Nora Ephron and deftly directed by Reiner (complete with mini-interviews with real-life couples), When Harry Met Sally charts a 12-year friendship that beautifully rides the “will they/won’t they” romantic comedy trope all the way home to one of the most satisfying endings of any film in its genre. Billy Crystal plays Harry with Meg Ryan as Sally, and their comic sensibilities are perfectly matched by their sometimes easy, sometimes contentious chemistry.
When Harry Met Sally would be a touchstone of late ‘80s cinema and a long-term go-to for anyone seeking a warm hug of a movie, even without Meg Ryan publicly demonstrating how to fake an orgasm at a cafe in front of Crystal. But boy, what a remarkable scene of comic discomfort set off with Reiner’s own mother, playing another patron in the cafe, getting the money line: “I’ll have what she’s having.” When Harry Met Sally was a massive hit, and Ephron’s original screenplay earned her an Oscar nod.
Having not made an actual horror film, Reiner turned to one of Stephen King’s most famous novels, Misery, to prove he could do that, too. The film version of Misery (1990) stars James Caan as a writer of a series of romance novels who, after a brutal car accident, ends up in the home of a deranged fan of his work. When the fan finds a manuscript that kills off the star of the series, Caan’s savior turns into his captor. That captor is played by Kathy Bates, who not only won the Oscar for Best Actress but also went on to become one of the best actors of her generation. A fact that would have been far less likely without Reiner’s partnership with her. Seemingly unstoppable, Misery became another big hit for Reiner, but his most significant success was just on the horizon.
In 1992, Aaron Sorkin adapted his own play for Reiner, and the result was A Few Good Men. The military courtroom drama was Sorkin’s first script for film, and would set him up to become one of the preeminent screenwriters of his generation. Reiner’s film memorably pitted the biggest star of his day, Tom Cruise (and his day isn’t over), against one of the most venerable stars in film history, Jack Nicholson, an actor so recognizable that for a very long time, when talking film, you could just say “Jack,” and everyone would know who you are talking about. Up to that point, A Few Good Men was Reiner’s most conventional film. But what it lacked in the filmmaker’s usual comedic eccentricities, it more than made up for in rigorous storytelling brio. A Few Good Men is a rollicking drum banger of an (admittedly) conventional courtroom thriller. Audiences responded in droves, and the film was nominated for four Oscars, including Best Picture. Of note, as one of the film’s producers, Reiner earned his first and only(!) Oscar nomination.
After the massive success of A Few Good Men, Reiner found himself at the top of the mountain of Hollywood directors. His flexibility with genre, ability to entertain with class, critical hosannahs, and box office clout were the stuff of a filmmaker’s wildest dreams. The fall would be steep.
Perhaps looking to reel back to a smaller, more intimate type of film, Reiner’s next movie as a director would be North (1994), a comedy starring Bruce Willis and Elijah Wood. Wood plays a young boy who grows tired of his neglectful parents and sets out on a quest to find a new family. To say that North received poor reviews doesn’t even begin to capture the vitriolic response to the film. Roger Ebert’s excoriating review was one of the harshest of his career. To wit:
“I hated this movie. Hated hated hated hated hated this movie. Hated it. Hated every simpering, stupid, vacant audience-insulting moment of it. Hated the sensibility that thought anyone would like it. Hated the implied insult to the audience by its belief that anyone would be entertained by it.”
To add insult to injury, the film was a colossal bomb, making less than $8 million against a $40 million budget.
Reiner bounced back quickly just one year later. Re-teaming with Aaron Sorkin, Reiner would direct the aspirational White House romantic comedy, The American President, with Michael Douglas in the title role. Douglas plays President Andrew Shepherd, a widower who falls for Annette Bening’s environmental lobbyist. The film may be a fantasy of how we wish the presidency would work, but it sure as hell is a Capraesque delight. Douglas and Bening are so winning together, you’d be forgiven for thinking they might be well-suited in real life. The American President was also a sort of test run for Sorkin’s hit NBC show, The West Wing (Martin Sheen even plays Douglas’s Chief of Staff). If you’ve seen The American President and The West Wing, you know what I mean. The film was a solid success at the box office and with critics, and still engenders warm feelings to this day.
Moving on to historical drama, Ghosts of Mississippi (1996) saw Reiner take on another courtroom thriller, this one based on actual events: the murder of Medgar Evers. Alec Baldwin plays the crusading District Attorney who attempts to bring Evers’ assassin, Byron De La Beckwith (James Woods), to justice more than three decades after Evers’ murder. Whoopi Goldberg co-stars in the film as Evers’ widow. Ghosts of Mississippi is a flawed, but fitfully engrossing film. As De La Beckwith, Woods received an Oscar nomination for Best Supporting Actor. Ghosts of Mississippi would prove to be the last Reiner film to receive an Oscar nomination in any capacity. One of my favorite factoids about Reiner I learned only today, and it came from the vitriolic conspiracy theorist James Woods, of all people. Columbia Pictures didn’t want Woods for the part of De La Beckwith, believing he wasn’t old enough for the role. But Reiner fought for Woods despite, as Woods noted, he and Reiner’s vast political differences.
Reiner’s post-Ghosts directorial career was primarily composed of disappointing films that failed to find traction, and only one (The Bucket List) achieved financial success. Yet Reiner kept at it, and in all those films you can see his personal values. The Story of Us charted the challenges of maintaining a marriage, LBJ took on one of the most perplexing presidencies in United States history, and Shock and Awe took on the Bush Administration’s folly in Iraq.
I would go so far as to say that, in the post-millennium, most people (or at least cable news junkies) likely know Reiner better for his guest appearances on MSNBC and CNN, railing against the indecency of the Trump era. Reiner did not become one of those old white men who walk away from their beliefs because they are scared of a changing world that may leave them behind. Reiner seemed to understand that we get only this one life, and while he was here, he intended to use his voice in both his art and in his advocacy for all that he considered right, good, and decent.
Over the last two years, Reiner had been experiencing a modest resurgence. Reiner had sporadically appeared in small roles on film for years (including Postcards From the Edge, Primary Colors, The Wolf of Wall Street), and was seen earlier this year doing excellent work in a recurring role in The Bear’s fourth season. Better still, Reiner directed the delightful documentary Albert Brooks: Defending My Life about the brilliant comic actor whom Reiner worked with on The Muse. Reiner’s last film as a director was a return to where it all began with Spinal Tap II: The End Continues. While the sequel to his first film didn’t receive the starry-eyed reviews of the original, it was greeted with a fair amount of pleasure. Reiner’s final film, to be released next year, is a Spinal Tap concert film, the amusingly titled Spinal Tap at Stonehenge: The Final Finale.
Regardless of how one might want to parse Rob Reiner’s film career in total, I find it impossible to argue that his first seven films aren’t one of the greatest starts to any filmmaker’s career. Any ever. He may have lost his golden touch after his ninth film, The American President, but all the films that came after were a reflection of who he was as a person: An unabashed, empathetic, big-hearted, and sharp-minded liberal of the first order. He was one hell of a filmmaker, but from all I can see, he was quite likely a better man.
Rob Reiner and Michele Singer Reiner died on December 14, 2025. They were 78 and 68 years old, respectively. Their union lasted 36 years.
