'When Harry Met Sally...' Columbia/Courtesy Everett Collection Share on Facebook Share on X Google Preferred Share to Flipboard Show additional share options Share on LinkedIn Share on Pinterest Share on Reddit Share on Tumblr Share on Whats App Send an Email Print the Article Post a Comment In the hours after it was announced that Rob Reiner died at age 78 on December 14, my social media feeds were filled with screenshots, from IMDb and Wikipedia, of the director's impressive run of films from the 1980s through the mid-1990s - a nearly unbroken line of certifiable classics. I also saw plenty of recognition for Reiner's championing of progressive causes, a lifelong project that perhaps began with his work as an actor on the watershed sitcom All in the Family, the show that first made Reiner a star in the 1970s. It's been heartening to see these many reverent tributes to not only Reiner's good deeds in the arena of social justice, but also to his film work, which has maybe not always been properly appreciated for its breadth and vitality. Related Stories General News Nick Reiner Revealed Violent Outburst, Family Issues and "Cocaine Heart Attack" on 2018 Podcast Taping News Rob Reiner's Son Nick Reiner Booked for Murder, "Responsible" for Parents' Deaths: LAPD Contrary to many big-name directors working today, Reiner didn't have a signature style. He didn't have a recognizable visual and aural cadence like Christopher Nolan. He didn't have the sensitive color palette of a Sofia Coppola, or the idiosyncratic vernacular of so many indie auteurs. He was decidedly of an older, more general-interest tradition. At the peak of his directing career, Reiner was among a now vanishing class of famous, well-regarded journeyman directors, peripatetic creators whose chief goal was to make broadly appealing pictures that were smart and elevated enough to be worthy of our attention. Few directors these days seem interested in having quite as zig-zaggy a trajectory as did Reiner, who worked in mockumentary, in teen comedy, in grown-up romantic comedy, in coming-of-age adventure, in horror, in courtroom drama, in fantasy and more throughout his storied and, until very recently, perhaps under-appreciated career. Reiner maybe struggled for that same consistency in his later years, but he leaves behind a legacy that is hard to pin down and all the more admirable for it. I was born in the midst of Reiner's directorial ascendancy and thus, as my movie consciousness dawned and developed, Reiner simply existed in my mind as a foundational part of the scenery. I knew he was not regarded as deferentially as, say, Steven Spielberg, but I also knew that seeing Reiner's name in a trailer tended to confirm some kind of importance, of quality. Though, I don't know that I was always cognizant that a movie I was watching was one shaped by his hand. On first viewing, When Harry Met Sally... (1989) seemed to have sprung fully formed out of the ether. I was curious about the actors, and about the woman who wrote it, whom my mom adored. But I didn't think much about the direction. Not because there is nothing to appreciate - there is, in abundance. But Reiner was not flashy with his style. He made nice pictures, kept things moving along at an engaging trot, and then got out of the way of the film's marquee talent. For all of its lovely aesthetics - oh, how the seasons pass in When Harry Met Sally...! - the film is modestly constructed, without fuss or excess. The same could be said of his pair of Aaron Sorkin films, the grave and old-fashioned legal drama A Few Good Men (1992) and the swooning White House fairytale The American President (1995). Their perfectly curated casts and crisp visuals all mostly work in service of Sorkin's dense but nimble scripts; Reiner simply builds an elegant structure to house those words and then gently lets things play out. One doesn't get a sense of directorly ego when watching these films, only the satisfaction of a high-grade product functioning exactly, perhaps even better, than advertised. That kind of skill has often been looked down upon, seen as too nakedly commercial, empty and lacking personal vision. But in 2025, when there is such a direly wide gap between a handful of worshipped auteur artistes and the relatively anonymous directors of everything else, Reiner's deft marrying of the prestige and the populist seems like a wondrous, nearly lost art. Which isn't to damn him with faint praise. Reiner did, of course, imbue his films with specific personality. The Princess Bride (1987) is bristling and alive with both the director's particular comedic rhythms and his disarming sentimentality. There is a wry, sardonic Reinerian sensibility to be found in all of his best work, even in the cramped and frightening confines of Misery (1990). What binds all of his great films together is the feeling that Reiner wanted only to be the best steward possible for the material and people whom he admired. It seems that the pe