It’s been almost a week since Rob Reiner and his wife, Michele Singer Reiner, were murdered in their home. I don’t want to spend a lot of time here talking about the sordid details – it’s an incredibly tragic thing, and I don’t think their family is going to get nearly as much privacy from the world as they deserve – but I do want to spend a little time talking about what the films of Rob Reiner mean to me.
When I was a little kid, I had a couple of “sick day” movies in my rotation. I was not yet in double digits at this point, so most of them were cartoons – “Anastasia,” “Lady and the Tramp II: Scamp’s Adventure” (do not ask). But the one live-action film in the rotation was Rob Reiner’s “The Princess Bride.”
When I got older, I would discover the cathartic outrage of “A Few Good Men,” the harrowing horror of “Misery,” and the delights of “When Harry Met Sally.” But as a small child, “The Princess Bride” meant more to me than perhaps every other movie on the planet. Buttercup, Inigo, Wesley, and Fezzik kept me company when I felt bad, taking me on an adventure when I was otherwise laid up in bed, unable to move. There is a play-like, beautiful sort of artifice to this movie that makes it so perfect for children. The storybook, fantastical quality draws you into the world, but you’re never too scared, or worried that everything won’t end up exactly how you want it to. Even as a kid, you implicitly trust Reiner to handle you with care.
This movie continues to be such a balm to me – an exercise in romance and adventure that never gets old. Rob Reiner was able to inject such a sense of wonder in all of his movies, finding an intersection between art and entertainment that so many still fail to uncover. He will be sorely missed.