An Open Letter to Rob Reiner
Dear Rob,
I debated starting this letter with the endearing nickname of Meathead, but it dawned on me that references to your span on All in the Family ended over twenty years ago, plus my reader base probably isn’t that familiar with you as an actor, I’m afraid. Would you like to know why, Rob? Well, it’s because, in my generation, you established yourself as an accomplished film director.
Do you remember the ’80s and ’90s, Rob? I sure do. I mean, yeah, I grew up in them, but that says a lot about you. Ya see, I find myself heavily defined by the movies I immersed myself in as a child, and I tend to attribute much of my cinema taste and filmmaking style to those who enlightened me. Directors like Richard Donner, John Badham, John McTiernan, Steven Spielberg, James Cameron, Quentin Tarantino, and especially you, Rob.
Let’s think about this chronologically. Your first big hit arrived only five years after you’d laid Michael Stivic to rest at Archie Bunker’s Place, in the form of This is Spinal Tap, in 1984, the year of my birth. Generally considered a mockumentary masterpiece, it formulated a genre in and of itself. But don’t let me dwell on that too much. Let’s talk about the next ten years, when you pretty much defined yourself, and etched your films into my noggin (and yes, we’ll leave North out of this — I liked it when I was ten, but it was universally considered a misstep, and considering your track record, I’ll let it slide). Stand by Me, The Princess Bride, When Harry Met Sally, your ’80s trifecta; three movies that are often considered defining motion pictures of the era, a teen coming-of-age story that is one of the best, a fantasy that is one of the best (if not the best), and a romantic comedy that trumps all other romcom shithouses of today. And let’s not forget that Princess Bride is one of my favorite films of all time — and that’s not just because my doppelganger, Fred Savage, is in there. I mean, holy crap, Rob. Not even Roger Ebert can argue that that is one hell of a track record.
Then came an interesting ’90s renaissance, with the eerie and uniquely shot Misery (which produced an unbelievable performance by Kathy Bates), the ultimate in political thrillers, A Few Good Men (that is forever quoted for its indelible one-liners), yet another, dare I say, joyously pleasant movie with Aaron Sorkin, The American President, the last time we really saw a decent role out of Michael Douglas, and the underappreciated and important film, Ghosts of Mississippi. No, these did not live up to your foursome of the eighties, but it sure as hell made for great entertainment. There are few filmmakers who can say they influenced youthful artists in the span of two decades. You are one of them.
Or, at least, you were. What happened, Rob? I know when we got closer to the ’00s, films started to become repetitious and unimaginative. We were living a complex era of filmmaking woes, when for every Dark Knight, there were ten Giglis, and even Spielberg had trouble churning out truly decent works (if Indy 4 isn’t a sign of disillusion, I don’t know what is). But where were you when we needed you? You made three romcoms from 1999 to 2005. Remember how I said you were the auteur of romantic comedies with your genre defining When Harry Met Sally? Yeah, you kind of squandered that. I mean, your three leading ladies were Michelle Pfieffer (stretch), Kate Hudson (fail), and Jennifer Aniston (are you kidding me?!). What did you expect? How could you think this would go well?
What happened to the man who defined films? The man who went from a terrible grunge hairdo and Tom Selleck stache to a cinema genius who formed the ground upon which we young creators stand upon? Where is your use of unknowns in a story-driven flick? Your skill at the ensemble? Your ability to take veterans to a whole new level of acting, whether they be as skilled and caustic as Jack Nicholson or as criminally wonderful as Michael J. Fox or as beautifully nuanced as Annette Bening? Where we you?
And I know Bucket List was your way of saying “hold on, I’m getting back to form,” and it wasn’t a bad move, but still, you left me hanging, Rob. You left me in the cold, yearning for the kind of movies I grew up on. Don’t feel completely responsible — Steven has a letter coming to him, as well. But you were the quiet thunder, Rob. There are more movies in your arsenal that affected me than any filmmaker out there. And as though I was ignored by an ever absent friend, I feel slighted.
I want my children to learn about how perfect a duo Mandy Patinkin and Andre the Giant are. I want them to yell “You can’t handle the truth!” at me. And yes, I even want them to ask if it’s okay to smash someone’s feet with a sledgehammer in times of creative crisis. I want you to make kids feel the joy of the movies again, Rob. It is your time to return and do what others seem to be failing at: doing what they do best. While folks like John McTiernan and Roman Polanski debate jail time and Spielberg gets my hopes up for another five to ten years, you should be brewing something new, something amazing.
A good freakin movie. Please! And while I silently pray that your under-the-radar film for 2010, Flipped, is a true return to form, I sadly won’t hold my breath. You’ve left me hanging, Rob, and all I want you to do is reach out and go that extra inch. You have to meet me halfway, Meathead. I have the utmost faith in you, as disillusioned as I have become. So don’t let my faith exist idly. Show me that great movies are still being made, and not by the new kids on Hollywood Blvd, but by the big, bearded craftsman who made saying ‘pecan pie’ in a funny voice and the phrase “twoo wuv” common vernacular.
The fact that I even need to write this, with a prayer of it being some form of impetus, is, well…INCONCEIVABLE!
All the best,
1 week ago



