And just like that, we've lost another storyteller

Rob Reiner wasn’t a mere moviemaker. He was an alchemist, capable of turning stories into something that mattered for the audience.

Shocking reports began trickling in late Sunday that two bodies had been found in the home of Rob Reiner. As details emerged, we learned that Reiner and his wife had been brutally murdered, and their youngest son was arrested on suspicion of homicide.

It was a tragedy that was difficult to fully comprehend, least of all because the news was competing with a number of other tragic headlines and horrendous happenings around the world.

But, as difficult as it is to do sometimes, I think it’s crucial for this little corner of the internet to remain at least marginally optimistic — even in the face of a world that seems to be relentlessly doomscrolling its way into oblivion. And so, while it would be easy to draft a few thousand words on the malignantly narcissistic rage baiting Reiner’s death sparked from America’s chief executive, I think the far better course is to merely sit back and reflect on the creative endeavors Reiner gifted our world during his time on this mortal coil.

And make no mistake, he gifted us plenty.

Reiner’s work went well beyond mere Hollywood fodder — it truly sank itself into the core of late-20th century entertainment in a way that few other movies have done. His films managed to embed themselves so deeply into our collective consciousness that even a single word uttered among respectable company can spark a quote-off between otherwise perfect strangers.

“Inconceivable,” tends to be my favorite word to get the ball rolling…

And for those of us who lived through the prime of his creative work, those stories remain more watchable, enjoyable and powerful than much of what trickles out of modern Hollywood’s pandering conveyor belt of superhero flicks, remakes and commercial cash grabs nowadays.

However, the truly amazing thing about Reiner’s filmography isn’t merely the sheer number of culture-shifting classics he managed to create, but the vast expanse across genres he was able to effortlessly traverse.

One minute, he would treat us to a fantasy of fire swamps, giants and sword fights — only to plunge us into a courtroom drama the next moment, with an unhinged Jack Nicholson commandingly telling us we can’t handle the truth.

And somewhere in the mix, he even gave us “THE” quintessential mockumentary about “England’s loudest and most punctual band.”

That’s some serious creative “range.”

But the collective staying power of such varied creations makes his accomplishments even more impressive. In many instances, these are films that have become generational litmus tests; cultural touchpoints that moviegoers have seared into their memories (and personalities) decades after stumbling across them at the theater or in a friend’s VHS collection.

And for creative works that would have been displayed nowhere near each other on Blockbuster display shelves, that’s truly saying something. Each film he made looked nothing like the previous, as Reiner refused to lean on a certain “style,” genre or specific gimmick to keep his creative success rolling.

Where many directors cultivate a “look” for their movies or demonstrate a particular favoritism for specific narrative approaches, Reiner refused to be so enclosed by expectations, routine or genre. He wantonly adopted whatever style, format or tone fit whatever story he was trying to tell — flexing effortlessly between drama, comedy, suspense or frivolity whenever his vision required it.

And there’s a profound lesson to be learned by his unencumbered embrace of such versatility and variety in his endeavors.

Great stories — the type that shift cultures, move audiences or embed themselves into societal folklore — don’t have to fit a particular mold or fit within manufactured constraints. They don’t have to have great stakes at risk by the main characters, or dive into deep political quandaries or flirt with lazy “love triangle” romcom misunderstandings to engage their audience. Instead, they just have to be told in a way that suits the narrative, engages the audience and showcases the characters taking center stage.

And he took such an approach to heart. The Princess Bride, for example, was a fantasy that dismantled the fourth wall with a grandson and grandfather bickering about “a kissing book…”

When Harry Met Sally provided audiences with an ostentatious fake orgasm in a crowded restaurant…

And Misery provided us with one of the most uncomfortable, visceral and unhinged crescendos to be found in the genre of psychological thrillers since the days of Hitchcock.

Each one of those stories were told in their own unique style, with their own narrative camber and their own brisk pace from one moment to the next. They were told in ways that were true to their souls — regardless of what style, cinematic techniques or storytelling approaches were required to provide the emotional gravity needed to render his creation culturally sticky for decades to come.

Reiner wasn’t a mere moviemaker. He was an expert storyteller. He was an alchemist.

Most importantly, he made his stories matter to the audience — which is why we won’t ever forget the way his work shaped our view of what movies ought to be.

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Michael Schaus is a communications and branding expert based in Las Vegas, Nevada, and founder of Schaus Creative LLC — an agency dedicated to helping organizations, businesses and activists tell their story and motivate change.

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