Flasz On Film

And there I sat, confused, caught between the urge to write a few hundred words about Rob Reiner’s recently reported death and the uneasy sense that doing so would mean turning the moment into something about me.

My initial thought was that I should write an obituary, which I nearly immediately dismissed. I’ve written a few of those in the past and, quite frankly, I don’t think why I should be writing something that you will most likely read in The Guardian, Variety or the New York Times. In fact, what I’d write would be substantially similar to any other obit found in outlets with much larger circulation and reach. I don’t report the news; I merely comment occasionally on items I feel I have something to say about. And although I have been fond of quite a few of Reiner’s movies, like A Few Good Men, Misery or Stand by Me, I didn’t feel qualified to come out with an emotionally-charged remembrance piece. And I’m sure as hell I didn’t want to write a listicle ranking Reiner’s greatest works either.

I thought then for a brief second that it was a good opportunity to catch up with Spinal Tap II: The End Continues, Reiner’s last movie which he directed this year, and which I failed to see theatrically. I sat down, watched the original This Is Spinal Tap and then the recent sequel while hurriedly triaging ideas and angles for a piece where I’d spend a thousand words or thereabouts trying to frame Reiner’s career using the arc of his two mockumentaries: one that began his directing career and one that unwillingly became his last directorial credit.

Therein I found accidental poignancy: in a movie that reunited the iconic fake band for one last reunion performance that ended with musicians being crushed under the weight of a Stonehenge set decoration, this time built to scale and not as a puny miniature we saw in the original movie. Perhaps there was something to comment on in a text about a movie where Reiner would deliberately insert himself in between the lens and the subjects, if only to act as a foil to their antics. Acknowledging Reiner’s subtle talent for deadpan comedy seemed like a good idea. After all, it takes incredible timing and restraint so stand there and listen as Nigel talks about his knobs going to eleven (in the original), or look on as Derek was having a sniff of a rare tortoise-based glue and having the vial glued to his nostril (in the sequel).

But it all felt… exploitative. Given the abrupt nature of Reiner’s death I have realized that doing anything would be tantamount to complicity in ravenous reactionary journalism. And I didn’t want to do that.

But then again—you’re reading this, aren’t you? Which means that in some kind of meta-sense I did in fact capitalize on Rob Reiner’s tragic death. At least I didn’t do it out of a desire to “join the club” and have the attention divert (even if by a tiny margin) away from the very real tragedy that fell upon Reiner, his wife and the surviving family.

Therefore, since there is no escape from this moral quagmire, I will send you on your merry way to pick up Spinal Tap II: The End Continues, as it has recently become available to watch at home. Maybe do what I did and pair it up with the original too. Perhaps closure is encased in the ritual of interacting with those pieces of filmmaking that interrogate the ideas of mortality and relevance while retaining a comedic edge that just might distract us from the grim reality of losing a great filmmaker before his time. And just the thought of being able to see Rob Reiner in his cap as he navigates the preposterous comedy enclosed in the movie with natural swagger might be the remedy we need more than reading the umpteenth listicle ranking Reiner’s 80’s icons or fan-favourite lines from The Princess Bride.

May he rest in peace.