In the summer of 2013, I found myself thrust into the role of managing the fiery and outspoken film critic Rex Reed. At just 24 years old, I was a fledgling staff writer for The New York Observerand the task of editing Reed’s reviews was both daunting and exhilarating. Reed, who passed away last month at the age of 87, was a titan in the world of film criticism, known for his vivid prose and unapologetic opinions.
Reed’s career spanned decades, and his work in Esquire magazine had earned him a place among the greats of New Journalism. His profiles of celebrities like Ava Gardner, Tennessee Williams, and Warren Beatty were considered classics. However, his reputation was not without controversy. In recent years, Reed had faced backlash for his scathing reviews, including one where he famously dismissed actress Melissa McCarthy as a “female hippo.”
Navigating the Waters of Reed’s Criticism
My initial encounters with Reed were primarily through email and phone calls. He was a man of strong opinions and even stronger language. His reviews, which he sent in bold, 20-point font, often reflected his growing frustration with what he saw as the declining quality of modern cinema. “I am facing a lot of forthcoming problems with movies,” he once wrote to me. “There is just a real dearth of anything decent to write about.”
Reed’s disdain for mediocre films was palpable. He often vented his frustrations in emails, urging the paper to allow him to write more theater criticism to alleviate his “torture.” Despite his cranky demeanor, Reed was a man of immense talent and insight. His reviews were a blend of sharp wit and astute observation, making him a beloved figure among his readers.
The Art of Editing Rex Reed
Editing Reed’s work was a delicate balancing act. I often found myself acting as a sensitivity readervetting his copy for offensive language. I recall removing the phrase “savage Indians” from one of his reviews and debating whether to keep the word “sluttish” in another. Reed’s language was often provocative, but it was also a reflection of his era and his unfiltered approach to criticism.
Despite his controversial statements, Reed’s writing was deeply influential. He pioneered a highly subjective and personality-driven style of film criticism that inspired generations of critics, including Roger Ebert and Gene Siskel. His evocative metaphors, such as describing “The Grand Budapest Hotel” as “one of those scrumptious lavender Louis Sherry candy boxes from the turn of the century,” remain etched in the minds of his readers.
Dinner with a Legend
Our first meeting was at La Rivista, an Italian restaurant on West 46th Street near Times Square. Reed was a man of routine and preferred his regular table. He ordered a dish not listed on the menu, and the server addressed him as “Mr. Reed” with a ceremonious nod. It was a rainy July evening, and we were the only diners in the dimly lit restaurant. I felt as if I had been transported to an old New York that Reed seemed to still inhabit.
Reed was a charming dinner companion. He regaled me with stories about Mel Tormé, Liza Minnelli, and other stars he had known intimately. We bonded over our shared admiration for the jazz vocalist Johnny Hartman. Despite his reputation for being difficult, Reed treated me as an equal and never spoke down to me. He was a man of his time, and his stories offered a glimpse into a bygone era of Hollywood glamour.
In his later years, Reed struggled with technology. He often sent emails from his AOL address, confusing his own computer with one of his friend’s. The web was an abstraction to him, and he found relevance in the fact that publicists still pulled quotes from his reviews for print movie ads. He boasted about Gloria Vanderbilt and Al Hirschfeld reading his reviews, a testament to his enduring influence.
The last time I saw Reed was in. He had just undergone serious dental surgery and warned me in advance that it made chewing difficult. We met at Chez Napoleon, a classic French restaurant in Hell’s Kitchen. He recalled his past encounters with luminaries he had profiled, including Tennessee Williams. Despite his advancing age, Reed remained sharp and opinionated, a testament to his enduring spirit.
Rex Reed was a complex figure, a man of immense talent and unyielding standards. His legacy in film criticism is undeniable, and his influence continues to be felt in the world of cinema. As I reflect on my time working with him, I am reminded of his words: “Don’t mess with history. Don’t change things. You’ll lose your customers.” Reed was a man who stayed true to his principles, and his legacy will endure for generations to come.
