In the bustling world of journalism, few names evoke as much intrigue and controversy as Rex Reed. As a young journalist in, I found myself thrust into the role of editing this legendary critic for The New York Observer. This unexpected assignment brought a mix of trepidation and excitement, as I was about to navigate the complexities of working with a man whose reputation preceded him.
Rex Reed, who passed away in 2026 at the age of 87, was a towering figure in the world of film criticism. Known for his vivid profiles and unapologetic reviews, he had carved a niche for himself as a critic who refused to conform to the norms of his time. His work in Esquire magazine, featuring profiles of icons like Ava GardnerTennessee Williamsand Warren Beattyhad become classics of New Journalism.
Navigating the Waters of Controversy
My introduction to Rex came at a tumultuous time. He had recently faced backlash for a scathing review of Melissa McCarthywhich included derogatory comments about her appearance. Our editor-in-chief, standing by Rex amid calls for his removal, passed the responsibility of managing his work to me. This meant not only handling his ego but also acting as a sensitivity readerensuring his reviews did not cross lines that could provoke public outrage.
One of my first tasks was to vet his copy for offensive language. I recall removing phrases like “savage Indians” and carefully considering the use of terms like “sluttish.” Rex’s writing was a blend of brilliance and provocation, and my role was to strike a balance between his unfiltered voice and the sensibilities of a modern audience.
The Decline of Cinema Through Rex’s Eyes
As I received his reviews in bold, 20-point font via email, I quickly realized that Rex’s frustration with modern cinema was a significant challenge. His emails, often sent from his AOL address, were filled with despair and anger at what he saw as the diminishing quality of films. He viewed the glut of mediocre movies as a personal affront to his standards of taste and decency, standards honed during his days in Old Hollywood.
“I am facing a lot of forthcoming problems with movies,” he wrote in one email. “There is just a real dearth of anything decent to write about.” His frustration extended to theater as well, where he found little to praise. “I do not want to waste my time on battling out copy trying to make sense out of incomprehensible movies that are being made by dolts,” he vented, urging the paper to allow him to write more theater criticism.
A Glimpse into Rex’s World
Our relationship began primarily through phone and email, but I soon delved into his work to understand him better. I read People Are Crazy Herehis 1974 collection of celebrity profiles, and watched his appearances on Dick Cavett’s talk show. His commandingly insouciant presence and distinctive style, including his jet-black hair and argyle vest, left a lasting impression. I came to regard him as a peculiar titan of journalism, wondering if he would tolerate his arranged marriage with a neophyte like me.
Our first meeting at La Rivistaan Italian restaurant near Times Square, was a revelation. Rex moved us to his regular table and ordered a dish not listed on the menu, greeted by the server with a ceremonious nod. It felt as if I had been transported to an old New York, a world that Rex seemed to inhabit effortlessly. Over dinner, he regaled me with stories of Mel TorméLiza Minnelliand other stars he had known intimately. We bonded over our shared admiration for jazz vocalist Johnny Hartman.
The Complex Legacy of a Legend
Rex’s legacy is a complex tapestry of brilliance and controversy. He was close with numerous celebrities and even had a brief acting career, most notably in the widely criticized “Myra Breckenridge” with Raquel Welch. His year-end in memoriam pieces commemorating forgotten stars highlighted his exhaustive knowledge of the industry and his personal connection to a bygone glamour.
By the time we crossed paths, Rex was grumpily reckoning with a world that had changed without his consent. His curmudgeonly perspective was a breath of fresh air in an era where criticism seemed to be softening. However, his tendency to label movies he hated as “the worst of all time” often seemed excessive. His refusal to review “Blue is the Warmest Colour,” opting instead to pan a forgettable horror film, was characteristic of his unyielding stance.
Despite occasional tensions, I appreciated his charmingly anachronistic writing. 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,” resonated deeply. However, his admission of fabricating quotes in an early interview with Jean-Paul Belmondo was less forgivable. “I just made it up,” he said blithely, showcasing his cavalier attitude towards journalistic integrity.
Rex’s struggle with technology was evident in his emails, where he often confused his friend’s computer with his own. The web was an abstraction to him, and he found continued relevance in publicists pulling quotes from his reviews for print movie ads. His last meeting with me, a week before Christmas in 2026, was a poignant reminder of his unchanging spirit. Despite his dental surgery, he remained sharp and opinionated, sharing stories of his travels and encounters with luminaries like Tennessee Williams.
When I told him about my impending fatherhood, his response was characteristically pessimistic. “Don’t mess with history. Don’t change things. You’ll lose your customers,” he once told me, voicing his disappointment with institutions that had lost their touch. In many ways, he was talking about himself—a man who refused to change, even as the world around him evolved.
