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Legendary film critic Rex Reed passed away on May 12, 2026, as confirmed by longtime friend William Kapfer. Reed died peacefully in his sleep after several years of health issues and nearly six months in and out of the hospital. Toronto Star via Getty Images<\/p>\n
I last saw Rex Reed<\/a> in person exactly four months ago, at NewYork-Presbyterian Hospital, on January 12, 2026. His longtime friend William Kapfer called three days earlier to tell me Rex had been there for several weeks and that from his hospital bed, he couldn\u2019t stop worrying about his editor at the Observer. That was me. I had already planned to fly up from Richmond, where I work remotely, so the timing felt almost fated.<\/p>\n It took nearly an hour to clear security, then another stretch of wrong elevator banks and unhelpful directions before I finally found his room. When I walked in, I had to steady myself. He looked so small, this man who had always been larger than life.<\/p>\n We spoke again by phone a few weeks later. He\u2019d been back to the hospital since my visit\u2014blood transfusions, liver complications, a cascade of problems that began a couple years earlier, when he fell at a gas station and hurt his foot. \u201cI\u2019ll either get better or I\u2019ll die,\u201d he told me, \u201cand I\u2019ll let you know which one.\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n Rex Taylor Reed, the legendary film critic whose sharp wit, uncompromising taste and distinctive prose made him one of the most recognizable voices in American cultural journalism for six decades, died in his sleep on May 12, 2026, in New York City. He was 87. His death was confirmed by Kapfer, who remained by Rex\u2019s side until the very end.\u00a0<\/p>\n In the time I was his editor at Observer\u2014on and off from 2018 until today\u2014he became a close friend, though I suspect he had that effect on more people than anyone realized. The Rex Reed<\/a> I knew bore little resemblance to the curmudgeon of popular imagination. Or perhaps it\u2019s more accurate to say he was that<\/a>, but he was so much else besides.<\/p>\n The Storyteller<\/p>\n What I loved most about Rex was how he told stories. The kind of anecdote that most people deliver flatly, without drama or color, Rex transformed into something unforgettable. He seized every opportunity to capture an audience. He chose his words with precision\u2014never too many, always unmistakably his. He\u2019d transport you into a moment, make you feel exactly what he felt about the absurdities he saw and made you see, too, and leave you looking back on it with laughter as if you\u2019d been there with him.<\/p>\n Rex rarely laughed, but seemed perpetually amused by the world. I laughed constantly in his presence. Mostly, I found myself exclaiming, \u201cWhat!\u201d or sighing, \u201cOh, Rex.\u201d<\/p>\n He seldom asked about my life, but he remembered everything I ever told him\u2014and made certain I knew it. Rex had many friends, including many famous ones. That he kept track of what my husband did for work, where we lived, how old my children were, the things I mentioned enjoying\u2014that generosity of attention meant something.<\/p>\n When I came to New York, we\u2019d have lunch at Michael\u2019s in Midtown or Sardi\u2019s in Times Square. He ordered the same thing every time: a Cobb salad, no blue cheese, iced tea. If the kitchen had hot fudge\u2014and he was meticulous about the distinction between hot fudge and chocolate sauce, a point I watched him make more times than I can count, often to the kitchen itself\u2014he\u2019d finish with ice cream. Our last lunch came a few months after his first serious fall. I had never had to walk him to a cab or help him inside until that day. The injuries accumulated so quickly that I lost track.<\/p>\n At the hospital in January, after cataloging the terrible food and the slow response times from the striking nurses, Rex turned his head as far as he could manage and asked how I do it all. Before I could deflect, he pressed on: \u201cHow do you do this job with two little children and a husband?\u201d\u00a0<\/p>\n People don\u2019t typically ask men this question, and, for some women, it\u2019s a sore point. I appreciated that he asked. More than that, I appreciated that he asked in a tone that conveyed the kind of awe I stop myself from indulging. I burst into tears and told him I didn\u2019t know.<\/p>\n That was Rex\u2014always noticing, always remembering, always making you feel like you mattered. Even at the end.<\/p>\n Rex Taylor Reed was born on October 2, 1938, in Fort Worth, Texas, to Jewell Smith Reed and James M. Reed, an oil company supervisor whose work kept the family in constant motion across the South. Rex attended 13 schools before graduation\u2014an itinerant childhood that taught him to find permanence not in places or friendships, but in the movies.<\/p>\n He saw Gone with the Wind at age two. \u201cThe things I remember most are what would affect a child,\u201d he told me. \u201cBonnie dying on the horse. I was hysterical.\u201d Around the same time, he saw Tarzan\u2019s New York Adventure. \u201cThere was a terrible storm in that movie, and I kept tugging at my mother: \u2018We have to roll up the car windows!\u2019 She said, \u2018It\u2019s just a movie.\u2019 But you see how impressionable I was.\u201d<\/p>\n Rex was adopted\u2014something I learned only during that January hospital visit. He had no siblings, though not for lack of opportunity. \u201cI could have had a sister,\u201d he said, with what I sensed was regret. \u201cBut I told my parents that if they adopted another child, I\u2019d run away. I meant it. So they didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n His mother came from a sprawling Oklahoma clan whose second cousins included the Dalton Gang. She indulged her singular son in ways unusual for the time and place. \u201cIn the South, people were easily shocked, and many books were forbidden,\u201d Rex recalled. \u201cThe library had a restricted section, but my mother would check things out for me. I read From Here to Eternity at 12. She said, \u2018If there\u2019s anything you don\u2019t understand, show me, and we\u2019ll discuss it.\u2019 I never needed to. I already understood.\u201d<\/p>\n Rex spoke of his mother<\/a> with deep admiration. I once heard someone describe the difference between parents who are gardeners\u2014providing what children need and tending them as they grow\u2014and those who are architects, identifying what makes a child distinctive and building on it. Rex\u2019s mother was an architect. She recognized early what made him shine and nurtured it relentlessly.<\/p>\n His father, descended from military men, understood nothing of show business but had the wisdom not to interfere. \u201cHe never discouraged me,\u201d Rex said. \u201cThat\u2019s the great thing. So many parents fight their children when they discover they\u2019re different or talented, because they want them to live conventional lives. My parents didn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n Once Rex was old enough to attend movies alone, he saw everything. He memorized Barbara Stanwyck<\/a>\u2019s filmography, which is why, when he finally met her years later in New York, they became genuine friends. \u201cI knew what to ask her,\u201d he explained. \u201cI asked questions that interested her.\u201d<\/p>\n Rex graduated from Louisiana State University in 1960 with a degree in journalism. He had already been writing film and theater reviews for the student paper, The Daily Reveille, and the Baton Rouge Morning Advocate. During college, he interviewed anyone who came South to make a movie\u2014and in those years, many did, shooting on location in the plantation houses of Mississippi and Louisiana.<\/p>\n When Angela Lansbury<\/a>, Paul Newman<\/a>, Lee Remick<\/a>, Joanne Woodward<\/a> and Orson Welles<\/a> descended on Baton Rouge to film The Long, Hot Summer, Rex showed up daily to cover it for the school paper. A college girlfriend, Elizabeth Ann Cole, begged to tag along. She caught the acting bug so severely that she dropped out, moved to New York, changed her name to Elizabeth Ashley<\/a>, and landed on the cover of Life within a year. \u201cWe\u2019re old friends,\u201d Rex said simply. \u201cMy life has been amazing.\u201d<\/p>\n After graduation, Rex moved to New York, hoping to act. Instead, he found himself in the publicity department at 20th Century Fox, where his duties included entering the steam room \u201cin my starched shirt\u201d to read gossip items aloud to studio chief Spyros Skouras<\/a>. When Cleopatra\u2018s cost overruns nearly sank the company, Rex was among the first casualties\u2014\u201dthe little guy at the $75 salary, the most dispensable item in the company.\u201d<\/p>\n That firing liberated him. Still in his twenties, he began writing celebrity profiles for The New York Times and New York magazine, pioneering a form of journalism that captured stars as they actually were rather than as studio publicists wished them to appear.<\/p>\n Tom Wolfe<\/a> observed that \u201cRex Reed raised the celebrity interview to a new level through his frankness and his eye for social detail. He has been a master at capturing a storyline in the interview situation itself.\u201d Alongside Wolfe, Truman Capote<\/a>, Kenneth Tynan<\/a> and Harry Crews<\/a>, Rex elevated a genre once dismissed as gossip into something approaching literature.<\/p>\n His 1968 collection Do You Sleep in the Nude? captured Barbra Streisand<\/a> on the cusp of superstardom, Warren Beatty<\/a> finishing Bonnie and Clyde, Buster Keaton<\/a> in his final interview, and Ava Gardner<\/a> in her twilight\u2014a portrait so vivid that it became one of the most reprinted celebrity profiles of its era.<\/p>\n \u201cI took the lowest form of journalism\u2014the celebrity interview\u2014and did something with it,\u201d Rex reflected. \u201cFor a boy with no money who didn\u2019t know a famous soul to come to New York and make a name in journalism, that was no small achievement.\u201d<\/p>\n In 1969, Rex fulfilled a fantasy by moving into the Dakota, the legendary apartment building on Central Park West that had acquired an aura of gothic mystique from Rosemary\u2019s Baby. He paid $30,000 for his two-bedroom unit\u2014a sum that now ranks among the most astonishing real estate bargains in Manhattan history.<\/p>\n His first night there, Rex owned only a sleeping bag, a shopping cart filled with books and records, and a wide-ribbed, lemon-yellow corduroy Queen Anne chair. The doorbell rang. He answered in a towel. Standing before him was Robert Ryan<\/a>, one of the most celebrated actors in Hollywood. \u201cI\u2019m the president of the Dakota board,\u201d Ryan said. \u201cI came to welcome you to the building.\u201d Rex made instant coffee while Ryan settled into the yellow chair. Rex sat on the sleeping bag.<\/p>\n He lived in that apartment for more than 50 years. His neighbors over the decades included Boris Karloff (\u201cI used to find his fan mail in the garbage\u2014a dream come true\u201d) and Lauren Bacall<\/a>. He also kept an 18th-century country house in Litchfield County, Connecticut, which contained a bathtub painted by Alexander Calder<\/a> titled Heaven, Earth and Hell, featuring a serpent in red sunglasses.<\/p>\n The same year he moved to the Dakota, Rex made his film debut in Myra Breckinridge, the Gore Vidal<\/a> adaptation, playing Myron, a character who undergoes a sex change (Raquel Welch played his post-operative self). The film also starred Mae West<\/a> and Farrah Fawcett<\/a>. Everyone involved, including Rex, disowned it. His account of the production was characteristically wry: \u201cMae West spoke to no one but God. Raquel spoke only to the studio head. The studio head spoke only to God, who relayed messages back to Mae West.\u201d<\/p>\n In our last conversation, about a month ago, I asked Rex very directly about his personal life\u2014something we never discussed but which he danced around for years, making clear the door wasn\u2019t closed but wasn\u2019t quite open. I told him about my husband\u2019s hairstylist, a Gen X gay man named Charley who happens to be the brother of a very famous film director. Charley had mentioned that when he was young, there was no one in entertainment he could look up to as someone who was different\u2014until he saw Rex on television. Rex was the first person who reminded Charley of himself.<\/p>\n Rex was genuinely surprised. \u201cNo,\u201d he said. \u201cNo, I did not know that anyone looked up to me.\u201d<\/p>\n I asked about partners. Did he ever have one? Years ago, I reminded him, \u201cYou said you couldn\u2019t fathom waking each day to the same face.\u201d Was it true? He sighed through the phone and then answered so clearly I wondered if the fog had been an act. Rex monologued, talked in circles, reached for effect. This question had grounded him. He\u2019d only ever had one, he told me, and it lasted 25 years. His name was Rick Winter, and he ran DRG Records, producing albums including Liza Minnelli<\/a>\u2019s recording of The Act. After Rick died, there was no one else.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t have much of a private life,\u201d Rex said. \u201cI lose myself in loving what I\u2019m writing about.\u201d<\/p>\n In 2018, he had put it differently<\/a>: \u201cLove is not something I\u2019ve been good at. People are intimidated by people with opinions. How do you start looking for a wife or boyfriend at this point? It\u2019s too late. Though it would be nice to find someone handy with a wheelchair, because that day is coming.\u201d<\/p>\n Now I understood: Rex wasn\u2019t loveless. He was, in his way, widowed. And he had chosen work as his companion in the years that followed.<\/p>\n Rex\u2019s byline appeared in virtually every major publication with \u201cNew York\u201d in its name\u2014the Times, New York Magazine, the Daily News, the Post\u2014plus GQ, Esquire, Vogue and Women\u2019s Wear Daily. He served on film festival juries in Berlin and Venice. But his nearly four-decade run at Observer became the defining chapter of his career.<\/p>\n Arthur Carter hired him in 1987<\/a>, four days before Rex turned 49. By then, he had already achieved every honor a cultural journalist could want. He showed no signs of slowing down. That was nearly 40 years ago.<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t know how many years I have now devoted to Observer,\u201d Rex told me in one of our final conversations, \u201cbut I really have not written for anybody else in years.\u201d<\/p>\n After breaking his ankle one summer, despite explicit instructions to forget about Observer and focus on recovery, Rex sent near-daily updates on his assignments. He took the work as seriously at 80-something as he had at 49. When he finally acknowledged he couldn\u2019t attend the Toronto Film Festival for the first time in 25 years, the anguish in his message was unmistakable.<\/p>\n \u201cI am still struggling badly with my foot,\u201d he wrote me. \u201cIt\u2019s swollen to twice its normal size. I can walk, but I don\u2019t think I can manage two airports, taxis, a hotel, then walking three or four times daily to screenings blocks apart, dragging luggage and press books and notes around Toronto on one foot. I\u2019ve covered that festival for 25 years. I don\u2019t want to miss it. But I know I\u2019m tempting fate. I don\u2019t want to fall and end up in some Canadian hospital.\u201d<\/p>\n In his final weeks, as he described blood transfusions and liver complications, he kept apologizing for not filing copy. I finally told him to stop. \u201cIf one more person calls me and says \u2018Rex wanted me to tell you he\u2019s sorry he hasn\u2019t written,\u2019 I\u2019m going to scream,\u201d I said. \u201cThat\u2019s not what I care about. I care about whether you\u2019re okay.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWell,\u201d he said, \u201cI\u2019m doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances.\u201d<\/p>\n He told me I was the best person he\u2019d ever worked with. \u201cAnd I\u2019ve worked with major, major editors,\u201d he added. (He was on a lot of meds; I\u2019m no Peter Kaplan.)<\/p>\n Rex\u2019s emails arrived with one of two subject lines (\u201ca note from Rex\u201d or \u201cfrom Rex Reed\u201d) and generally covered four topics: reviews he was submitting; explanations of why a particular film was too dreadful to review at all; complaints about the photos I\u2019d chosen (I was, apparently, reliably terrible at this); and elaborately entertaining accounts of his misfortunes, laced with kind words about our collaboration and questions about my children.<\/p>\n \u201cYou didn\u2019t run a photo of Ma\u00efwenn<\/a> that shows her prominent buck teeth,\u201d one message read, \u201cso my description of her as Madame du Barry<\/a> makes no sense. Do you want to change it?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe photo of the man in the white suit is Nick Odenkirk, not Dennis Quaid<\/a>,\u201d read another, \u201cand the photo of Dennis Quaid is unrecognizable. I suppose it is Quaid<\/a>, but it doesn\u2019t look like him. All of this is a perfect example of what I mean when I say the movie business has gone to the dogs.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI just hate that photo,\u201d he wrote of a different piece. \u201cThis photo shows no facial features; the person in it is so small he disappears, it makes no impression, and it could be anybody. I am still shocked over the terrible photo we used of George Clooney<\/a>, and now this one is just as bad. Great photos exist\u2014can\u2019t you find one?<\/a>\u201d<\/p>\n Some photo debates spanned multiple emails. After I replaced one image, he replied: \u201cThe new photo is even worse than the first one. It has peripheral characters I don\u2019t even mention in the review and no reader will know who they are.\u201d I tried again. \u201cThat is the worst of the three. I have never seen such a lousy group of photos, and not one shot of Nicholas Hoult in any of them. Just go back to the original<\/a>. At least it shows Jude Law\u2019s face. Thanks for putting up with me.\u201d<\/p>\n Once, my entire assignment inquiry was met with: \u201cNo, I won\u2019t be doing FURIOSA.\u201d<\/p>\n Other times, the explanation was more involved: \u201cI went to see Spain last night, but it was so cold, they had air conditioning on that was blowing cold air on my head, and I was in agony from sitting with three layers of clothes on, so I left after half an hour. What I saw was 30 minutes of total nonsense, and I didn\u2019t understand one word of it, so there will be no review.\u201d<\/p>\n Especially when Rex hated a movie, his evisceration was so colorful that it made me want to see it. That was his gift: he could pan something so viciously<\/a> that it felt unmissable. I tried explaining this to him a few times\u2014you hate it so much, I have to see it\u2014and he\u2019d grumble, not angry but perplexed, as if my Millennial sensibility was something he\u2019d never crack. In ways, Rex was like a grandparent I got to keep long enough to appreciate.<\/p>\n More than once, I made an edit he couldn\u2019t abide. \u201cYou changed it, but now it is worse than ever,\u201d he wrote. \u201cYou can\u2019t say\u2014or rather, I can\u2019t say\u2014\u2019lovely, appealing Elliot Page.\u2019 It is \u2018lovely, appealing Ellen Page,\u2019 referring to BEFORE the transition. The way it reads now<\/a> is positively ridiculous\u2014on NYO, on the Drudge Report, and on Rotten Tomatoes. I wish you would just reinstate the copy the way I wrote it, which is how I meant for it to read and makes perfect sense. But no way can you refer to the man Ellen Page is now as \u2018lovely, appealing Elliot Page.’\u201d<\/p>\n Technology was a recurring nemesis. \u201cAll of this technology is driving me around the bend,\u201d he wrote. \u201cOh god, the stress of technology never ends for me.\u201d After an automatic update, he cried sabotage: \u201cThis is all the fault of Microsoft Word.\u201d Another email opened simply: \u201cSubmerged in computer problems.\u201d<\/p>\n His health dispatches arrived with the same theatrical flair he brought to everything else.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cLet me catch you up on my sad little saga. After three weeks as a shut-in with back problems, the pain finally improved. I gathered my notes on the films I needed to review and went to the country to rest and write. No sooner did I arrive than an old crown fell out, leaving a hole in my mouth that immediately began to hurt. I returned early to New York and went to the dentist at nine the next morning. One examination and he said, \u2018Everything beneath the crown has decayed so rapidly it didn\u2019t show on X-rays. To save your mouth, it has to come out.’\u201d<\/p>\n He continued: \u201cHorrified\u2014my teeth have always been my best feature\u2014I gave in. The tooth had split in two, requiring two surgeries. There was a cyst on the bone beneath. That had to be removed, then bone grafting. By the time I got a Percocet and antibiotics, I was in the worst agony of my life. I spent the rest of the day in bed on painkillers and warm salt water. By nightfall, there was blood all over my Ralph Lauren sheets, and I couldn\u2019t swallow.\u201d<\/p>\n He signed off: \u201cMy face is so swollen I look like Rocky. I can\u2019t move my mouth. I have a black bruise across my jawline that resembles a Dick Tracy villain. I am so sorry, but life isn\u2019t very pleasant right now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI look like something out of a monster movie\u201d became a refrain in his correspondence.<\/p>\n His emails weren\u2019t only about health. After one Thanksgiving spent with friends, he reported: \u201cThe girls just can\u2019t cook. I asked for a drumstick, and it was so\u00a0hard and burned that I could not eat\u00a0it, so\u00a0I asked for white meat instead, and it was dried out and completely tasteless. The Brussels sprouts were burned, the cranberry sauce was just that\u2014a sauce with the consistency of water, not the sauce with whole berries the way I make it\u2014the green beans were so under-cooked they seemed raw, and\u00a0they made a pumpkin pie and forgot to add the sugar, so it was bitter and otherwise tasteless. The cornbread stuffing and turkey gravy were OK so I just ate that with some of the cranberry water poured on from a gravy ladle. I usually make my own dishes, and they are always scrumptious, but this year, I was in too much pain on Thanksgiving Day from my fall to stand and stir.\u00a0It is the one holiday about which I am always a strict traditionalist, and this was a meal every cook in my family would have thrown into the garbage. The best thing on the table was the Cabernet Sauvignon I bought. But the camaraderie was pleasant.\u201d<\/p>\n Yet amid his suffering, he thought of others. \u201cHow is your daughter?\u201d Rex asked, after a particularly brutal bout with diaper rash that left her home from daycare for days (and delayed the publication of a review). \u201cI am worried about her,\u201d he said. During the 2023 holidays, he wrote: \u201cYou sound like you\u2019re having a hectic time lately. I hope you can settle down and have a well-deserved, restful Christmas weekend. Raise a glass to a more pleasant 2024. Working with you has been the best part of 2023, and I hope you know how sincerely I mean that.\u201d A year later: \u201cI guess this is finally the year everyone gives up sending Christmas\u00a0cards, but I am so glad you sent yours because those two children are adorable. She\u2019s a peach, and he should be in the movies. You must be so proud of them, and I am so happy for you. I know you are planning a great Christmas for them, although with all of your responsibilities, I don\u2019t know how you find the time.\u201d<\/p>\n When I asked whether anyone had taught him to see the world differently, he answered without hesitation: \u201cIt was always inside me. No one taught me anything about movies or jazz or singing. I can\u2019t explain it, but I was always different.\u201d<\/p>\n His tastes were fierce and unapologetic. He loved horror\u2014\u201dthe things that terrorize you\u201d\u2014though he lamented that those who knew how to make great horror films were gone. He adored vampires, Dracula, Bela Lugosi. He was fascinated by the Nazis: \u201cThe most interesting manifestation of evil in my lifetime.\u201d Westerns held no appeal. \u201cI hate all of them. They had nothing to do with my life.\u201d<\/p>\n He once wrote, \u201cIf the movie has alligators, I\u2019m in.\u201d When I asked why, he explained: \u201cAlligators were everywhere in Louisiana\u2014in the swamps, everywhere. They became symbols of terror for me.\u201d Visiting India, he cared less about the Taj Mahal than about the cobras that spat at tourists. \u201cI\u2019ve always been fascinated by things that terrify.\u201d<\/p>\n The only C grade he ever received in college came in feature writing\u2014because he refused to follow rules. The first principle of the Associated Press style was the five W\u2019s in the opening paragraph: who, what, why, when, where. \u201cI hated that,\u201d Rex said. \u201cI started stories with the color of the wallpaper.\u201d His editors loved it. He never wrote on spec.\u00a0<\/p>\n Rex dreaded being remembered as a curmudgeon, and I understood why. The first question people asked about him was always \u201cIs he really that mean?\u201d followed by \u201cIs he really that angry?\u201d It\u2019s easy to reduce a person that way. It isn\u2019t the full story of Rex.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve been severely misjudged,\u201d he told me.\u00a0\u201cPeople think I\u2019m a monster. They accuse me of things they actually do themselves. They attack me because they don\u2019t like me\u2014not because of my work. I\u2019ve never done that. What I\u2019m negative about is the absence of quality<\/a>. We\u2019re drowning in mediocrity. I grew up when things weren\u2019t mediocre. Now they are.\u201d<\/p>\n Some of his reviews did spark controversy. His comments about Melissa McCarthy<\/a> in Identity Thief were referenced at the Academy Awards. During our last phone call, Rex brought it up with characteristic self-awareness: \u201cMaybe I\u2019m getting paid back for what I\u2019ve written about Sylvester Stallone.\u201d<\/p>\n I told him what I believed: Everybody thinks what Rex had the courage to say<\/a>. Few people even admit thinking it, and when someone says it<\/a>, everyone gets up in arms\u2014because they have to, because it\u2019s just not a thing anyone is supposed to say.\u00a0<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m not judgmental,\u201d he said\u2014a claim that might astonish anyone who\u2019d been on the receiving end of his reviews. To those who knew him personally, it made perfect sense.<\/p>\n Among Rex\u2019s closest friends was Angela Lansbury. Theirs was not a relationship of fan and star but something more like family.<\/p>\n When Rex first arrived in New York and began writing for the Times, Lansbury was opening in Mame\u2014one of the most anticipated musicals in Broadway history. The paper assigned Rex the story. But his mother was dying of leukemia in Baton Rouge, and he had to leave. The editors considered reassigning the piece. Lansbury refused. \u201cWhat he\u2019s going through is more important,\u201d she said. \u201cThe story can wait.\u201d<\/p>\n After Rex covered the Cannes Film Festival, Lansbury insisted he come stay with her in Ireland. She left keys for him when she wasn\u2019t there. When his father suffered a coronary and no flights were available out of Ireland, she personally called the head of Aer Lingus and got him on a plane to Baton Rouge.<\/p>\n What did they do together? \u201cI taught her card games. We watched old movies. We went to restaurants. We enjoyed the quiet part of life, away from everything. We became very good friends.\u201d<\/p>\n Lansbury\u2019s death in 2022 devastated him. \u201cI don\u2019t feel like I have friends anymore,\u201d Rex said in his final years. \u201cThey\u2019re all gone.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe End Is Coming Soon\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI am beginning to see into the crystal ball, you know, and the end is coming soon.\u201d Rex said this to me many times over the years\u2014a lamentation I never wanted to hear but felt privileged to receive. His old-school Manhattan drawl had a sharp, theatrical flair; every word carried an unmistakable lilt of wit and authority. He was a critic who understood he was the star of his own show.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s all going to be over soon,\u201d he\u2019d say, \u201cand I don\u2019t want my last impression to be: Film Critic Found Dead at Computer Reviewing a Bad Movie.\u201d<\/p>\n I cannot think about Rex no longer being on the other end of the line without feeling a lump rise in my throat, threatening to erupt. I knew he was right\u2014that our time was finite, that I would miss every layer of him terribly when he was gone.<\/p>\n During our last phone call, we talked about the Oscars, which Rex had watched and hated. \u201cEverybody tried too hard to appeal to a younger audience,\u201d he said. \u201cOlder people who try to appeal to a younger audience but don\u2019t know what younger people like just make a mess out of everything. I thought the jokes were stupid. I thought the acceptance speeches were stupid. They\u2019re not interested in a dignified, distinguished show to award artistry. They\u2019re trying to turn it into a Las Vegas floor show.\u201d<\/p>\n I asked what bothered him most. \u201cArt should not be competitive,\u201d he said. \u201cI don\u2019t think art should be competitive.\u201d<\/p>\n Was there ever a time when good movies outnumbered bad ones? \u201cYes,\u201d he conceded, \u201cbut not while I was writing. I saw wonderful films through the \u201960s and maybe a few in the \u201970s. But the greatest movies were in the \u201940s. It wasn\u2019t a great period for the world, but the movies reflected higher thinking.\u201d<\/p>\n What made a good film? \u201cReal people doing real things, saying real things to each other. That\u2019s what I respond to. Most of what I see now is fantasy, sci-fi, horror, brutality, carnage. Those aren\u2019t the subjects I want to die thinking about.\u201d<\/p>\n How He Wanted to Be Remembered<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019d like to be remembered as someone who really tried to make things better,\u201d Rex told me. \u201cOr at least respected what was good when it happened. Not as a curmudgeon. That\u2019s not what I am in real life.\u201d<\/p>\n Toward the end, Rex spoke of wanting to work less and experience things he\u2019d never done\u2014a safari, perhaps. \u201cI\u2019m so tired of writing,\u201d he admitted. But the reviews kept coming. He couldn\u2019t help himself.<\/p>\n \u201cI didn\u2019t plan for my life to turn out this way,\u201d he told me in our final conversation. \u201cAnd I\u2019m not happy about the fact that it\u2019s headed in a terrible direction from what it was. I feel rotten about it, but there\u2019s just nothing I can do but play the cards that are dealt.\u201d<\/p>\n In January 2025, the New York Film Critics Circle honored Rex at their annual dinner for his 50th anniversary with the group. He had outlasted every critic of his generation and the one before. Stars cited him by name in acceptance speeches, recalling his reviews. He was one of a kind.\u00a0<\/p>\n When I published a profile of Rex in Observer, he wrote back almost immediately: \u201cI hope I did not come off sounding too self-indulgent or too self-pitying. But what you quoted, at great surprising length, was accurate\u2014one of the most accurate portrayals of me ever written\u2014so if anyone objects, at least I can only blame myself.\u201d\u00a0He wanted to know where I had found the photos, particularly one of him with Angela Lansbury that he had never seen. \u201cI have many photos of us together, but I have never seen that photo and don\u2019t even know where it was taken.\u201d He asked if I could get him a copy.<\/p>\n In the end, Rex got his wish. He was not found dead at a computer reviewing a bad movie. He died in New York\u2014the city he\u2019d dreamed of as a boy in the South\u2014surrounded by memories of everyone he had known and everything he had witnessed in a life that was, by any measure, extraordinary.<\/p>\n Rex is survived by no immediate family. But what he left behind\u2014eight books, thousands of reviews, countless profiles, a body of work that transformed cultural journalism\u2014will endure. And for a generation of young gay men who saw him on television and recognized something of themselves, he was proof that being different could become a life\u2019s greatest asset.<\/p>\n What I will remember are simpler things: the lunches at Michael\u2019s, the Cobb salads without blue cheese, the hot fudge (never chocolate sauce), and a friend who always made me feel like I mattered.<\/p>\n Oh, Rex.<\/p>\n \u00a0<\/p>\n \t\t\t If you have memories of Rex Reed\u2014even if you didn\u2019t know him personally\u2014that you would like to share, please send them to merin@observer.com. I\u2019ll compile and publish later this week. Lots of love, and thanks for making it this far down the page.<\/p>\n \t\t\t\t<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"Legendary film critic Rex Reed passed away on May 12, 2026, as confirmed by longtime friend William Kapfer.…\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":229593,"comment_status":"","ping_status":"","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[8],"tags":[39394,90146,4982,20369,90149,61025,90144,17,90159,90150,90153,90154,90152,2558,17163,90151,90156,90147,232,19960,90157,90158,1208,59761,158,9,24,55,54,56,90148,14828,89791,90155,90141,90142,90145,34838,90143],"class_list":["post-229592","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-new-york-city","tag-alexander-calder","tag-angela-lansbury","tag-arts","tag-ava-gardner","tag-barbara-stanwyck","tag-barbra-streisand","tag-buster-keaton","tag-culture","tag-dennis-quaid","tag-elizabeth-ashley","tag-farrah-fawcett","tag-gore-vidal","tag-harry-crews","tag-hollywood","tag-joanne-woodward","tag-kenneth-tynan","tag-lauren-bacall","tag-lee-remick","tag-lifestyle","tag-liza-minnelli","tag-mae-west","tag-mau00efwenn","tag-media","tag-melissa-mccarthy","tag-movies","tag-new-york","tag-new-york-city","tag-new-york-city-headlines","tag-new-york-city-news","tag-ny","tag-orson-welles","tag-paul-newman","tag-rex-reed","tag-robert-ryan","tag-sardis","tag-spyros-skouras","tag-tom-wolfe","tag-truman-capote","tag-warren-beatty"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/229592","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/2"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=229592"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/229592\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/229593"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=229592"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=229592"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=229592"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}![\"Rex](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-118039728-e1778593401402.jpg\")
Rex Reed and longtime friend William Kapfer at the 18th International Palm Springs Film Festival Awards Gala in 2007. WireImage for BWR\/Getty Images<\/p>\n![\"Rex](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-1429286515.jpg\")
Rex Reed at the 1976 Cannes Film Festival. Penske Media via Getty Images
\nA Southern Boy in the Movies<\/p>\n![\"Portrait](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-2199406411-e1778595017187.jpg\")
Rex Reed on a beach in Malibu, 1973. Getty Images
\nThe Rise of a New Kind of Critic<\/p>\n![\"Rex](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-166981247.jpg\")
Rex Reed as Myron Breckinridge, Mae West as Leticia Van Allen, Raquel Welch as Myra Breckinridge and John Huston as Buck Loner, in a promotional portrait for \u2018Myra Breckinridge\u2019, directed by Michael Sarne, 1970. Getty Images
\nThe Dakota and a Life Beyond Imagination<\/p>\n![\"Lee](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-1438072247.jpg\")
Lee Radziwill, Andy Warhol and Rex Reed attend the wrap party for the Elizabeth Taylor film \u201cAsh Wednesday\u201d in New York on November 6, 1973. Penske Media via Getty Images
\nRick<\/p>\n![\"Rex](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-121410097.jpg\")
Rex Reed, Recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award in Cinema at the 2006 9th Annual SCAD Savannah Film Festival. WireImage
\nThe Observer Years<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-1469764862-e1778594965335.jpg\")
Rex Reed attends a screening at the offices of the Directors Guild of America in Hollywood, California, on March 20, 1974. Penske Media via Getty Images
\nNotes from Rex<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-1428061399.jpg\")
Rex Reed and Diane von Furstenberg attend a tribute to producer Robert Evans at the Americana Hotel in New York City on October 30, 1975. Penske Media via Getty Images
\nA Different Eye<\/p>\n![\"Rex](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-98689807.jpg\")
Rex Reed and Joan Rivers attend Tribeca Talks: \u201cJoan Rivers A Piece Of Work\u201d during the 2010 Tribeca Film Festival at the School of Visual Arts Theater on April 26, 2010 in New York City. Michael Loccisano
\nOn Being Misjudged<\/p>\n![\"Angela](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-107581692.jpg\")
Angela Lansbury and Rex Reed on August 6, 1980 in New York, New York. Ron Galella Collection via Getty
\nAngela<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/rex-e1778583657431.jpg\")
Rex\u2019s second-to-last outing to the theater, to see Sean Hayes\u2019 new show, in April 2026, with his cousin, Jena Reece, and his dear friend William Kapfer. Courtesy of Bill Kapfer<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-1816139937.jpg\")
Rex Reed attends a party at the New York City home of Fereydoon Hoveyda on January 30, 1977. Penske Media via Getty Images
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-1469765501.jpg\")
Rex Reed and Sylvia Miles attend a party at Pub Theatrical in New York City, celebrating the 500th performance of \u2018No, No, Nanette,\u2019 on April 4, 1972. Penske Media via Getty Images
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-1469765496.jpg\")
Rex Reed attends the opening-night party of \u2018The Country Girl\u2019 at Raffles in New York City on March 15, 1972. Penske Media via Getty Images
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-1469765454.jpg\")
Kay Thompson and Rex Reed attend a party in the New York City home of Donald Brooks on February 10, 1974. Penske Media via Getty Images
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-612575536.jpg\")
American Film Critic Rex Reed Corbis via Getty Images
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-591780118.jpg\")
Rex Reed, Kaye Ballard and Liz Smith attend The Caring Community 2005 Gala Dinner Dance at Tribeca Rooftop on November 7, 2005 in New York City. Patrick McMullan via Getty Image
\n![\"Rex](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-591522342.jpg\")
Rex Reed and Bruce Weber attend Bergdorf Goodman Launches \u201cBlood, Sweat and Tears or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love Fashion\u201d by Bruce Weber at Bergdorf Goodman on December 14, 2005 in New York City. Patrick McMullan via Getty Image
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-516506418.jpg\")
Alice Faye and Rex Reed. Bettmann Archive
\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-139569395.jpg\")
Rex Reed attends the party for Democratic Fundraising Rally on October 27, 1972 at Jimmy\u2019s Restaurant in New York City. Ron Galella Collection via Getty
\n![\"Lucy](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-103949759.jpg\")
Lucy Nathan and Rex Reed attend the launch party for \u201cThe Movies\u201d Magazine on June 20, 1983 at Kaufman Astoria Studios in New York City. Ron Galella Collection via Getty<\/p>\n![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.newsbeep.com\/us-ny\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/05\/GettyImages-83659602.jpg\")
\n\t\t\tGetty Images\t\t<\/p>\n