Appreciation: Critic Rex Reed had a savage streak, but when he loved something, his writing could reach greatness

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I grew up in New York and I remember being absolutely fascinated by Rex Reed on TV. He was a frequent guest on “Midday Live With Bill Boggs,” and honestly, he felt like this mysterious, almost shadowy figure to me as a kid. He was one of the very few openly gay men I saw on television – alongside guys like Charles Nelson Reilly and Paul Lynde, who everyone assumed were gay. But more than that, he was The Critic – sharp, witty, and unafraid to say what he thought. I’d sneak into the living room and watch him from my dad’s forbidden leather chair while my mom ironed, and it was…weird. It felt like I was catching a quick look at a future I didn’t quite get, and wasn’t sure I even wanted.

I did become a gay man and a critic, but I never reached the same level of fame as Reed. Honestly, I never wanted that kind of attention; I’m happier working behind the scenes, letting my writing speak for itself. Over time, though, my admiration for him grew, even though our approaches to criticism became increasingly different.

I was really saddened to hear about Rex Reed’s passing. He was a total firebrand of a critic – never afraid to really tell you what he thought, and often in a pretty blunt way. He wasn’t about subtle opinions; he went straight for the jugular with a witty, sometimes harsh, comment. Honestly, sometimes his attacks felt a little mean-spirited, especially when it came to actors’ appearances. He definitely caught a lot of heat – and deservedly so – for his comments about Melissa McCarthy after the movie ‘Identity Thief’ came out. It was a tough review, and his focus on her weight really sparked a lot of controversy.

As a critic, I always found Rex Reed fascinating – a true New York institution, despite being a Southern transplant. He really defined mainstream taste in entertainment, covering everything from film and TV to Broadway and clubs. But let’s be honest, he wasn’t a fan of anything too challenging or experimental. It was ironic, really. He wrote with such flair and drama himself, but anything truly new seemed to give him a headache. He preferred things safe and familiar, and wasn’t shy about letting you know it.

He was a man of intense passions, and he especially admired actors who truthfully portrayed the human experience. That’s why I eagerly agreed to write the preface for Angelica Page’s memoir, “Bountiful,” about her mother, Geraldine Page—one of my favorite actresses. When I began writing, I looked to my husband, Reed, for guidance and inspiration.

I was particularly impressed by how the critic explained the magic of Page’s acting in his book, “Big Screen, Little Screen.” He was discussing the 1968 TV movie “The Thanksgiving Visitor,” based on a Truman Capote story. He highlighted a small detail from Page’s Emmy-winning performance: when her character breaks the turkey wishbone, she carefully picks off bits of meat while making a wish. He noted that this brief moment, without any explanation, subtly reveals years of history and intimacy about her character.

He went on to describe the brilliance of her performance in detail. He noted how she embodied an incredibly convincing elderly woman—a delicate, timid lady in her sixties who lived as a recluse, venturing out only in her imagination. She seemed to gain energy from simple joys like flowers and children’s smiles, and her character was reflected in her simple clothes, like flour-sack aprons and thick stockings. The actress perfectly captured small, everyday moments: enjoying raisins, making early morning pancakes, struggling to read a thermometer, appreciating the scent of lemon wax, finding humor in old-fashioned images, and prioritizing nostalgic details over practical concerns, like encouraging her grandson to play baseball. She moved through the garden with the child, playfully imagining the chrysanthemums as lions to be hunted for the Thanksgiving feast.

He turned even simple TV reviews into beautifully written pieces. Reed could do this whenever he encountered something truly exceptional – which happened frequently, though not often enough for a reviewer. He quickly dismissed things he disliked, but when he found something he loved, he poured his energy into it, and his writing reached its full potential.

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2026-05-12 23:01