If you tried to find a common theme across three of his most iconic directed films—, The Princess Bride, and —you’d discover a subtle warmth, a resilient joy rooted in the understanding that life rarely unfolds as expected. Life’s unexpected turns bring greater happiness over time, because they only occur if we stay open to joy in every moment. That alone would be a shining legacy for any filmmaker, and Reiner—who was , producer Michele Singer Reiner—left us with even more.

Reiner’s mother, Estelle, worked as a professional singer; his father was Carl Reiner, an actor, writer, and director who created The Dick Van Dyke Show and was a close friend and collaborator of Mel Brooks. Audiences first became familiar with the younger Reiner through his role on the 1970s U.S. sitcom as Meathead—his real character name was Michael Stivic, though few remember it—where he played the liberal counterpoint to his racist, bigoted father-in-law Archie Bunker, portrayed by Carroll O’Connor. As an actor, Reiner had impeccable comedic timing, a talent passed down from his father. In real life, he embodied Michael Stivic’s values: he was a longstanding supporter of Democratic candidates and issues, such as a 1998 California ballot measure that funded early childhood programs using tobacco tax revenue. He also led—financially and otherwise—a 2012 legal effort to make same-sex marriage a constitutional right. In a modern Hollywood often surprisingly quiet on political issues, he was a vocal critic of Donald Trump.

Reiner has always felt, somehow, . His first feature, the 1984 mockumentary This Is Spinal Tap, didn’t just impress audiences initially—it gained new fans year after year, decade after decade. Thanks to Spinal Tap, everyone understands the phrase “turn it up to 11.” Reiner’s fifth film, When Harry Met Sally… (1989, written by Nora Ephron), followed many classic romantic comedy tropes while also modifying or abandoning others: it focused not on young people meeting charmingly and falling in love immediately, but on slightly older characters—those who’d experienced life’s hardships—finding romance by first becoming friends. and deliver the kind of relaxed, authentic performances that only a deeply attuned director could elicit. Reiner had a keen sense of humor, but also a remarkable ability to craft lines that struck emotional chords—and he could always guide his actors to deliver those perfectly. Consider the scene where Crystal’s Harry Burns tells Ryan’s Sally Albright, “I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.” It’s not saccharine—just direct. Harry knows he’s running out of time to secure his future, so the words come out as fast as a racehorse.

Reiner also made one of those beloved films—an outstanding one—that many people claim they can watch at any moment. The Princess Bride (1987) owed much of its success to brilliant casting: Peter Falk played a charismatic grandfather determined to convince his grandson of the value of fairytales and romance; Peter Cook was a solemn bishop officiating a royal wedding (“Mawage is what bwings us togethah today”); the always friendly-looking Wallace Shawn portrayed a Sicilian villain; and Crystal and the diminutive genius Carol Kane acted as magical healers who revive the “mostly dead” romantic lead. It took 15 years for the writer to bring the story to the screen, but Reiner did it justice. The film is lively and effortless—The Princess Bride is sheer, lighthearted enjoyment.

In subsequent years, Reiner built a career creating the type of mainstream, popular films that are rare today—movies like The Bucket List (2007), The Story of Us (1997), A Few Good Men (1992), and the Stephen King adaptation Misery (1990). His influence grew even more through Castle Rock Entertainment, the production company he co-founded in 1987: Castle Rock’s films include Richard Linklater’s Before Sunrise, Before Sunset, and Before Midnight; Christopher Guest’s comedies Waiting for Guffman, Best in Show, and A Mighty Wind; and King adaptations The Shawshank Redemption and Dolores Claiborne—among many others.

Reiner’s last film as a director was , a picture that—despite the popularity of its predecessor—didn’t seem to attract the audience it deserved. The film reunites Christopher Guest, Harry Shearer, and Michael McKean as members of the (unfortunately) fictional metal band Spinal Tap, who reunite after 41 years apart; Reiner again plays the (equally fictional) documentary filmmaker Martin di Bergi. Spinal Tap II is more heartwarming and introspective than outright hilarious—though as an unintended final work, it’s nearly perfect. We’ve all seen aging rockers pulling out their equipment to perform again, returning as older versions of their younger selves—with paunches and receding hairlines. They wonder, as we all do: how did we get so old? But reunion shows often have a bold, all-in energy—and Spinal Tap II is no exception. Reiner’s passing is tragic and sad, especially since he always seemed so joyful and celebratory. Maybe that’s the lesson: if you’re going to do something—write, make a film, develop a character, secure funding for another’s project—you might as well give it your all. Reiner never did anything halfway.