With the possible exception of John Hughes, it is difficult to think of a filmmaker who so thoroughly defined the texture, tone, and emotional vocabulary of the 1980s, and whose influence extended so cleanly into the decades beyond, as Rob Reiner. His tragic death this week, alongside his wife, marks not just the loss of a prolific director, but of a sensibility Hollywood no longer seems capable of producing.

Like many viewers of my generation, I had my first encounter with Reiner in The Princess Bride, which I watched obsessively as a 12-year-old. It is a film I loved then and have returned to often, discovering new layers of appreciation with each viewing. What endures is its sincerity. The film is unabashedly heartfelt and quietly moral, with “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father. Prepare to die,” yet never lapses into preachiness. It is earnest without being naive, uplifting without being saccharine, and confident enough to believe that goodness, courage, and love are worth taking seriously.