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That was by design. The hand of the best directors are invisible, subverted for the sake of giving form to the best representation of the tale that unfolds. I regret I didn’t see more Nichols’ staging of plays (the idea of Spamalot was enough to keep me away) but I caught all of the films–Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, The Graduate, Carnal Knowledge.  All the magnificent work he did with Meryl Streep in the 80s–Silkwood, the underrated Heartburn, Postcards from the Edge and Angels in America; in Angels, Emma Thompson was never better, or in the Nichols-helmed Primary Colors and Wit.  Working Girl. Closer.  What a list–what stories. What a director, to capture the way we were in an America not so long ago.  Thanks for the mirror–RIP.

See the great NY TIMES obit by Bruce Weber here, and Ben Brantley’s appraisal here