'It's OK to laugh about death': And Mrs director Daniel Reisinger's guide to facing grief with a smile

My debut comedy feature And Mrs is coming out in September. The film’s about a reluctant bride-to-be (Aisling Bea) whose fiancé (Colin Hanks) dies, yet decides to find closure by marrying him anyway. Classic comedy setup, obviously. So here are a few thoughts I’ve picked up along the way as I’ve tried to process my own grief by directing the film. (Yes. I am aware that therapy would have been cheaper.)

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1. It’s OK to laugh about death

I’ve never laughed harder than the week I knew my mum was about to die from Covid. Crying next to her deathbed, my family and I would tunelessly belt out her favourite song, The Rose by Bette Midler. We inherited Mum’s unerring ability to empty a karaoke room.

Her death left me with a gut-wrenching grief. A feeling I unfortunately share with many of my cast and crew. For instance Colin Hanks, who I was surprised to learn lost his mum to cancer; Billie Lourd, whose mother Carrie Fisher and grandmother Debbie Reynolds famously died within 48 hours of each other; and our lead Aisling Bea, who lost her father at a young age. She talks openly about how this loss inspired her to become “a clown”. 

So with And Mrs, we were bonded in wanting to make mourning more bearable through laughter. Oddly, it feels taboo to say this.

2. Everyone mourns differently

I know the night after my mother passed I craved intimacy with my wife, whose response was understandably, “Guards. Seize him!” But as I researched the film, I found that even this seemingly weird instinct is fairly common. Bereavements are unique experiences for all of us.

I was constantly asked by close friends why I’d want to make a film on this subject. As we wrapped the last shot (in a funeral home no less) a final barrier splintered inside me, and I sobbed for my mother. It was as if finishing this was a final promise to her.

To make the film equally personal for the cast and crew, the credits feature memorials to all of their loved ones. And the soundtrack for that moment, well it had to be The Rose. It’s a shame Mum never got to find out that Bette loved the film so much she gave us her classic track to use.

Our heroine’s grief process involves winning the legal right to a post-humous marriage. While to us this may seem ludicrous, it’s a reasonably common occurrence in France (Google the heartbreaking story of policeman Etienne Cardiles).

3. You don’t have to fix my grief

She also has to overcome her family’s objections, and this is the principal dramatic tension of the film. Well-meaning loved ones often want to stop you from grieving in ways they deem ‘unhealthy’. But as Dr Elisabeth Kübler-Ross points out in her seminal five stages of grief, really it’s because they just can’t bear to witness your pain. Billie Lourd shared with me that in the days after losing her mum she was given an enormous pile of grief books by various well-meaning people. As if all she had to do was read one and she’d feel better. This book pile was such a striking image that I featured it in the film.

• How the life-affirming power of the chicken helped me understand grief and loss
• Succession shows grief is complicated. Here’s how to get help if you’re dealing with a complex loss

4. We don’t know what to say

Billie hates that phrase “losing someone”, by the way, and rightly points out that her mum is gone forever, not missing in a parking lot. Our language around death is so bizarre and
awkward – a dark comedy goldmine. 

Speaking of which, another way people try to fix you is with platitudes. A good friend of mine meant well when he spouted the old chestnut: “Oh well, your mum had a good innings.” It didn’t feel “good” to me. I’d lost the woman who made me, who loved me like no one ever will. I make a point to say to anyone going through what I did: “That fucking sucks.” It’s what I wanted to hear. 

5. It never stops hurting

The pain sits with you forever. Some days it’s buried deep, some days you’re paper thin. 

It’s been incredibly gratifying seeing And Mrs touch audiences. It puts an arm around your shoulder and says grief sucks, but it’s a part of life and lets you laugh through the tears.

It’s a throwback to films like Muriel’s Wedding. By design it’s accessible to a broad audience, bawdy in parts, unflinchingly emotional in others and unapologetically romantic – which almost feels embarrassing to say nowadays. 

It even ends with a singalong, and who doesn’t like a singalong? Miserable gits that’s who. So fair warning: And Mrs is not a film for miserable gits.

And if you’re reading this from the grief trenches right now: I’m sorry. That fucking sucks!

And Mrs is on digital platforms from 2 September.

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