Robert Redford is out of breath. That beautiful man has just walked up six unexpected flights of stairs to his New York apartment and he is positively winded, far too tired to spar with his flammable new bride. In the 1967 screen adaptation of Barefoot In The Park, all the good lines belong to Jane Fonda while Redford complains, sneezes and puts up with it. It is incredible to see this gorgeous man — a man chiselled out of a classic superhero comic-strip — be this relatably helpless and browbeaten. Neil Simon’s play can be seen either as an advertisement for marriage as well as a cautionary tale, and Redford’s haplessness teaches us that it can be both.
Robert Redford always gave us more than we expected. More than the obvious. Initially dismissed by many — notably the late great film critic Pauline Kael — as a pretty blonde, Redford reacted by leaning heavily into complicated roles that subverted his very handsomeness, roles where things were never what they seemed. His characters were always messier or smarter or fickler or slimier or braver or more cunning than they first appeared, the actor weaponising his impossibly good looks to somehow appear casually unassuming — always to prove otherwise. Never forget that the reason Robert Redford is the most dangerous man in Three Days Of The Condor is because “he reads.”
What a titan. Redford died in his sleep this week at the age of 89, and has left behind an incomparable legacy. Not only that of a genuinely iconic movie star, but that of a significant filmmaker, an accomplished and self-aware character actor, a passionate environmentalist, and — most importantly of all — an unlikely saviour and fosterer of independent cinema. Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid is certainly a wondrous film, but it is the Sundance Film Festival that Redford built in the sprawling Utah, far removed from Hollywood, that brought us filmmakers like Steven Soderbergh and Quentin Tarantino.
What do we think about when we think about Redford? Him nursing his bloodied chin in The Way We Were while scolding an idealistic Barbra Streisand for telling off the world. Or the way he scowls sheepishly in Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid before confessing that he doesn’t know how to swim. Or that phone call in All The President’s Men where he discovers where the campaign funds went, and his blue eyes gleam with epiphany even as he does his best to sound casual. Or that scene in The Sting where he, having found and sobered up a washed-up Paul Newman, tells this new apparent mentor that “I already know how to drink.”
What shines through in these performances is not only a classic movie star, all-conquering and incandescent, but an intensely self-aware performer. One who knew the power of a smirk and the nudge of an eyebrow, one who could make us swoon over him and shrink from him. One who knew what he was capable of. This made Redford an insightful director, making films like Ordinary People and Quiz Show. This self-awareness also made him realise he could do more for the movies.
In 1981, a year after winning the Oscar for Ordinary People, Redford set up the Sundance Institute in the wild hills of Utah, far from the Hollywood crowd. Redford craved distance from the studio machinery, longing to create a community for independent artists and creators. These mountains, windbitten and unscripted, promised sanctuary. Nobody turned up at first, despite this movie-star beckoning the press, the filmmakers, the distributors. As with so many of powerfully progressive films he made or starred in, idealism eventually won through. In 1984, the writer-director labs got deserved attention, and in 1989, when the Sundance Film Festival crowned Steven Soderbergh’s breakthrough film Sex, Lies And Videotape, it quickly became an outpost for independent cinema.
The raw young misfits flocked to Sundance. There was Quentin Tarantino with his Reservoir Dogs. There was Kevin Smith with his $27,000 film Clerks. Then came The Blair Witch Project, Little Miss Sunshine, Whiplash, Get Out and innumerable more triumphs — of innumerable shapes and sizes and genres — all the way to recent Indian successes like All That Breathes and this year’s Sabar Bonda. These movies are all… Sundance’s kids.
Is this the most that a movie star has ever done for the movies?
I believe so. Redford birthed a community that has celebrated and encouraged storytellers and creative thinkers on a massive scale. Sundance and its commitment to originality and free-spirited thinking has influenced other festivals and even other actors, like Robert De Niro who founded the Tribeca Film Festival in New York. There are other performers one may rate over Redford — though few leading men could ever be called as dreamy — but the way the actor built and nurtured this creative ecosystem, stars from which continue to build their own constellations, displays a remarkable vision and love for cinema. A true leading man.
It’s taken me a long time to write about Redford, even as I have tried to type as fast as the actor did when playing Bob Woodward in All The President’s Men. When I think about Redford, I think of one of those many moments where he took over the screen, so arch and sly and clever, always finessing his way out of predictability. Thus, instead of writing this two days ago, I ended up watching many a Robert Redford movie all over again, mesmerised and marvelling at the man and his astonishing legacy. The way he was.
Streaming tip of the week:
Spend the weekend with Robert Redford. Barefoot In The Park, All The President’s Men, Ordinary People, Sneakers, The Electric Horseman, and The Way We Were are all available to rent on Amazon Prime Video.
Raja Sen is a screenwriter and critic. He has co-written Chup, a film about killing critics, and is now creating an absurd comedy series. He posts @rajasen.