By Walker Joyce
This September, we marked the true end of an era.
When Robert Redford died, the only remaining film giant departed this mortal coil. Nobody else reached his status in our lifetime, and he was the closest to the classic, Golden Age Movie Stars, those who appeared between 1930 and 1950.
He can be mentioned alongside Gable, Tracy, and Bogart. None of his contemporaries come close to this rank, not even Harrison Ford, who might be runner-up. Not Basking Ridge’s Meryl Streep, whose talent is astonishing but who never connected emotionally with the audience the way Hepburn, Davis, or Leigh did.
He and his pictures were popular like John Wayne’s and Marilyn Monroe’s. He was as perfect a leading man as Cary Grant —a sex symbol and an actor with a range that spanned drama and comedy.
In his prime, he was a stunning physical specimen with athletic grace and a disarming self-awareness that could wink at, even spoof, his perfection. He could thrill us, make us roar with laughter and shed a tear, sometimes in the same flick.
As the Movies have effectively died along with the mass market, we won’t see his like again.
Like most actors, he began in the Theatre, breaking through in Neil Simon’s first Broadway hit, BAREFOOT IN THE PARK, in 1963. His co-star was Elizabeth Ashley, a southern eccentric who continues a long, offbeat career. He’d repeat his role in the film version opposite Jane Fonda, who became a frequent partner.
Television was still in its own Golden Age in the 60s, and Redford chalked up a solid resume of credits in that medium, including MAVERICK, PERRY MASON, ROUTE 66, THE VIRGINIAN, and a classic episode of THE TWILIGHT ZONE, in which he portrayed a winsome, ultimately comforting persona of Death.
Who wouldn’t want to walk to Heaven hand-in-hand with Bob?
His Screen career began with an uncredited role in TALL STORY in 1960. For the next few years, he played supporting roles in mostly undistinguished pictures, gaining experience and developing his image. Then in 1967, he became a bona fide mega-star.
The film that made him a household name was BUTCH CASSIDY AND THE SUNDANCE KID. Paul Newman, who would become another partner, played the former, and after Steve McQueen couldn’t agree on money or billing, Redford took the latter role and launched his legend.
Westerns had waned amid the 60’s counterculture, and this picture gave the standard formula a few twists. The heroes were bad guys who robbed banks and trains, while the lawmen were portrayed as
bumbling and soulless avengers. In the middle of the flick, there was a strange music video that made a standard of “Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head,” a quirky novelty song with no discernible connection to the story.
It was also the first modern Buddy Picture, celebrating a “Bromance” that proved irresistible. If Butch & Sundance weren’t killed in the final scene, there would’ve been a sequel, if not an entire franchise.
Instead, audiences had to wait until 1973—six more years—for another Newman-Redford pairing. That was the Oscar-winning caper comedy THE STING, which kicked off a ragtime craze. Once more, our heroes were on the wrong side of the Law, conning an Irish Godfather.
Redford owned the decade, making one hit after another, including THE WAY WE WERE and ALL THE PRESIDENT’S MEN.
It would take another column to list his other great movies, his awards and his honorable (not whacky) activism.
He’s already missed—along with his chapter in Cinema.
