Robert Redford
(CONTINUED FROM PAGE 42)
observed that Redford’s strength as
an actor lay in his honesty. “With him
the showy stuff is not necessary,”
says James McAvoy. “He finds the
honest simplicity in the character.”
Redford began directing and producing in 1980 because he yearned “to
own” his movie projects. He says he
seeks to “cut to the quick of the emotionality of something” in his films.
Ordinary People, his Oscar-winning
directorial debut, explored in stark
terms the dynamics of a family coping
with the death of a child.
Though he was comfortable with his
pared-down philosophy of filmmaking,
Redford was less at ease with the larger-than-life persona that people attached
to him. “Bob was a huge movie star,”
says Patrick Markey, who first worked
with Redford as a production assistant
on Brubaker—and, thanks to Redford’s
mentoring, became a successful producer of films, including A River Runs
Through It. “But that’s a small part of
who he is. There’s a very smart, more
complex person beneath that.”
To distance himself from the
celebrity scene, Redford and Van
Wagenen (they divorced in 1985,
after 27 years of marriage) relocated
to a rural area outside Park City, where
they built a solar-powered home
long before green was in. Redford
first began speaking out in favor of
regulating oil, gas, and coal compa-
nies in the 1970s. “I felt they were
going to destroy the physical part
of our country if we didn’t do some-
thing,” he says. “The rub came when,
as a result of my outspokenness, my
dad was given a hard time at the of-
fice. I felt horrible.” Still, his father
(who died in 1993) supported him.
“He was good about it.”
To encourage independent film-
making and to nurture talent, Redford
established the Sundance Institute in
1981; it has since expanded to include
a world-famous film festival. “They
called it Redford’s Folly at first,” says
critic Byrge, “but the film industry
has now embraced it.” Keri Putnam,
executive director of the Sundance
Institute, says, “Robert Redford cre-
ated a platform for independent work
that has literally launched a move-
ment in America.”
The success, though, has come at a
cost: Utah is no longer Redford’s ref-
uge. Jane Fonda says she often imag-
ines her friend sitting on horseback
on a hill looking down at Sundance,
thinking, “What have I done? This
was supposed to be a getaway, and it’s
turned into work.” But, she adds, “Bob
is one of those unusual people who feel
that service is the rent you pay for life.
It’s in his core ethics to give back.”
These days Redford remains as
involved in environmental issues as he
is in filmmaking—he recently blogged
about his opposition to a coal company that plans to open a mine near
Bryce Canyon. He also still manages
to escape from it all, sometimes to his
Santa Fe home—a traditional adobe
situated above a piñon-dotted valley,
with an awe-inspiring view of the
Sangre de Cristo Mountains.
I ask Robert Redford how he thinks
he has handled fame. “I dealt with
it the way I wanted to,” he answers.
“I felt that if you were fortunate
enough to have success, you should
shadowbox with it but never embrace it, because it has a demon side.”
