What am I supposed to say that everyone doesn’t already know? Robert Redford, in so many of the important ways, was that guy, always was that guy, and now that he slides into extra innings as the overhead lights and flash bulbs crash and blink above and around him, will forever be immortalized as that guy. That was his story and stuck to it, decade after decade, never losing his ungodly beauty but wearing it, naturally (like The Natural, one might say) and allowing himself to appear human because, despite all evidence to the contrary, he too was mortal.
Let me put it another way. Look at this:
There’s an entire essay contained in that picture (hell, just in Paul Newman’s inimitable joie de vivre). Everything about Redford here is Sui generis: his physique, that hair (my god), the ‘stache, the shorts, those shades. And so on. But the way he’s standing, that is—and this is the first and last time in my entire life I’ll deploy this unforgivable cliche—poetry in motion. That’s what he was.
Q: What should we savor, above all, about Redford and his legacy, as actor, super hero, and advocate? His iconic coolness as the Sundance Kid? His understated smooth moves in The Sting? The way he gives heft, menace, and sartorial elegance to The Great Gatsby? Everything about Three Days of the Condor? His bromance with Newman? The way he paid it forward for Dustin Hoffman, insisting—like Newman did in ‘69—that his buddy get the role he deserved for All The President’s Men? His oh, I can downshift into directing films with grace and elan, too? (Ordinary People is a quiet tour de force and Redford deserves all the credit for correctly insisting that not only could Mary Tyler Moore crush this role, she would—and she did.) His prescient, on-point political acumen? Everything about the Sundance Film Festival—and its impact on independent cinema (just to pick one career he helped launch: hello, Reservoir Dogs!)? That, at 77 years young, he could not only command every inch of the screen, but do so with virtually no dialogue in (ho hum) yet another masterful performance?
A:
I’m here for all of it, just like you. I think Redford, for many of the reasons mentioned above, will be among a handful of old school American icons who subsequent generations will take the time not only to discover, but enjoy. There’s heft in his oeuvre, and his filmography is a sort of history book of American culture: old west, Depression, everything about the ‘70s, and the essential combination of politics and criticism, topped off with—and this is crucial—an antidote for the prevailing toxicity males, circa 2025, seem irresistibly drawn to, for all the wrong and self-defeating reasons.
Personal note: when I heard the unwelcome news, the first movie I had to cue up was The Natural, a film I first saw in the theater, have owned and watched ever since, and consider a masterpiece (for all the obvious reasons) but, now that, ahem, I’m about the age he was when he made it, can appreciate for the import it’s accrued about aging, regret, memories, and the fact that, while of course he had the physical package to be Roy Hobbs, this work epitomizes Redford’s overlooked less-is-more aesthetic. Your mileage may vary (and let’s face it, there’s no shortage of exceptional clips just from this single movie), I watch what he does with his body starting at 5:40, and understand that’s real acting, he’s telling us all sorts of things the way he carries himself.
In closing, I could certainly choose a more ironic, less obvious, personally resonant moment, but I’ll concede it’s impossible to do better than this scene; it’s not just that it’s perfect, it’s because the viewer instinctively understands Redford is acting. He’s pretending to have a secret weakness, because not only could he swim, and survive, obviously. He also could fly.
