Redford

 

Everyone is a little star stuck, I suppose.

That said, there are very few whose passing affects me. Indeed, celebrities’ deaths rarely move me. Some have, however.

My first shock was Stephen King’s near death. He did not die in 1999 when hit by that van while walking, but I understand it was a very real thing that he might have. My reaction surprised me. I had not read King in years; but I’d read his novels in my teens and twenties, perhaps my most formative years, the first author whose works I consumed in any great degree.

The next to affect me was David Bowie’s passing. I actually mourned his loss. It matters not that I had not followed his latter career. Indeed, his music had always been present; and that longevity appeared immortal, even if he proved not to be. It’s largely his early work that moved me: “Space Oddity,” Ziggy Stardust, Aladdin Sane, “Fame,” “Golden Years,” “Young Americans.” The list goes on. It helps that his duet with Queen (“Under Pressure”) and his album Let’s Dance were monster hits just as I was coming of age. His music moved me. It helped to define my musical taste.

Who might affect me next? Peter Gabriel, assuredly. Phil Collins, too, I imagine. Time will tell. Most celebrities, though, pass with little more than mild regret on my part. It’s a wonder, really, why some deaths floor us and others not. They’re celebrities. Not friends. We don’t know them. We only know their effect on our psyche.

Robert Redford’s passing did. And I understand why: His works, much like King’s and Bowie’s, had a profound effect on my world view. Not his early films. I have little experience of his days in television, aside from that Twilight Zone episode he starred in: “Nothing in the Dark.” Not his earliest silver screen films either: Inside Daisy Clover and Barefoot in the Park, and the like, most notably. They are fun to watch now, watching him evolve as an actor.

My first exposure to Redford might have been The Sting. Or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. It was then that he rose in public consciousness. It helps that he starred with Paul Newman in these two films. (One might wonder why Newman’s death did not have the same profound effect on me, given how high he stands in my regard: it may be because he was older than Redford, that he first found fame outside my lifespan.)

Woven in with these modern classics stand Downhill Racer, Jeremiah Johnson, The Way We Were, Three Days of the Condor, The Candidate, and (most affectedly) All the President’s Men. Each of these films stood out in my mind from the fray: each meant something, each spoke to a point, and each were unflinching in Redford’s commentary on society as he saw it, we know now. Maybe that’s why they stand the test of time: they were in tune with society’s social conscience. Downhill Racer and The Candidate and All the President’s Men are all about how the adage “it’s not whether you win or lose, it’s how you play the game” could not be further from the truth in our Western Society. There are about holding the mirror up to our duplicity, in that regard. The Way We Were may be a love story, but it’s also about integrity in the McCarthy era. It helps that Hubbard’s story mirrors F. Scott Fitzgerald’s.

Redford remain as unflinching throughout his career. Indeed, in his life. He was political, ideological, remarking that he believed in causes, not political parties. He bought up land to protect it, championed native rights, supported fledgling filmmakers.

His middle career was as inspired. When he began directing, he held up the most personal of institutions to scrutiny: Ordinary People, for one; A River Runs Through It, another. He reminded us that what we see on television is not always what it seems: Quiz Show. The roles he chose were as inspired: The Natural; Out of Africa; (the little watched) Havana.

I suppose you can plainly see how large Redford looms in my consciousness. He became the watermark of what it meant to be a man, in my mind. The hallmark of integrity.

It comes to mind that the reason his passing has affected me as much as it has: he was the same age as my parents. My father was born in 1936, my mother in 1937, mere months apart. Redford was born shortly before them. The same age as them, he looked like them when in the prime of their lives, and beyond. And that likely drew me to him, even more so than his as lauded early collaborator and friend, Newman. I suppose that made Redford something of a father figure to me, almost as much as my actual father.

That may be projecting too much. But I have to say that Redford’s idealism inspired my world view, perhaps more than my father did. My father and I had very different interests and opinions. I expect that ours were more in line than I might know or admit. It’s not like my father and I discussed world events. When we did, we were as apt to argue than agree. Then again, that’s unfair. And probably untrue.

I never found myself arguing with what Redford taught me, however.