Initially, 20th Century Fox wasn’t convinced Robert Redford was the right choice for their 1969 hit, “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.”
The studio had its sights set on bigger names like Steve McQueen and Marlon Brando, as Redford himself recalled in a 2017 interview. He humbly admitted, “And I was not that.”
At the time, Redford, who recently passed away at 89, considered himself a “no-name” despite his role alongside Jane Fonda in “Barefoot in the Park.” However, a fateful evening of conversation and drinks with Paul Newman, a celebrated star 11 years his senior, dramatically altered his path. Newman championed Redford for the role of the charismatic Sundance Kid—a part he had initially considered for himself. This pivotal moment marked the beginning of a legendary partnership that would indelibly shape a cinematic era, even though they only appeared in two films together.
Beyond their individual accolades, which include Redford’s Oscar-winning directorial debut with “Ordinary People” (1980), Redford and Newman remain intrinsically linked in the public consciousness. Their joint ventures, “Butch Cassidy” and “The Sting” (1973), both helmed by director George Roy Hill, cast them as irresistible outlaws—first as Western bandits, then as clever Chicago con men. Both films were massive commercial and critical successes; “The Sting” even clinched Best Picture at the Academy Awards and earned Redford his sole acting nomination. Though blessed with striking good looks and piercing blue eyes, Redford consistently embodied the youthful counterpart to Newman’s more seasoned presence.
Throughout their lives, their bond deepened into a close friendship, famously punctuated by elaborate pranks. Yet, collaborating on set wasn’t always smooth sailing, and minor tensions occasionally arose. Newman preferred to meticulously discuss every scene detail before shooting, a habit Redford found frustrating. Adding to the friction, Redford was notoriously late.
Michael Phillips, a producer for “The Sting,” once recounted a moment when Newman’s patience finally snapped. “Paul was the bigger star,” Phillips explained, “And he said something like, ‘What are you — a movie star?’ Redford shrunk from it.”
According to Hill, Redford eventually mended his ways after both he and Newman candidly addressed his persistent tardiness. “He was on time from that point onward,” Hill revealed in Newman’s posthumously published memoir.
As time passed, the playful antagonism between Redford and Newman evolved into a series of legendary (and often very expensive) practical jokes. In a column for The New York Times after Newman’s death in 2008, Dick Cavett recalled a time when Newman had one of Redford’s beloved sports cars towed and crushed.
Cavett described the aftermath: “The heavy and massive block that resulted was returned to Redford’s front lawn. Nobody needed to guess who had done it, least of all Bob ‘Rarely Anyone’s Fool’ Redford. The following morning the ugly monolith of glass and steel was gone from the Redford lawn.”
Its new location? “It had suddenly and mysteriously found its way to the Newman residence, where it could be plainly seen … on the roof.”
Writing for Time, Redford shared another similar anecdote: receiving a battered Porsche shell delivered to Newman’s porch for his 50th birthday, a response to Newman’s newfound passion for car racing. Redford wrote, “He never said anything, but not long after, I found a crate of molten metal delivered to the living room of my (rented) house. It dented the floor. I then had it turned into a really ugly sculpture and dropped into his garden. To this day, neither one of us has ever mentioned it.”
Redford confirmed they maintained contact, particularly through their shared charitable endeavors. He last saw Newman a few months before Newman’s passing from cancer. During that visit, they didn’t dwell on Newman’s illness, despite his recent hospitalizations. “We talked about what was on our minds: the election, politics, what needed to be done,” Redford wrote. “Ours was a relationship that didn’t need a lot of words.”
In that 2017 Esquire interview, nearly a decade after Newman’s death, Redford reflected on their enduring friendship: “I think about him,” he said. “And I will always be grateful for his generosity.”