‘Always the coolest, calmest man in the room’: friends and film-makers remember Robert Redford. Part 2
Everybody loved Robert Redford. Directors and co-stars including Ralph Fiennes, Marianne Jean-Baptiste, Judd Hirsch, Norman Reedus and F Murray Abraham explain why.
By Catherine Shoard/The Guardian
Fri 19 Sep 2025 00.00 EDT
What moved me most about Robert was his unwavering stance for justice and loyalty. His creative partnership with Sydney Pollack produced some of the most thoughtful films of their time. As a director, he showed a deep understanding of the human condition. His dedication to Indigenous communities and environmental causes was not just admirable – it was unshakable. He was a man of rare beauty and grace. As an audience member, I’ve always considered him one of the greatest movie stars of his generation. And for me, he will always be the Sundance Kid.
'It was the privilege of a lifetime to get to spin stories beside him’
David Lowery (The Old Man and the Gun, 2018)
I don’t know where I’d be without Robert Redford. I still remember the day my mom told me about this film festival of his in the mountains of Utah, and the concept of independent film; I was nine or 10, already stubbornly independent, and everything he was doing up there sounded pretty great to me.
Cut to two decades later and, against all odds, I’m on set with Bob for the first time, pinching myself, wondering how I’d managed to wind up working with this legend. The answer is: I followed the path he laid out, for me and for countless other film-makers and artists over the years. He gave us all the confidence to tell stories on our own terms, as we saw fit. It was the privilege of a lifetime to get to spin a few of those yarns alongside him. He was a storyteller, through and through, and I can’t imagine there’s a better way to honour his life’s work than to keep on telling them – and making them count. Rest well, Bob. Thank you for everything.
'Always gracious, creatively egalitarian and generous in spirit’
Delroy Lindo (The Last Castle, 2001)
When I heard of Robert’s passing, I thought about the relative impermanence of our time on this planet, and the opportunities we have to impact our world while we’re here. Robert Redford’s time among us was clearly impactful.
As a huge global movie star, but choosing to use his platform to promote social causes that were important to him; that spoke to a vision the man had, far exceeding his own personal sphere.
I particularly respected that, as it’s not a given that people of influence and power will make those kinds of choices. In Redford’s case, though, it clearly represented a desire to have a far broader impact outside the entertainment industry, in his life and work.
As a film-maker and storyteller, making in-depth investigations into our world, and culture; while simultaneously presenting his work engagingly, as broad-based entertainment. Films such as Ordinary People and Quiz Show are about very different subject matters; but both represent compelling explorations into human behaviours, illuminating the human condition as he saw it.
We first met in the early 2000s, when I attended a film workshop at the Sundance Institute as an adviser. One project in particular was having some difficulty. He asked me what I thought the sources of those problems were, and I told him. Our subsequent conversation had nothing to do with his being a movie star; but rather, represented two creative workers striving to unlock and solve a specific set of creative challenges and problems. I engaged very directly with his innate, genuine creative impulse and aspiration.
Wrapping the one scene we had together on The Last Castle, he offered: “Hey man, you’re a really nice actor.” A few years later, I reached out to him on behalf of an event I’d created to benefit aspiring Black scientists. He very readily contributed financing.
I didn’t know him well. But, in the few interactions I shared with him over the years, he was always gracious; creatively egalitarian, and generous in spirit. I appreciated that.
‘There was nothing easy about his tenacity and commitment’
Elizabeth McGovern (Ordinary People, 1980)
Robert Redford represents the sort of movie that is fast disappearing. The movie that grapples with the complexity of the human experience and, at the same time, is genuinely entertaining. He was a guy who could think and feel simultaneously, and make audiences do the same. But he made it seem fun and easy. You didn’t realise you were doing both until suddenly you were.
With Ordinary People, you had a phenomenon in the sense that lots of people were reacting collectively to a story about one particular American family. Everything about his approach to the story was specific and detailed, and that’s what made it universal.
I had no way of knowing, at the time, that it wouldn’t last. This kind of film-making, that sort of person. Because he made it all seem so easy. And that’s how it felt being directed by him. Easy. I didn’t ever feel as if I was acting in any kind of big deal movie. I was just going bowling with Timothy Hutton. Easy.
That was 43 years ago. Now I realise only too clearly there is nothing easy about the tenacity and commitment it takes to sustain the kind of work he did all of his life. It’s hard. He made movies that work. He did it over and over again. I miss that kind of film-making, that kind of person. I will miss you so much, Bob.
‘My mom screamed and put him in a bear hug’
Norman Reedus (The Conspirator, 2010)
I heard the news about Robert’s death on a long motorcycle trip in Spain. I’d pulled over for gas and a coffee and read about it on my phone. I was super bummed because he was such a nice guy to work with. A creative force, of course, and an icon whose movies I grew up watching, but also just so much fun.
I made a movie with him in which I played one of the men behind the killing of Abraham Lincoln. We were filming in Georgia and shot the scene in which my character is hanged. I was sitting with Robert as they were setting up the hanging of the next guy. I said to him: “You know, in real life, this criminal actually wet his pants on the gallows.”
He looks at me and goes: “Really?” I went: “Yeah! I did a lot of research. And I told the actor who plays him he should probably do that, because that would impress you.” He looks at me and goes: “No. You didn’t.” And I go: “Yeah, I did.” And we both started cracking up. This poor guy was being hanged in front of us and we were laughing hysterically.
I was supposed to ride a horse in the film and had told Robert straight that I didn’t know how to do that. He said: “Don’t worry, we’ve got a great team.” But every time my horse got near other horses it would start to trot backwards and go and stand ear to ear with the horse next to him. So I’d be giving a speech, trying to be all serious, and the horse would start walking backwards. It was totally humiliating. Take after take! Robert was yelling: “Can somebody handle Norman’s fucking horse?” I thought: I’m dead, he’s gonna fire me. But luckily he didn’t.
We had the premiere at the Ford’s theater in Washington DC, where Lincoln was assassinated. I remember speaking to Robert in the first couple of rows in front of the stage. The movie was about to start and the lights going down and I just heard this shrieking from the back of the theatre. Then my mom – who I’d brought along with me – came running down the aisle towards us, like she was watching the Beatles or something. The whole theatre kind of stopped as she ran in and put Bob in a bear hug. She was screaming and he was looking over his shoulder at me like: “Help! Get her off me!” I held up my hands like: “Nothing I can do, sorry.”
He was just that cool. It was so impressive to have been a heart-throb your entire life and successful in every area, as well as a philanthropist and the founder of Sundance, and also not have it go to your head.
I loved how honest he was. He just vibrated at this level where he could see everything from every single direction and angle and everybody’s point of view, all at the same time. He oozed this level-headedness and knowledge of how the world works and what it all meant. Everybody else was sort of panicky around him, but he was always the coolest, calmest person in the room.
I was quite a new actor when I worked with him and nervous about a lot of things. He gently sort of pushed me to jump in and we also just really got along well, from the get-go. I have a ton of photos where we’re just talking and really into each other’s conversation.
He was a guy’s guy who’d sit on the floor with you and talk. There was nothing pretentious about him. He never acted as if he were above you, just got down to your level and wanted to hear what you had to say. I really appreciated that.
I lost my dad early, so if there’s a cool older guy that I can latch on to and who likes me then I really love them. I had that with Kris Kristofferson and Scott Wilson, too. There’s a certain calibre of person who’s very honest and cool that I gravitate towards. And I really gravitated towards Robert.
‘He offered me kindness when I needed it most’
Terrence Howard (The Company You Keep, 2012)
Robert Redford gave the world more than extraordinary films. He gave us sanctuary. By founding Sundance [film festival], he created a refuge where independent voices could be heard, seen and honoured. Without Sundance’s sheltering light, many of us, myself included, would never have had the room to be recognised. That festival shaped the world that made my name possible, and for that gift alone, his legacy is forever woven into my life.
But my connection to Robert goes deeper than the history books or headlines. We worked together only once, yet it was during one of the hardest emotional moments of my life. It’s difficult enough to hold your own opposite such an icon, but when you’re weighed down by personal turmoil, the challenge can feel impossible. What I found in Robert surprised me. He wasn’t just cool in the way so many of his characters had been. This wasn’t a role and he wasn’t performing. He became, in that moment, a friend and a mentor.
Actors know there are rare bonds forged under the lights, between takes, in the fragile space where reality and movie magic meet. That day, Robert offered me steadiness, kindness and a sense of belief when I needed it most. It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t scripted, it was simply human. And it reminded me that the truest measure of a person is not the spotlight they stand in, but the quiet moments where they stand beside you.
Robert’s gift was never just his talent. It was his stewardship. He didn’t hoard praise or power, he used them to lift others. His films changed cinema, but his leadership changed culture. He showed us that artistry and integrity can share the same path, and that generosity itself can be a kind of courage.
I will miss him: his candour, his warmth, and the steadying force of a man who believed in artists and audiences alike. Yet grief is its own kind of promise. The friendships he seeded, the moments he gave, the courage he shared, these will find us again. Until our paths cross in another lifetime, I’ll carry the memory of that bond with gratitude.
‘I said: “I’m not obese.” He said: “We’ll put sweaters on you.”’
Judd Hirsch (Ordinary People, 1980)
I was shocked when I learned of Robert’s death. I never knew he got old. The last time I saw him was in about 2006 when he had an Ordinary People reunion. Six of us in one room: Timothy Hutton, Elizabeth McGovern, Mary Tyler Moore, Donald Sutherland, Robert and me. Three of them are now gone. Robert was a year younger than me and when I saw him then I thought, well, he ain’t ever gonna look as old as me, no matter what happens to him. But then I realised, no, he’s human.
When he asked if I’d be interested in playing the psychiatrist in Ordinary People, he sent me the novel it was based on. The description of my character was an obese, fumbling man who couldn’t turn off the radio and had to look up his clients’ names. I said: “I’m not obese.” He said: “Don’t worry, we’ll just put some sweaters on you.”
I wanted to give the character more flaws, so the viewer had a reason not to expect the kid [a bereaved and suicidal young man played by Timothy Hutton] to come back after the first session. I suggested smoking. He said: “No, no, no, no, no – that’s a cliche.” I said: “Look, I stopped smoking last year, but I think it’s the only thing I can do that will make the kid think: why did you do that?” He said OK, and so I did. I was very proud of that.
He was very much an actor’s director and conscious of the obvious. I felt in one scene there was a way of dramatically enhancing a moment, almost as if to say: “Ah, you got it!” But Robert said: “You don’t have to say it like that. Just tell him.” That was the only direction we ever got: “Just tell him.”
Making that film, Robert was not self-assured about anything. He said he really did not know how to do this from behind the camera. And he was mostly interested in the values of the characters and in telling the story in a way nobody else could.
I felt a tremendous responsibility playing that part. I was always afraid that, if it was a little different from what he expected, I’d feel a failure. It was a special movie for him because it was about something he had thought about. When we had our first meeting, he said: “I’m going to have you say [to Hutton] that you are his friend.” I said: “But psychiatrists don’t do that, you’d get shut down for that.” And he said: “I don’t care. We gotta say it and we gotta mean it.” Two of his own kids had gone to therapy and he never, ever believed that it was any good.
At that point, Robert had never won an Academy Award. Then Ordinary People won four, including best picture and best director. It was like magic. They threw everything at him in one bundle. He was totally surprised.
Later on, he came to see me in a Broadway show. I was rather surprised, but it was a wonderful acknowledgment. He’d not only remembered me through doing the movie, but he also knew I wasn’t just a television actor. He came to the dressing room afterwards and we had a great discussion. He liked the play and what I did and it was sort of like he was saying: “I’m glad I chose you for the film.”
We don’t see people like Robert any more in the movie business. He was so honest about what he did as an actor, a director and a man interested in the politics of the nation. That honesty undercut what everybody might expect of this handsome star. I think people would’ve voted for him if he’d run for political office. I know I would.
By Catherine Shoard/The Guardian
Fri 19 Sep 2025 00.00 EDT
What moved me most about Robert was his unwavering stance for justice and loyalty. His creative partnership with Sydney Pollack produced some of the most thoughtful films of their time. As a director, he showed a deep understanding of the human condition. His dedication to Indigenous communities and environmental causes was not just admirable – it was unshakable. He was a man of rare beauty and grace. As an audience member, I’ve always considered him one of the greatest movie stars of his generation. And for me, he will always be the Sundance Kid.
'It was the privilege of a lifetime to get to spin stories beside him’
David Lowery (The Old Man and the Gun, 2018)
I don’t know where I’d be without Robert Redford. I still remember the day my mom told me about this film festival of his in the mountains of Utah, and the concept of independent film; I was nine or 10, already stubbornly independent, and everything he was doing up there sounded pretty great to me.
Cut to two decades later and, against all odds, I’m on set with Bob for the first time, pinching myself, wondering how I’d managed to wind up working with this legend. The answer is: I followed the path he laid out, for me and for countless other film-makers and artists over the years. He gave us all the confidence to tell stories on our own terms, as we saw fit. It was the privilege of a lifetime to get to spin a few of those yarns alongside him. He was a storyteller, through and through, and I can’t imagine there’s a better way to honour his life’s work than to keep on telling them – and making them count. Rest well, Bob. Thank you for everything.
'Always gracious, creatively egalitarian and generous in spirit’
Delroy Lindo (The Last Castle, 2001)
When I heard of Robert’s passing, I thought about the relative impermanence of our time on this planet, and the opportunities we have to impact our world while we’re here. Robert Redford’s time among us was clearly impactful.
As a huge global movie star, but choosing to use his platform to promote social causes that were important to him; that spoke to a vision the man had, far exceeding his own personal sphere.
I particularly respected that, as it’s not a given that people of influence and power will make those kinds of choices. In Redford’s case, though, it clearly represented a desire to have a far broader impact outside the entertainment industry, in his life and work.
As a film-maker and storyteller, making in-depth investigations into our world, and culture; while simultaneously presenting his work engagingly, as broad-based entertainment. Films such as Ordinary People and Quiz Show are about very different subject matters; but both represent compelling explorations into human behaviours, illuminating the human condition as he saw it.
We first met in the early 2000s, when I attended a film workshop at the Sundance Institute as an adviser. One project in particular was having some difficulty. He asked me what I thought the sources of those problems were, and I told him. Our subsequent conversation had nothing to do with his being a movie star; but rather, represented two creative workers striving to unlock and solve a specific set of creative challenges and problems. I engaged very directly with his innate, genuine creative impulse and aspiration.
Wrapping the one scene we had together on The Last Castle, he offered: “Hey man, you’re a really nice actor.” A few years later, I reached out to him on behalf of an event I’d created to benefit aspiring Black scientists. He very readily contributed financing.
I didn’t know him well. But, in the few interactions I shared with him over the years, he was always gracious; creatively egalitarian, and generous in spirit. I appreciated that.
‘There was nothing easy about his tenacity and commitment’
Elizabeth McGovern (Ordinary People, 1980)
Robert Redford represents the sort of movie that is fast disappearing. The movie that grapples with the complexity of the human experience and, at the same time, is genuinely entertaining. He was a guy who could think and feel simultaneously, and make audiences do the same. But he made it seem fun and easy. You didn’t realise you were doing both until suddenly you were.
With Ordinary People, you had a phenomenon in the sense that lots of people were reacting collectively to a story about one particular American family. Everything about his approach to the story was specific and detailed, and that’s what made it universal.
I had no way of knowing, at the time, that it wouldn’t last. This kind of film-making, that sort of person. Because he made it all seem so easy. And that’s how it felt being directed by him. Easy. I didn’t ever feel as if I was acting in any kind of big deal movie. I was just going bowling with Timothy Hutton. Easy.
That was 43 years ago. Now I realise only too clearly there is nothing easy about the tenacity and commitment it takes to sustain the kind of work he did all of his life. It’s hard. He made movies that work. He did it over and over again. I miss that kind of film-making, that kind of person. I will miss you so much, Bob.
‘My mom screamed and put him in a bear hug’
Norman Reedus (The Conspirator, 2010)
I heard the news about Robert’s death on a long motorcycle trip in Spain. I’d pulled over for gas and a coffee and read about it on my phone. I was super bummed because he was such a nice guy to work with. A creative force, of course, and an icon whose movies I grew up watching, but also just so much fun.
I made a movie with him in which I played one of the men behind the killing of Abraham Lincoln. We were filming in Georgia and shot the scene in which my character is hanged. I was sitting with Robert as they were setting up the hanging of the next guy. I said to him: “You know, in real life, this criminal actually wet his pants on the gallows.”
He looks at me and goes: “Really?” I went: “Yeah! I did a lot of research. And I told the actor who plays him he should probably do that, because that would impress you.” He looks at me and goes: “No. You didn’t.” And I go: “Yeah, I did.” And we both started cracking up. This poor guy was being hanged in front of us and we were laughing hysterically.
I was supposed to ride a horse in the film and had told Robert straight that I didn’t know how to do that. He said: “Don’t worry, we’ve got a great team.” But every time my horse got near other horses it would start to trot backwards and go and stand ear to ear with the horse next to him. So I’d be giving a speech, trying to be all serious, and the horse would start walking backwards. It was totally humiliating. Take after take! Robert was yelling: “Can somebody handle Norman’s fucking horse?” I thought: I’m dead, he’s gonna fire me. But luckily he didn’t.
We had the premiere at the Ford’s theater in Washington DC, where Lincoln was assassinated. I remember speaking to Robert in the first couple of rows in front of the stage. The movie was about to start and the lights going down and I just heard this shrieking from the back of the theatre. Then my mom – who I’d brought along with me – came running down the aisle towards us, like she was watching the Beatles or something. The whole theatre kind of stopped as she ran in and put Bob in a bear hug. She was screaming and he was looking over his shoulder at me like: “Help! Get her off me!” I held up my hands like: “Nothing I can do, sorry.”
He was just that cool. It was so impressive to have been a heart-throb your entire life and successful in every area, as well as a philanthropist and the founder of Sundance, and also not have it go to your head.
I loved how honest he was. He just vibrated at this level where he could see everything from every single direction and angle and everybody’s point of view, all at the same time. He oozed this level-headedness and knowledge of how the world works and what it all meant. Everybody else was sort of panicky around him, but he was always the coolest, calmest person in the room.
I was quite a new actor when I worked with him and nervous about a lot of things. He gently sort of pushed me to jump in and we also just really got along well, from the get-go. I have a ton of photos where we’re just talking and really into each other’s conversation.
He was a guy’s guy who’d sit on the floor with you and talk. There was nothing pretentious about him. He never acted as if he were above you, just got down to your level and wanted to hear what you had to say. I really appreciated that.
I lost my dad early, so if there’s a cool older guy that I can latch on to and who likes me then I really love them. I had that with Kris Kristofferson and Scott Wilson, too. There’s a certain calibre of person who’s very honest and cool that I gravitate towards. And I really gravitated towards Robert.
‘He offered me kindness when I needed it most’
Terrence Howard (The Company You Keep, 2012)
Robert Redford gave the world more than extraordinary films. He gave us sanctuary. By founding Sundance [film festival], he created a refuge where independent voices could be heard, seen and honoured. Without Sundance’s sheltering light, many of us, myself included, would never have had the room to be recognised. That festival shaped the world that made my name possible, and for that gift alone, his legacy is forever woven into my life.
But my connection to Robert goes deeper than the history books or headlines. We worked together only once, yet it was during one of the hardest emotional moments of my life. It’s difficult enough to hold your own opposite such an icon, but when you’re weighed down by personal turmoil, the challenge can feel impossible. What I found in Robert surprised me. He wasn’t just cool in the way so many of his characters had been. This wasn’t a role and he wasn’t performing. He became, in that moment, a friend and a mentor.
Actors know there are rare bonds forged under the lights, between takes, in the fragile space where reality and movie magic meet. That day, Robert offered me steadiness, kindness and a sense of belief when I needed it most. It wasn’t grand, it wasn’t scripted, it was simply human. And it reminded me that the truest measure of a person is not the spotlight they stand in, but the quiet moments where they stand beside you.
Robert’s gift was never just his talent. It was his stewardship. He didn’t hoard praise or power, he used them to lift others. His films changed cinema, but his leadership changed culture. He showed us that artistry and integrity can share the same path, and that generosity itself can be a kind of courage.
I will miss him: his candour, his warmth, and the steadying force of a man who believed in artists and audiences alike. Yet grief is its own kind of promise. The friendships he seeded, the moments he gave, the courage he shared, these will find us again. Until our paths cross in another lifetime, I’ll carry the memory of that bond with gratitude.
‘I said: “I’m not obese.” He said: “We’ll put sweaters on you.”’
Judd Hirsch (Ordinary People, 1980)
I was shocked when I learned of Robert’s death. I never knew he got old. The last time I saw him was in about 2006 when he had an Ordinary People reunion. Six of us in one room: Timothy Hutton, Elizabeth McGovern, Mary Tyler Moore, Donald Sutherland, Robert and me. Three of them are now gone. Robert was a year younger than me and when I saw him then I thought, well, he ain’t ever gonna look as old as me, no matter what happens to him. But then I realised, no, he’s human.
When he asked if I’d be interested in playing the psychiatrist in Ordinary People, he sent me the novel it was based on. The description of my character was an obese, fumbling man who couldn’t turn off the radio and had to look up his clients’ names. I said: “I’m not obese.” He said: “Don’t worry, we’ll just put some sweaters on you.”
I wanted to give the character more flaws, so the viewer had a reason not to expect the kid [a bereaved and suicidal young man played by Timothy Hutton] to come back after the first session. I suggested smoking. He said: “No, no, no, no, no – that’s a cliche.” I said: “Look, I stopped smoking last year, but I think it’s the only thing I can do that will make the kid think: why did you do that?” He said OK, and so I did. I was very proud of that.
He was very much an actor’s director and conscious of the obvious. I felt in one scene there was a way of dramatically enhancing a moment, almost as if to say: “Ah, you got it!” But Robert said: “You don’t have to say it like that. Just tell him.” That was the only direction we ever got: “Just tell him.”
Making that film, Robert was not self-assured about anything. He said he really did not know how to do this from behind the camera. And he was mostly interested in the values of the characters and in telling the story in a way nobody else could.
I felt a tremendous responsibility playing that part. I was always afraid that, if it was a little different from what he expected, I’d feel a failure. It was a special movie for him because it was about something he had thought about. When we had our first meeting, he said: “I’m going to have you say [to Hutton] that you are his friend.” I said: “But psychiatrists don’t do that, you’d get shut down for that.” And he said: “I don’t care. We gotta say it and we gotta mean it.” Two of his own kids had gone to therapy and he never, ever believed that it was any good.
At that point, Robert had never won an Academy Award. Then Ordinary People won four, including best picture and best director. It was like magic. They threw everything at him in one bundle. He was totally surprised.
Later on, he came to see me in a Broadway show. I was rather surprised, but it was a wonderful acknowledgment. He’d not only remembered me through doing the movie, but he also knew I wasn’t just a television actor. He came to the dressing room afterwards and we had a great discussion. He liked the play and what I did and it was sort of like he was saying: “I’m glad I chose you for the film.”
We don’t see people like Robert any more in the movie business. He was so honest about what he did as an actor, a director and a man interested in the politics of the nation. That honesty undercut what everybody might expect of this handsome star. I think people would’ve voted for him if he’d run for political office. I know I would.
