It’s nearly impossible to overstate Robert Redford’s impact on film.
There was arguably no bigger movie star on the planet in the 1970s than Redford. He knocked out Three Days of the Condor in 1975 and All the President’s Men in 1976, films that stand alongside classics like The Conversation and The Parallax View in popularizing the paranoid thrillers that helped define the decade.
He won an Oscar for directing 1980’s Ordinary People, in a time when it was uncommon for an actor to find themselves in the director’s chair. Redford’s move from in front of the camera to behind it inspired many others to follow suit and changed the film industry.
Redford started the Sundance Film Institute in 1981, and the Sundance Film Festival helped launch the careers of some of the most influential and renowned directors working today. It’s likely that Quentin Tarantino, Paul Thomas Anderson, Steven Soderbergh, Damien Chazelle, Robert Rodriguez, and Darren Aronofsky each point to Sundance as being their big break.
Redford passed away on September 16, 2025, at the age of 89, leaving behind a towering film legacy that will live on forever.
Back in 2023, for this column, I wrote about one of my favorite Redford flicks: The Sting. Among the many reasons why I adore the movie is the crackling, undeniable chemistry between Redford and his costar and longtime friend, the late, great Paul Newman.
To this day, I don’t think film has had a better buddy duo than Redford and Newman. We’ve gotten close to recreating it a few times – the team-up of George Clooney and Brad Pitt in the Ocean’s movies is probably the best contemporary comparison, and I hope longtime pals Matt Damon and Ben Affleck continue to work together at this later stage in their careers. But what Robert and Paul had was remarkable – a genuine and unmatched on-screen energy.
Not long after Redford died, I rewatched what is not only the quintessential Redford-Newman movie (the two somehow, and unfortunately for us, only worked together twice), but what is still, 56 years later, one of the best buddy movies all-time: Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.
Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, released in 1969, was directed by George Roy Hill and written by legendary screenwriter William Goldman. The film follows our titular characters, outlaws Butch Cassidy (Newman) and the Sundance Kid (Redford). The plot is very simple: After Butch, Sundance (real name: Harry Longabaugh), and their merry Hole-in-the-Wall Gang rob a couple Union Pacific trains, the company sends a crack posse of lawmen and trackers after them. Butch and Sundance try to evade their pursuers, but to no avail, and eventually, they high-tail it to Bolivia, with Sundance’s girlfriend, Etta (Katharine Ross) along for the ride. The trio lives it up in South America, but their bliss is short-lived: the posse tracks them there, leading to an inevitable showdown.
A buddy movie is only as good as, well, its buddies, and folks, Butch and Sundance are the ultimate film pals. The two bust each other’s chops almost constantly. I mean, if you’re not willing to horrifically belittle or ridicule your friend at any given moment (in jest, of course), are you really even friends? These dudes never miss an opportunity to rib each other; their exchanges are chock full of wisecracks and humorous insults. But beneath the jeers and jabs is a friendship that is very obviously shaped by a deep mutual respect, borne out of their shared experiences as famed bandits in the waning years of the Old West.
Butch and Sundance is a stone-cold classic, and just a great time. As Westerns go, it’s a breezy, fun take on the genre. The film was a hit at the box office and among critics, and it took home Academy Awards for its screenplay, cinematography, original score, and original song (for B.J. Thomas’s “Raindrops Keep Fallin’ on My Head,” which rips).
As I’m writing this column, I’m occasionally glancing over at the Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid poster hanging on my wall, and it makes me a little sad. Redford and Newman, like so many legends, have left us, and knowing that we’ll almost certainly never see their kind again makes losing them all the more painful. But part of what makes greats like Redford and Newman who they are as artists is their rarity. Whether it’s in film, music, sports, etc., witnessing something that will never be replicated is special, and that’s certainly the case when watching Butch and Sundance.
I’m of the belief that this line of thinking applies to friendships, too. People like Butch and Sundance, and artists like Redford and Newman, don’t come around every day – and neither do the kinds of bonds they shared. If you’re lucky enough to stumble upon such a friendship, it deserves to be cherished.
The sublimity of the human experience is rooted in its fleetingness. Redford’s passing reminded me to take stock of my own life, and I’m deeply grateful for the people I love – even if they do sometimes drive me insane. But that’s a small price to pay for beauty.
Jalen’s columns, “Movies You Gotta See” and “The Free Play,” can be found online at www.medium.com/@jalenmaki.
Follow Jalen on Letterboxd at www.letterboxd.com/jalenmaki182/ to see what he’s been watching.
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