DE C E M B E R 2 0 1 2 B o o k R e v i e w When it Comes to Redford, Stick to his Movies, Not the Book V I D E O • A G E 10 Robert Redford is perhaps best known for playing the Sundance Kid alongside his dear friend, Paul Newman in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (after which he became a national icon), and for his efforts in promoting independent film through his brainchild the Sundance Institute, founded in 1981. In 1985, Sundance expanded to take over the United States Film and Video Festival (where Redford served as honorary chairman) from the Utah Film Commission, thus creating the Sundance Film Festival. Yet, in a meticulous biography, Robert Redford: The Biography (Alfred A. Knopf, 468 pages, $28.95), Michael Feeney Callan, author of several other biographies, uncovers the man behind the characters Redford portrays onscreen. The author relied on interviews with Redford spanning 14 years, beginning in March 1995, as well as Redford’s own “jottings” in personal diaries housed in the Mugar Memorial Library at Boston University and the Sundance archive in Utah. Callan estimates, “In all, more than 300 participants in the Robert Redford story were interviewed,” as Redford introduced him to “friends, business partners and co-workers.” While it’s clear Callan is dedicated to compiling a complete, thoughtful tome of Redford — and he does so admirably — it’s difficult for the reader to avoid getting bored. It isn’t entirely Callan’s fault that the reader finds himself checking out (or even falling asleep) mid-sentence. Much of it lies on the shoulders (and in the words) of the very talented and intelligent subject, Robert Redford himself. But herein lies the problem. Nary a page goes by without a large-minded, hefty and, for lack of a better word, pompous quote from Redford, who seems to have analyzed nearly every part of his life in great (and at times infuriating) detail. It is easy for the reader to get bogged down in his high diction, lofty ideas and very high expectations of himself and his every action. To wit, after his mother died when he was a young man, Redford says: “I wanted to be alone with the grief I had and the difficulty I had with my personal identity. More than anything, I wanted to go on a journey with my art.” Thus, the reason for the boredom is two-fold — Redford’s life, at least what Callan writes of it, frankly isn’t very interesting (his quotes are far too intellectual and reflective as opposed to fun), and Callan’s writing style — though polished and intelligent — is equally uninteresting and not particularly engaging. Plus, the book chronicles the excruciating minutiae of each of Redford’s films, from conception to script writing and rewriting to filming to editing and so on. After a while, this becomes tedious. To temper the drone of production stories, the reader craves a glimpse into Redford’s personal life. Callan opens the book with a long account of Redford’s family history in which the reader learns every detail of his parents’ lives. We learn that Redford was born before his parents tied the knot, that he had a strained relationship with his father and that Redford was a devilish delinquent in his youth (he once played hooky from school for a month before his father found out). This contrasts greatly with the sparse details Callan shares of Redford’s personal adult life, including his marriage to his first wife, Lola, their divorce in 1985 and his subsequent relationships with Sonia Braga, Kathy O’Rear and Sibylle Szaggers, whom he married in 2009. In contrast to the long family history, Callan writes only a few words about Redford’s divorce: “He had acclaim, wealth and opportunity, but he also had a failed marriage.” The author finally brings to life a brief interaction between Redford and his wife that shows the marriage was over one day at Sundance when he and Lola were skiing with friends. But he immediately returns to describing Redford’s moving-making, giving us only a brief glimpse into the actor’s family life. This lack of personal information likely stems from Redford’s failure to share it. After all, Callan writes, “Redford shared with no one the extent of his domestic breakdown, but it disturbed him.” While we learn of the sudden death of Redford’s firstborn son as an infant, his son Jamie’s serious health problems and his daughter Shauna’s distress when her boyfriend was murdered, readers feel as though they have been kept at the border of Redford’s personal life. We are not let in, and, unfortunately, this distance keeps us from fully engaging in the book. Instead, the author presents Redford as an actor who is very much into creating art for art’s sake. He’s not preoccupied with money, except in the early days of his first marriage when he and Lola were starting a family and money was a necessity. But even early in his career, when Bing Crosby Productions offered Redford $10,000 for the lead in TV series Breaking Point, he rejected the role, saying, “Let them offer me twenty thousand, or thirty, or forty. It just makes it easier to say no.” In fact, he rarely took a role for money, looking instead for parts he could learn from, or in which he felt a kinship with the character he was to portray onscreen. “The criterion I applied was, What can I absorb from this? Who wrote it? Who’s in it?” Redford said. Redford cherishes artistic value in the films he makes, and he was devastated when a studio altered what he loved. In the late 1960s, Redford backed out of the western Blue because he “felt ‘the wrong sensibilities entirely’ were being imposed on a western story.” Once he made a name for himself, he often went against the demands of studios to uphold his artistic principles, as he did with Disney on The Horse Whisperer. Redford refused to go along with Disney’s marketing campaign for the film, in which he was expected to appear on Oprah Winfrey, Larry King and Barbara Walters. Any plans for a multi-film contract with Disney were dashed thereafter. But this isn’t surprising, as according to Callan, “His nature was always stoutly independent.” Redford is involved in every detail of the films he takes on, often taking it upon himself to write scripts so they turn out the way he envisions them. And he is constantly moving forward and challenging himself, with this forward motion eventually leading to his desire to direct. He made his directorial debut in 1980’s Ordinary People, a “labor of love” in Redford’s words. But the art for art’s sake mentality is truly exasperating when Ordinary People is nominated for awards, and Redford’s arrogance shows through Callan’s writing, making him appear distant and a bit unlikable. Redford says, “When I saw the awards trail beginning, I caved in. I just didn’t want it. What I was doing was about personal art, about exploring myself and my audience. I was very proud of the film but I did not desire accolades. It sounds churlish, but I was sated on accolades…I thought, Screw this! and disappeared.” Yet, Redford was proud of the honorary Academy Award he received in 2002 for his achievements as “actor, director, producer, creator of Sundance and inspiration to independent innovative filmmakers everywhere” because “it reconciled [his] two worlds — the independent cinema and [his] acting,” according to Redford. Prospective readers looking for the exciting conman Redford portrayed in The Sting won’t find him here. So, unless you’re looking for a book to lull you to sleep, Callan’s biography should be left on the shelf, and Redford’s image should be left on the silver screen. SA
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