Robert Redford - Michael Feeney Callan [237]
As for all thinking people, 9/11 prompted a self-evaluation in which politics played merely a part. Hollywood’s response, Redford felt, was critical. In the Sundance spring catalog, for which he still wrote introductory notes, he’d advised against apathy toward Hollywood, lobbying his readers “to demand something from our communications outlets other than values of entertainment and cosmetics.” In an interview with The Salt Lake Tribune he expanded: “My gut says that, for a period of time, there will be a reaction that will have Hollywood minding its business, because it doesn’t want to get on the wrong side. But that’s not to say that, once the dust clears, [it won’t] come back, because violence sells. Hollywood has been lax in accepting some social responsibility for its product. It’s not that we should all be making church films, but when you’re going to make a film that [will] have a harsh impact and is going to touch on a negative part of our society, you have to be prepared to take responsibility.” The Boston Globe’s Sam Allis asked Redford to assess the distance between himself and blockbuster Hollywood. His truth, said Redford, was different: “It is the plight of the individual who has come up against the effects of the current state of things. What has always driven [my truth] is the humane side of the problems that society forces on us, the struggle to remain humane against the tide of crushing elements.”
Time magazine, though, summed up an identity dilemma Redford still faced. While he was keen to redefine essences, it was happy to keep judging him by the iconography he had once embraced. Its focus was less on political relevance than The Last Castle’s disastrous box office performance. “Most critics have declared it a stinker,” wrote Jess Cagle, who then promptly cited Redford’s failure to win over the youth market, as Michael Douglas and Harrison Ford had so resoundingly done.
In spite of the naysayers there was joyful reorientation the following March, in 2002, when Redford’s peers bestowed on him an honorary Academy Award, marking a lifetime contribution to cinema. Sidney Poitier was honored the same evening. Redford’s citation noted his achievements as “actor, director, producer, creator of Sundance and inspiration to independent and innovative filmmakers everywhere.” Redford took great pride in this moment “because it reconciled my two worlds—the independent cinema and my acting.”
Though Sundance celebrated the indie movie, his career had mostly been a thing apart. In its day, Downhill Racer exemplified the glory of experiment with a Bolex camera and duct tape, but he had steered clear of small movies. Now there seemed a need to pare back the indulgences and remember what it was to be starting out with a script, and not a marketer, calling the shots. To this end, Michael Nozik found The Clearing, a modest effort being mounted by a small production company, to be directed by Pieter Jan Brugge, a friend of Alan Pakula’s who had been nominated for an Academy Award for producing the tobacco industry exposé The Insider. The Dutch-born Brugge, who had earned his fine arts degree at the American Film Institute, where he was sponsored by the Dutch Ministry of Culture, had no experience of directing. Funded by Thousand Words Productions, he’d written a script with novelist Justin Haythe, based on the true story of the abduction of an industrialist in Holland in the eighties, which he’d then brought to Sundance. With Redford’s commitment, Fox Searchlight, a specialist division of Twentieth Century–Fox pledged to new filmmakers, which had developed close links with the institute, underwrote the budget of $9.5 million, allowing Redford a nominal fee.
Redford’s long-stated preference was for “the gray area of human experience” in characters who were restrained, not extreme. But The Clearing postulated the most extreme situation. The story centers on Wayne Hayes, a wealthy car tycoon, married with two grown children, who