When Robert Redford first stepped onto the set for “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” in 1969, he couldn’t have imagined that this project would spark a friendship for the ages. The studio had hesitated over casting him, eager for a more established star, but director George Roy Hill championed Redford’s talent. That decision would set the stage for one of cinema’s most enduring partnerships.
From the earliest scenes they shared, there was an undeniable spark between Redford and his co-star Paul Newman. Both men shared an aversion to Hollywood’s facade, a quick wit, and a quiet, thoughtful intensity that required few words. Their connection felt effortless, both in front of the camera and away from it.
Behind the scenes, their camaraderie grew through playful mischief. Redford fondly recalled how Newman once filled his car with sardines, leaving a smell that lingered in memory. In response, Redford set up Newman’s trailer door to collapse when opened. These pranks weren’t just jokes—they were the foundation of a friendship built on laughter and a shared spirit.
Their collaboration continued with “The Sting” in 1973, where their chemistry was so natural that rehearsal sometimes felt unnecessary. Redford remembered a moment when Newman turned to him and said, “Maybe we should stop now—this is almost too easy.” Beneath the fun, both were deeply committed to their craft and held a profound respect for each other’s instincts. Newman often stayed late, eager to help Redford refine a scene, always motivated by genuine support rather than obligation.
Their friendship was as strong off-screen as on. When Redford faced personal tragedy, Newman was there with a heartfelt note and a presence that didn’t seek attention. Years later, when Newman founded the “Hole in the Wall Gang Camp,” Redford contributed generously, preferring to remain in the background. Their bond was never about recognition—only sincerity.
In a 2023 interview for Turner Classic Movies, Redford’s voice softened as he spoke about Newman’s absence. “Sometimes I still expect his call out of the blue,” he confessed. “He’d say something off-the-wall, and I’d laugh, and that would be enough. That kind of connection stays with you.” The two had dreamed of working together again, and Newman once sent Redford a script with a note: “Too sentimental. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” That note remains a cherished keepsake.
After Newman’s passing in 2008, Redford offered a brief public tribute, but his private gesture spoke volumes. At his Sundance ranch, he planted a blue spruce and named it after his friend. In a 2022 interview, he mentioned the tree, noting, “It’s grown taller than any other around it. That just figures.”
Their friendship wasn’t defined by fame or shared projects, but by a quiet, unwavering understanding. They found comfort in each other’s company, able to be themselves without pretense. Newman once described their relationship as a rare space where he could let his guard down, where authenticity mattered more than showmanship.
Redford admitted at a 2021 film retrospective that he sometimes revisits scenes from “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” just to feel close to Newman again. “It’s not the movie I miss,” he said. “It’s the person who stood beside me. Paul had a way of making everything better, just by being there. We never had to explain ourselves to each other.”
Among Redford’s personal treasures is a candid snapshot of the two of them, caught mid-laugh between takes. There’s no glamour, no audience—just the pure, unguarded joy of a friendship that never needed to be performed. Some relationships don’t fade; they simply become a part of who you are.