Robert Redford at 88: The Surprising List of Actors He Couldn’t Stand!

The studio did not want me.

They felt that I was never right, that I was not of an equal stature to Paul Newman.

While the peers of his era flared hot and burned out, Robert Redford remained measured, poised, and almost impenetrably private.

Dubbed the gentleman of New Hollywood, he managed to preserve both his integrity and mystique in a town that devours both.

He never aired grievances, never courted headlines, and never traded in tabloid spectacle.

But now, at 88, Robert Redford has finally named the seven actors he hated the most.

Today, we’ll delve into the story of a man who spent his life building art while navigating personalities who didn’t always want the same thing.

Let’s get started.

 

 

Gene Hackman: The Sledgehammer in a Violin Shop

In 1969, Downhill Racer brought together two rising stars of American cinema: Robert Redford and Gene Hackman.

Redford, already gaining recognition for his composed screen presence, played David Chapellet, a fiercely competitive skier striving for Olympic glory.

Hackman, who had recently broken out in Bonnie and Clyde, appeared in a supporting role as Redford’s coach.

On paper, it was a promising pairing, but behind the scenes, the collaboration proved deeply strained.

Redford, who also produced Downhill Racer, had spent years championing the film, which was shot primarily in Austria and Switzerland on a lean budget.

Directed by Michael Ritchie, Redford favored minimal rehearsal and respected the production flow, while Hackman was known for his combustible energy and often adversarial relationships with directors and co-stars.

The cultural and behavioral contrast between the two actors became evident almost immediately.

Redford believed in quiet control and teamwork, while Hackman could explode with fury one moment and fall into silence the next.

A crew member later remarked that working with Hackman was like handling a live wire in wet gloves.

During a shoot in Switzerland, Hackman, unhappy with how he was being lit for an exterior dialogue shot, refused to exit his trailer.

Redford confronted him directly, saying, “We’re burning daylight. Either you come out now or we move on without the shot.”

Hackman stormed out, visibly angry, tossing the script pages in the snow between takes.

Although Downhill Racer was well-received critically and influenced future sports dramas, the working dynamic between Redford and Hackman left a bitter aftertaste.

They never collaborated again, and Redford later described Hackman as a “sledgehammer in a violin shop,” acknowledging his brilliance but criticizing his disruptive methods.

 

 

James Woods: Never, Ever

Though they never shared the screen, the tension between Robert Redford and James Woods is one of Hollywood’s quietly notorious rifts.

In 1974, during casting for Three Days of the Condor, Woods auditioned for a role alongside Redford’s lead character.

However, Woods turned the audition into a debate about U.S. policy in Vietnam, which led Redford to walk out, muttering, “This is not what we’re here to debate.”

From that point on, Redford’s production notes included a firm directive: “Never, Ever” next to Woods’s name.

Despite Woods’s talent, Redford’s aversion to him was deeply felt, and he consistently vetoed Woods’s name during casting discussions for various projects.

The ideological chasm between them only widened over the years, with Redford becoming increasingly associated with political activism while Woods embraced a more conservative stance.

Woods later lamented the missed opportunity to work with Redford, but the divide remained unbridgeable.

 

 

Dustin Hoffman: One Iconic Film, One Frustrating Collaboration

When All the President’s Men premiered in 1976, it was hailed as a masterclass in political cinema.

However, behind the polished final cut lay a creative tension between Redford and his co-star Dustin Hoffman.

Redford believed in meticulous preparation, while Hoffman thrived on improvisation, leading to friction during key scenes.

One notable conflict arose during a pivotal phone call sequence, where Hoffman repeatedly reshaped his performance, forcing Redford to constantly recalibrate his own.

After several takes, Redford snapped, frustrated by Hoffman’s deviations from their established structure.

Despite mutual respect, they never collaborated again, choosing to avoid projects requiring extended joint promotion.

 

 

Tom Cruise: Collision Over Collaboration

The 2007 film Lions for Lambs marked a rare collaboration between Redford and Tom Cruise, but it ended in disappointment.

Redford aimed for a contemplative critique of institutional failure, while Cruise approached his role with a focus on branding and public image.

This divergence led to frequent disruptions on set and ultimately resulted in a compromised film that failed to resonate with audiences.

Redford later described the project as one of the most frustrating experiences of his career, and he distanced himself from the film’s promotional efforts.

The clash between Redford’s thematic authenticity and Cruise’s emphasis on optics created a fracture that neither party has revisited since.

 

 

Faye Dunaway: Perfectionism Meets Restraint

In Three Days of the Condor, the on-screen tension between Redford and Faye Dunaway masked a complete off-screen disconnection.

Dunaway’s reputation for perfectionism translated into frequent demands on set, slowing the shooting schedule and creating friction with Redford, who preferred to maintain momentum.

Their creative disconnect became evident during a closed-door meeting to discuss Dunaway’s character’s emotional logic.

Redford’s impatience boiled over when he snapped, “It’s espionage, Faye, not Chekhov.”

Although they delivered acclaimed performances, they never worked together again, acknowledging their artistic philosophies were fundamentally incompatible.

 

 

Robert Duvall: Chaos Versus Calibration

The Natural is remembered for its mythic visuals, but behind the scenes, Redford and Robert Duvall were at creative odds.

Redford approached his role with disciplined craftsmanship, while Duvall embraced an improvisational ethos.

As Duvall began altering dialogue and pacing midshoot, Redford found his carefully crafted performance unsettled.

Tension peaked during a crucial confrontation scene, where Duvall’s sarcastic quips undercut the somber tone Redford had planned.

Their personal rift remained after the film’s completion, with Redford acknowledging Duvall’s brilliance but expressing a desire to avoid that level of unpredictability in future collaborations.

 

 

Paul Newman: Charisma and the Slow Fade

Redford’s relationship with Paul Newman began as a partnership but evolved into a subtle rivalry.

Their chemistry in Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid was electric, but by the time they reunited for The Sting, Newman began asserting more creative control, leading Redford to perceive him as competition rather than a co-star.

Despite their enduring friendship, Redford noted that their dynamic shifted over time, with their earlier rapport dulled by the realities of Hollywood.

Although they discussed future projects, nothing aligned with the magic they had shared in the late 1960s and early 1970s.

Newman’s death marked the definitive end of potential collaborations, leaving a legacy of two films that redefined buddy cinema.

 

Robert Redford’s experiences with these actors reveal the complexities of collaboration in Hollywood.

Each relationship, marked by creative tensions and philosophical differences, shaped the films they were part of and ultimately influenced their careers.

While Redford has maintained a discreet silence about these conflicts, the stories behind the scenes offer a glimpse into the challenges faced by even the most talented artists in the industry.