“THE F**KING ASSHOLES”…. At 89, Robert Redford Finally Speaks About Paul Newman and His Wife

 

 

 

 

With those startling words, Robert Redford, now 89, has stunned the world by finally breaking his silence about Paul Newman and Newman’s wife, a subject that has lingered in whispers for decades but never openly addressed by Redford himself.

For years, fans believed in the golden friendship between the two Hollywood giants, cemented by their unforgettable performances in films like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and The Sting.

To the public eye, theirs was a brotherhood that seemed unshakable, a camaraderie both onscreen and off that became part of Hollywood legend.

But as Redford now admits, the story behind their relationship was far more complicated, marked not only by admiration but also by tensions, jealousy, and unspoken truths that could change everything we thought we knew about these two icons.

Redford recalls their first meeting as a moment of mutual recognition, two young actors hungry for success but already aware of each other’s talents.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Newman was already a star, his piercing blue eyes and magnetic charm making him one of Hollywood’s most bankable names.

Redford, though less established, carried a raw charisma and intensity that quickly set him apart.

Their pairing in Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was a masterstroke, one that created not only box office gold but also a public image of friendship that audiences adored.

Yet behind the scenes, Redford says, there were sparks—not always the friendly kind.

Newman, by then an industry powerhouse, could be demanding, and Redford, fiercely independent, bristled at any hint of being overshadowed.

Despite these tensions, the two men maintained a relationship that seemed genuine, even affectionate.

But as Redford reflects, there were undercurrents of rivalry, moments when loyalty was tested, and occasions when words were exchanged that could never be taken back.

The shocking phrase Redford now uses, “the f**king assholes,” he attributes not to the public but to private frustrations, moments when he felt both Newman and his wife treated him with a dismissiveness he could neither forget nor forgive.

 

 

 

 

 

 

While he does not go into every detail, his tone suggests that beneath the glossy veneer of friendship was a history of betrayal and disappointment.

Newman’s wife, Joanne Woodward, is remembered as a celebrated actress in her own right and the anchor of Newman’s personal life.

To outsiders, she was gracious and supportive, admired not only for her career but also for her enduring marriage.

Redford, however, hints at moments of tension between them, suggesting that she, too, played a role in the strain that grew over time.

He does not malign her character but acknowledges that there were private exchanges, private slights, that left him feeling pushed aside.

What shocks many is not only that these tensions existed but that Redford has chosen, after so many years of silence, to finally let them come to light.

What makes his revelation so compelling is the honesty with which he frames it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Redford does not deny the greatness of Newman as an actor, nor does he attempt to erase the joy of their collaboration.

Instead, he paints a fuller, more human picture of their relationship—one that includes admiration, respect, but also jealousy, misunderstanding, and the kind of rivalry that often simmers between two giants forced to share the same stage.

For fans who long believed in the myth of perfect friendship, his words are difficult to absorb.

But for those who understand the complexity of human nature, they ring with authenticity.

At 89, Redford has little reason to protect reputations or to cling to the polished narratives of Hollywood past.

His legacy is secure, his career celebrated across generations, his artistry undeniable.

By speaking now, he seems to be unburdening himself, peeling back the layers of myth to reveal the messy truth beneath.

 

 

 

 

 

 

His words remind us that even the most admired friendships are rarely as flawless as they appear, and that behind every photograph of laughter and camaraderie lies a reality that may be darker, sharper, and more conflicted.

The reactions to his confession have been immediate and intense.

Some fans feel betrayed, struggling to reconcile the beloved image of Newman and Redford with this new portrayal of tension and disappointment.

Others applaud Redford’s candor, admiring his willingness to speak the truth even when it is uncomfortable.

Hollywood insiders, meanwhile, nod knowingly, acknowledging that in an industry built on competition and ego, friendships are rarely free of conflict.

In the end, what Redford has given us is not the destruction of a myth but the deepening of a story.

The bond between him and Newman was never simple, never purely harmonious, but that complexity makes it all the more fascinating.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Their on-screen chemistry remains timeless, their films immortal, but now we also know that behind those smiles and those legendary performances were men grappling with their own pride, vulnerabilities, and disappointments.

As Redford reflects at this late stage of his life, his words serve as both a confession and a release.

By finally speaking, he invites the world to see not just the myth of Paul Newman and Robert Redford, but the reality of two men who were at once collaborators, rivals, friends, and adversaries.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And perhaps that truth, raw and unfiltered, is even more compelling than the legend itself.