Robert Redford Part 8

Watergate The evening Redford first encountered Bob Woodward in Washington, D.C., he also b.u.mped into Ethel Kennedy, Bobby's widow, a woman he much admired. She had seen The Candidate The Candidate and, responding to the McKay role, told Redford she was no fan of it. Her view of politics, she said, was that it represented the highest calling. Redford found this not upsetting, "because I felt that Bobby Kennedy proved that the system works best when it's challenged. We set out to do a little of that, and the urge to challenge is also what drove me to keep following Watergate." and, responding to the McKay role, told Redford she was no fan of it. Her view of politics, she said, was that it represented the highest calling. Redford found this not upsetting, "because I felt that Bobby Kennedy proved that the system works best when it's challenged. We set out to do a little of that, and the urge to challenge is also what drove me to keep following Watergate."

The eighteen months from October 1973 through March 1975 was the most concentrated period of Redford's life in terms of movies. It started with the premiere of The Way We Were. The Way We Were. Within ten days of completing Within ten days of completing The Great Gatsby The Great Gatsby at Pinewood, he was in Texas readying George Roy Hill's biplane barnstormer, at Pinewood, he was in Texas readying George Roy Hill's biplane barnstormer, The Great Waldo Pepper. The Great Waldo Pepper. Immediately after came Immediately after came Three Days of the Condor, Three Days of the Condor, the next big picture with Pollack. the next big picture with Pollack.

All the while, Lola was making great advances with CAN, fighting for consumer rights and environmental protection. "The big difficulty was that Mom was going through huge life changes just as he hit his stride," says Jamie. "She was at the center of a circle of women who had shifted their power base from consumer awareness newsletters to Washington lobbying. They had a grant from the Department of Health, Education and Welfare to introduce a consumer-environment program into a pilot schools scheme in District 25 in Queens. Mom was no longer working from the apartment. She was flying to Washington a lot, and that put a strain on her, on us, on everyone."

CAN's progress, says administrator Cynthia Burke, was based on defining issues of state legislative neglect, like clean water management in Manhattan. Out of CAN came the specialist boards set up to tackle single issues, and it was on one such committee that Lola befriended Rich-ard Ayres and John Adams, two of the six Yale lawyers in the process of cofounding the Natural Resources Defense Council. According to Adams, a recruit from the state's attorney's office who would become director, NRDC arose to fill the vacuum in federal legislation: "What we had till then were three bodies: the Wilderness Society, the Audubon Society and the Sierra Club, each with a separate and specific brief, and each scientifically weak. What NRDC set out to do was add science to the problems under review and establish a committee that would pull together the strands of each organization into one powerful lobbying group." Ayres especially admired Lola's drive. He got to know her well doing door-to-door fund-raising for clean water lobbying. "That was a nightmare concept," says Ayres, "since Manhattanites don't like people hammering down their apartment doors at night, even if it is for a great cause. It was also legally tricky. I admired Lola's courage, and when I got to know Bob, I saw his equal courage and I saw he had gra.s.sroots politics in him, too. Lola was a big a.s.set, but we saw Bob in an entirely different way as a potential political figure for us."

In 1972, Adams asked Ayres, who was closest to Lola, to sound out Redford's interest in a formal working partnership removed from the women's group. Adams had read about Redford's interest in Native American issues and his local environmental work in Utah. "In one piece about the abuse of Utah's lands, he spoke of the desirability of an academy for the management of our natural resources. This was exactly our thinking at NRDC." Redford called Adams and told him he was interested. "I talked to him about 'the prevention of serious deterioration issue,' which is pollution law jargon for clean air," said Adams. "He was excited. He said yes, he would be interested in joining. We had what we wanted: a figurehead."

For years Redford had been swaying in and out of involvement with various Utah lobbies, the Environmental Defense Fund and other organizations. He had learned that the federal clean air and clean water acts in place since the mid-sixties were weak and operated basically by delegating everything to the level of state law, which was even weaker. The fact that NRDC had been to Washington and was fighting a proposal to build a power plant on the Hudson River was profoundly exciting, since Redford was already researching proposals to build ma.s.sive new energy plants in southern Utah. "The thing they had above the EDF and others was that they were lawyers. All of the other lobbies had worth, but they didn't have the means to take these issues to the resolution they needed. The timing of this was perfect for me. I also thought, It's targeted in Washington, which is where I need to be."

That Redford had long been separating from Lola's organization was obvious to many people. Mike Frankfurt saw it as an inevitable result of divergent lives and Redford's new interests. "CAN's focus was the practical issues affecting Manhattan. That's where those women began, and that's where they psychologically remained. What really interested Bob was only the law and the Washington dimension. In that sense, at that moment they started to drift apart."

And, of course, Watergate was drawing him to Washington, too. As Redford was wrapping up The Great Gatsby The Great Gatsby in the fall of 1973, Richard Nixon was digging himself a deeper and deeper hole. In November the president proclaimed to a stunned meeting of a.s.sociated Press editors in Florida, "I am not a crook." By March, with the indictment of the Watergate Seven-the core group close to Nixon against whom the strongest evidence of dirty tricks had been ama.s.sed-the presidency was in peril. Shortly after, the House of Representatives commenced formal hearings on the possible impeachment of Nixon. Not long after that, Woodward and Bernstein's book about the 1972 burglaries and what preceded and followed them came close to completion. "Carl and I were pursuing the book our own way," says Bob Woodward, "but we'd been influenced by Redford in the way we compiled it. It was he who suggested we make it about the investigation, and not about the dirty tricks campaign. He had his movie idea. We had our book to be getting on with. But the two ran side by side." in the fall of 1973, Richard Nixon was digging himself a deeper and deeper hole. In November the president proclaimed to a stunned meeting of a.s.sociated Press editors in Florida, "I am not a crook." By March, with the indictment of the Watergate Seven-the core group close to Nixon against whom the strongest evidence of dirty tricks had been ama.s.sed-the presidency was in peril. Shortly after, the House of Representatives commenced formal hearings on the possible impeachment of Nixon. Not long after that, Woodward and Bernstein's book about the 1972 burglaries and what preceded and followed them came close to completion. "Carl and I were pursuing the book our own way," says Bob Woodward, "but we'd been influenced by Redford in the way we compiled it. It was he who suggested we make it about the investigation, and not about the dirty tricks campaign. He had his movie idea. We had our book to be getting on with. But the two ran side by side."

"The film started to move after I'd first talked to Woodward," says Redford. "After the Washington meeting he came to my apartment. When I knew he and Carl were coming by, I told Bill Goldman, since we were friends. Bill said, 'Gee, I'd love to hear all this.' And so Bill was there with Bob, Carl and me. And, of course, the story was magical. It was tremendously important nationally, obviously. But I was also interested in Bob Woodward as a man. He was quirky. He had some odd mannerisms. I liked that. When he left, I said to Bill, 'There's the movie. These guys. Their personalities. The aspects of each that propel the other. The way the investigation was led by these personalities.' I made that observation to Bill as a general remark. I didn't mean to involve him in the project, and I wasn't commissioning him as the screenwriter."

The release of The Way We Were, The Sting The Way We Were, The Sting and and The Great Gatsby The Great Gatsby six months apart in the winter and spring of 197374 pushed Redford to unrivaled status as the world's number one box office star. George Roy Hill saw Redford struggle for balance. "It's a condition I well knew, though in Redford's case the fame was the most extreme kind. He was pulled in every direction. You could no longer have time in a public place with him. He was always looking over his shoulder. Always distracted." six months apart in the winter and spring of 197374 pushed Redford to unrivaled status as the world's number one box office star. George Roy Hill saw Redford struggle for balance. "It's a condition I well knew, though in Redford's case the fame was the most extreme kind. He was pulled in every direction. You could no longer have time in a public place with him. He was always looking over his shoulder. Always distracted."

This was exacerbated by Redford's "elastic perception of time," a perennial problem that caused many aggravating late arrivals on set. Hill was troubled as they began preparing to make a movie for Universal that had long been a fantasy of his, The Great Waldo Pepper. The Great Waldo Pepper. "I was a little annoyed, to be honest. He was never the easiest guy to stay in touch with, since he was so bad at punctuality and, with my marines background, it was an obsession of mine. There were a few instances where I didn't hear from him when he told me he'd call, and I said, 'f.u.c.k 'im, he's doing this big-star thing.' But that wasn't his problem. His problem was some dismissal of authority he carried around, some unease with his own authority figures, maybe." "I was a little annoyed, to be honest. He was never the easiest guy to stay in touch with, since he was so bad at punctuality and, with my marines background, it was an obsession of mine. There were a few instances where I didn't hear from him when he told me he'd call, and I said, 'f.u.c.k 'im, he's doing this big-star thing.' But that wasn't his problem. His problem was some dismissal of authority he carried around, some unease with his own authority figures, maybe."

All Hill's fantasies, he said, were built around music and flying. He had learned to fly while still attending school in Minneapolis and earned a pilot's license at sixteen. Air shows fascinated him, and his favorite Sat.u.r.day sport was attending the frequent rallies at his local airport and fields around the state. The tragedy of aviator Charles "Speed" Holman, a Northwest Airlines pioneer who crashed and died at the first Omaha air races in 1931, left a deep impression on Hill when he was just nine years old, and he spent his teens, he said, meticulously studying the escapades of the early stunt aviators and the technology of their planes. During the war, he was a transport pilot in the Pacific, and when he resumed civilian life, as a cub reporter in Texas, he made the decision to someday essay the life of Holman and his peers.

The Great Waldo Pepper, a period piece, was the fruition of that promise. "I couldn't have turned that one down even if I wanted to," says Redford, "because it was George's obsession and I was in his debt." Unlike Redford's relationship with Pollack in which "Sydney intellectually dissected things," his relationship with Hill, Redford says, was more intuitive. "The friendship was father-son in a most intersupportive way. I had the highest regard for his spirit. And when something was totally his, like a period piece, was the fruition of that promise. "I couldn't have turned that one down even if I wanted to," says Redford, "because it was George's obsession and I was in his debt." Unlike Redford's relationship with Pollack in which "Sydney intellectually dissected things," his relationship with Hill, Redford says, was more intuitive. "The friendship was father-son in a most intersupportive way. I had the highest regard for his spirit. And when something was totally his, like Waldo Pepper, Waldo Pepper, the joy of just being around him was contagious." the joy of just being around him was contagious."

Like Butch Ca.s.sidy, Waldo Pepper Butch Ca.s.sidy, Waldo Pepper dealt subtextually with the pathos of myth. By now, Hill, Redford and Bill Goldman had an almost family empathy, so it was no surprise that Hill chose Goldman to write his dream story. Though Goldman wrote the script, the concept, plot and resolution were Hill's. "I got a little of dealt subtextually with the pathos of myth. By now, Hill, Redford and Bill Goldman had an almost family empathy, so it was no surprise that Hill chose Goldman to write his dream story. Though Goldman wrote the script, the concept, plot and resolution were Hill's. "I got a little of Huck Finn Huck Finn into it," said Hill, "and a little of Holman. I wanted to start it the way it starts, with the camera lovingly tracing over the sc.r.a.pbooks of my childhood, my flying heroes, the great barnstormers, and showing their dates of birth and dates of death. And then the story of Waldo commences, the story of a man defining himself only against his self-set challenges, a man who connects with the dream, who can make a friendship, or make love, but who never touches the crowd. He is a circus freak. He entertains everyone. But he is alone inside a fantasy. And he will live and die like that, which is both his glory and his tragedy." into it," said Hill, "and a little of Holman. I wanted to start it the way it starts, with the camera lovingly tracing over the sc.r.a.pbooks of my childhood, my flying heroes, the great barnstormers, and showing their dates of birth and dates of death. And then the story of Waldo commences, the story of a man defining himself only against his self-set challenges, a man who connects with the dream, who can make a friendship, or make love, but who never touches the crowd. He is a circus freak. He entertains everyone. But he is alone inside a fantasy. And he will live and die like that, which is both his glory and his tragedy."

After a period of friction with Hill ("about Golman's inclination to talk too much," said Hill), Goldman delivered a script that Hill felt "had a lot of good things, though nothing too remarkable." The production was pressured into moving forward, however, by the brief window of Redford's winter availability.

Casting was coordinated by Bob Crawford. Scores of actors were interviewed, especially for the co-leads of Waldo's girlfriend, Mary Beth; his barnstorming rival, Axel Olsson; and his flying idol, the German wartime ace Ernst Kessler. For Hill, much of this casting was trickier than usual because he was measuring the aspirants against the heroes of his childhood, men like Ernst Udet, the second-ranking German ace after Manfred von Richthofen, who on numerous dogfights saluted and spared the lives of disabled airmen and who finally committed suicide when called up for service in Goring's Luftwaffe; or Jimmy Doolittle, the daredevil who first achieved the miraculous "outside loop" maneuver that Waldo attempts in the movie. "I felt some duty to those men," said Hill, "because they were like astronauts to me. They were the aviation pacemakers."

Hill's notebooks attest to great ambition in the casting. Among those considered to costar with Redford-"or to subst.i.tute [for] him if Gatsby Gatsby runs ridiculously over as runs ridiculously over as The Way We Were The Way We Were did"-were Jack Nicholson, George Segal, Donald Sutherland, Sam Waterston and Warren Oates. Bo Svenson and Bo Brundin were cast as Olsson and Kessler, with Susan Sarandon nudging out Patti D'Arbanville to play Mary Beth. "For the women the issue was the type," said Hill. "Here I wasn't affected by the history, but by the aerial movies I loved, like Bill Wellman's did"-were Jack Nicholson, George Segal, Donald Sutherland, Sam Waterston and Warren Oates. Bo Svenson and Bo Brundin were cast as Olsson and Kessler, with Susan Sarandon nudging out Patti D'Arbanville to play Mary Beth. "For the women the issue was the type," said Hill. "Here I wasn't affected by the history, but by the aerial movies I loved, like Bill Wellman's Wings Wings or or h.e.l.l's Angels. h.e.l.l's Angels. Those castings were spot-on, great chiseled faces so evocative of the era." Redford, too, was spot-on in Hill's book. "He had the Errol Flynn debonair look right out of my sc.r.a.pbooks. No stretch of the imagination to see him in leathers, with a white scarf trailing in the wind. I wanted all the others to look 1920s, too. In the end, I settled for faces with character over acting experience. Which may have been a huge mistake." Those castings were spot-on, great chiseled faces so evocative of the era." Redford, too, was spot-on in Hill's book. "He had the Errol Flynn debonair look right out of my sc.r.a.pbooks. No stretch of the imagination to see him in leathers, with a white scarf trailing in the wind. I wanted all the others to look 1920s, too. In the end, I settled for faces with character over acting experience. Which may have been a huge mistake."

Though the story was set in Nebraska, the Texas locations Hill chose, partly for sentimental reasons, around Elgin, Floresville and Lockhart were areas he knew well from his postwar flying, with second unit shooting in Florida and California. The choice of locations was further dictated by the winter sky profile: the kind of c.u.mulus cloud cover so typical of Texas in February would enhance the illusion of death-defying speed in the many biplane flight sequences.

As Waldo, Redford portrays a gutsy individualist in the style of Charles Lindbergh, determined to live out his dream, which is to capture the kind of glory given to World War I pilots. Along the way he is demeaned-he even appears briefly in drag for a flying circus-but his goal is to be a real hero, unlike the silver screen Valentino whom Mary Beth so adores. The opportunity for undisputed greatness comes in attempting the allegedly impossible outside loop. He tries but is beaten to his goal by Kessler, the German ace glamour boy, and only settles the score by joining the Hollywood dream factory, where he finds employment as a stunt pilot in a war movie. Here, in a last-reel twist, he eventually outmaneuvers Kessler in a mock dogfight and wins the kudos.

Bob Crawford saw the venture as a home movie for Hill. "He had such fun doing it. He flew planes on location and directed scenes with the actor in the seat behind him. Most of the derring-do was either something he'd already flown or something he dreamed about. He'd done it all himself already. He'd crashed planes. He'd won races. Bob got to live out the bits in between."

Most famous of those bits was the wing walking, with minimal harnesses, at three thousand feet. Redford found this exhilarating. "I'm not sure what the insurance connotation was, but George wouldn't have cared. He would have lied to them. Risk came easy to him, as it did to me. It was scary, but I liked it." Bo Svenson did not. He refused to partic.i.p.ate and was, accordingly, suspended by Hill, with the threat of dismissal. Svenson sued immediately, stating Hill's objectives put his life in peril. "I made a mistake in casting based on image," said Hill. "What I should have done was take each of them up in a barnstormer, done some loops and set them down, then said, 'Okay, now you fly it.' It wasn't a movie for blue screen [studio back-projected images]. It always lived and breathed for me as the real thing. And I loved how Redford served that."

Redford, however, never felt it was important work. He sensed it would not do well. In the end, the script downed the movie. In the story, Waldo's relationship with Mary Beth is carefully graphed in the first act and a half. Dialogue and wit are sharp, and Mary Beth emerges as a lovable, if overpossessive, supporter of Waldo's. "But then bang in the middle of the second act, she's inveigled into wing walking and she's killed. It was a disaster. We killed the movie there and then," said Hill. "If we'd cast Jack Nicholson, the audience would have accepted that level of despair and darkness. But Bob had taken on the role as our national glamour king. He was the sunny good-luck guy-even when he was playing a bandit-and the audience expected light around him. Dramatically, the decision to kill Mary Beth in itself wasn't bad. But in a Redford movie, in the vicarious way women were relating to him after The Way We Were, The Way We Were, we were doomed because we were effectively killing we were doomed because we were effectively killing them them off. I recognized that problem only in the editing, but by then it was too late to fix." off. I recognized that problem only in the editing, but by then it was too late to fix."

Though the movie generated $20 million in receipts, its reception in the spring of 1975 was bleak, with Robert Lindsey in The New York Times The New York Times p.r.o.nouncing it a dud. Lindsey's comments provoked the often impulsive Hill to urge Universal to sue p.r.o.nouncing it a dud. Lindsey's comments provoked the often impulsive Hill to urge Universal to sue The New York Times The New York Times over the review. over the review.

Redford's prolificacy was such that his Olympian position seemed untouchable. The sixteen-point addendum to his Waldo Waldo contract exemplified the power he now held: he had approval of director and all costars; he was covered for living expenses if he was more than fifty miles from home, charged at $1,000 a week; five first-cla.s.s air tickets were to be supplied to him to travel to and from all locations; he had the use of chauffeured limousines throughout filming or related work; sole-star billing above the t.i.tle was guaranteed, as was health insurance, the use of a personal makeup artist and costumer (Gary Liddiard and Bernie Pollack, Sydney's brother, respectively), Wildwood's right to approve all publicity images, and one 16 mm print of the movie for personal use. He also received a percentage of the gross box office earnings, without deducting costs. contract exemplified the power he now held: he had approval of director and all costars; he was covered for living expenses if he was more than fifty miles from home, charged at $1,000 a week; five first-cla.s.s air tickets were to be supplied to him to travel to and from all locations; he had the use of chauffeured limousines throughout filming or related work; sole-star billing above the t.i.tle was guaranteed, as was health insurance, the use of a personal makeup artist and costumer (Gary Liddiard and Bernie Pollack, Sydney's brother, respectively), Wildwood's right to approve all publicity images, and one 16 mm print of the movie for personal use. He also received a percentage of the gross box office earnings, without deducting costs.

With bristling confidence of his status, he moved on to the Watergate story. In June 1974, the previously unknown and totally incriminating tape of Nixon and Haldeman colluding against potential investigators was released, and the following month the House Judiciary Committee recommended the first article of impeachment against the president on the charge of obstruction of justice. The second and third articles, for abuse of power and contempt of Congress, were subsequently pa.s.sed, and a few days later, on August 8, Nixon resigned.

Earlier, in April, on his return from Waldo Pepper Waldo Pepper location shooting in Texas, Redford had met up again with Woodward and Bernstein in Washington. Their book was near completion and he agreed to pay $450,000 for the film rights. Shortly afterward, due to a misunderstanding, Simon and Schuster, the publisher, sent the galley proofs of the book to Bill Goldman's agent, and before Redford knew it, Goldman was the screenwriter on the movie. "I was troubled from the beginning about Bill but friendship kept it going," says Redford. Woodward never doubted that Goldman would be the screenwriter. "He was there at the start," says Woodward, "and we spent a lot of time together. So I a.s.sumed..." location shooting in Texas, Redford had met up again with Woodward and Bernstein in Washington. Their book was near completion and he agreed to pay $450,000 for the film rights. Shortly afterward, due to a misunderstanding, Simon and Schuster, the publisher, sent the galley proofs of the book to Bill Goldman's agent, and before Redford knew it, Goldman was the screenwriter on the movie. "I was troubled from the beginning about Bill but friendship kept it going," says Redford. Woodward never doubted that Goldman would be the screenwriter. "He was there at the start," says Woodward, "and we spent a lot of time together. So I a.s.sumed..."

Redford recalls setting out his vision for the film to Goldman. "I told him I didn't want a thriller," he says. "This story was allegory, about a certain innocence that was corrupted by Watergate. Woodward and Bernstein personified the innocence. They were the old school, the journalists who investigated, extrapolated and worked to a standard. Because they were personally such a study in contrasts, I thought there was amazing psychological material to mine. Bill, I knew, was very skillful. But I had reservations about that. When he wrote his novels, it was homage to his favorite novelists. When it came to Butch Ca.s.sidy, Butch Ca.s.sidy, it was homage to his favorite buddy movies, like it was homage to his favorite buddy movies, like Gunga Din. Gunga Din. One admired him for it. But what troubled me on a personal level was the fact that his views were caustic. It was fun to be in his company and hear him, until you thought, What happens when this judgmental bit is turned on me? I became uncomfortable in some aspect of our friendship, and that should have warned me off." One admired him for it. But what troubled me on a personal level was the fact that his views were caustic. It was fun to be in his company and hear him, until you thought, What happens when this judgmental bit is turned on me? I became uncomfortable in some aspect of our friendship, and that should have warned me off."

In a very short time, Goldman turned in his screenplay, which no one liked. Woodward, Bernstein and Redford were dismayed, mostly because Goldman had not visited the Washington Post Washington Post offices nor interviewed the key partic.i.p.ants, like Ben Bradlee, the executive editor. "He put a lot of work into it," says Woodward. "There was no question of it. But it wasn't accurate to offices nor interviewed the key partic.i.p.ants, like Ben Bradlee, the executive editor. "He put a lot of work into it," says Woodward. "There was no question of it. But it wasn't accurate to The Post The Post or the way we worked." Nevertheless, Redford stayed loyal and sent out the script to a few directors he was interested in. When Elia Kazan and William Friedkin turned it down, he started to seriously rethink. "I got the impression that no one took it seriously. Bradlee felt it was glib, like another or the way we worked." Nevertheless, Redford stayed loyal and sent out the script to a few directors he was interested in. When Elia Kazan and William Friedkin turned it down, he started to seriously rethink. "I got the impression that no one took it seriously. Bradlee felt it was glib, like another Butch Ca.s.sidy, Butch Ca.s.sidy, and that was very worrying." For a while, Redford confided to friends that he thought he was losing the proj-ect. And then one day, with no prior notice, Carl Bernstein and his wife at the time, Nora Ephron, showed up with their own version of the screenplay. "They just took a shot at it," says Woodward, "because the other one was so wrong. But Bob hated it. He told Carl, 'Don't you know Errol Flynn is dead?'" and that was very worrying." For a while, Redford confided to friends that he thought he was losing the proj-ect. And then one day, with no prior notice, Carl Bernstein and his wife at the time, Nora Ephron, showed up with their own version of the screenplay. "They just took a shot at it," says Woodward, "because the other one was so wrong. But Bob hated it. He told Carl, 'Don't you know Errol Flynn is dead?'"

Goldman was offended that Bernstein had even attempted a script, and when Redford started to plead with him to rewrite his version, he resisted. "It was a predicament to be in, since we were losing ground, given the time frame of topicality," says Redford. By this stage, having briefly considered Michael Ritchie and Pollack as potential directorial collaborators, Redford had made a handshake deal with Alan Pakula, who was fresh off another journalistic conspiracy movie, The Parallax View, The Parallax View, and whom, he says, he had "fully forgiven for any perfidy on and whom, he says, he had "fully forgiven for any perfidy on Daisy Clover. Daisy Clover." When finally Goldman handed his reluctantly reconstructed new script to Pakula, utter despair set in. "All hope was lost," says Redford. "Alan hated the script, and we immediately made arrangements to rewrite it ourselves, since we learned Bill was tied up already, writing Marathon Man Marathon Man for John Schlesinger. I was furious, but to what purpose? The friendship was gone-that made me sad-but there was a movie that had to be made." Redford booked rooms at the Madison hotel across from the for John Schlesinger. I was furious, but to what purpose? The friendship was gone-that made me sad-but there was a movie that had to be made." Redford booked rooms at the Madison hotel across from the Post Post offices for one month, and he and Pakula repaired there to redraft the screenplay. About one-tenth of Goldman's draft remained in the end. "Bill gave the start point and the ending," says Woodward, "and those never changed." Goldman would win an Academy Award for the script, but his partic.i.p.ation was by now finished. offices for one month, and he and Pakula repaired there to redraft the screenplay. About one-tenth of Goldman's draft remained in the end. "Bill gave the start point and the ending," says Woodward, "and those never changed." Goldman would win an Academy Award for the script, but his partic.i.p.ation was by now finished.

With the publication of their book, Woodward and Bernstein hit the promotion trail while Redford, in Washington, did additional research. He called on his CAN and NRDC contacts. The allies made in his previous fund-raising work for Wayne Owens and Tip O'Neill opened doors to congressional staffers with tales to tell. Joan Claybrook, the lawyer and lobbyist for Ralph Nader, served as a navigator. "Basically these people gave me insight into the universe of Washington-how it operated, who depended on whom, who knew the inner workings of whomever else." He also talked with reporters Mary McGrory, John Chancellor, Dan Rather and Sy Hersh-"all of whom had their own spin on what really happened with Watergate, why burglar James McCord blew the whistle, how Nixon masterminded the evasion, where the rot began. You couldn't talk to any of them without new insider information on c.o.x or Mitch.e.l.l or Liddy raising its head," says Redford. "It had a s...o...b..ll effect, which helped the fine detail of what Pakula and I were doing with the new screenplay."

In the weeks that followed, Redford and Pakula divided the background research objectives, with Pakula's finely detailed political research led by his Harvard graduate a.s.sistant Jon Boorstin, and Redford's taking the form of "character study," which was achieved by spending long hours driving around with Woodward and Bernstein as they continued their investigation of Chuck Colson, a Watergate conspirator who was not yet charged but in the process of plea-bargaining for his role in smearing Daniel Ellsberg. "This was exactly what I'd wanted Bill Goldman to do," says Redford. "We needed to get in there with those key figures, to dig into the life. Goldman did it before on other projects, but he wasn't there for this, which I knew would be one of the most tricky films I'd ever make."

The mood of the nation, sated on treachery, soaked fast into Hollywood. By 1974, there were several worthy conspiracy movies, including The Conversation The Conversation and and Chinatown. Chinatown. The monumental industry change of Steven Spielberg's all-out pop diversion The monumental industry change of Steven Spielberg's all-out pop diversion Jaws Jaws was months away but, for a moment, a new, different, more discerning age seemed to be dawning. For Pakula, this was a crossroads moment in American cinema. With ten years of producing behind him, ranging from was months away but, for a moment, a new, different, more discerning age seemed to be dawning. For Pakula, this was a crossroads moment in American cinema. With ten years of producing behind him, ranging from To Kill a Mockingbird To Kill a Mockingbird to to Up the Down Staircase, Up the Down Staircase, Pakula had long predicted a maturation of audience appet.i.tes. His own directing began in 1969 with Pakula had long predicted a maturation of audience appet.i.tes. His own directing began in 1969 with The Sterile Cuckoo, The Sterile Cuckoo, a stagy, collegiate psychological study starring Liza Minnelli, and was followed by the thoughtful thriller a stagy, collegiate psychological study starring Liza Minnelli, and was followed by the thoughtful thriller Klute, Klute, for which Jane Fonda won an Academy Award. "My belief, based on my experiences, was that a vast market was not addressed. Audiences were impressed by the foreign imports, but very few American filmmakers experimented. American theater per se was similar. We had a disproportionate interest in diversion therapy and too little interest in discovery. What came upon us in the Watergate era after a decade of a.s.sa.s.sinations and dirty tricks was a kind of national enlightenment. Collectively we became cynical. I thought it was healthy. I also thought it was bound to affect entertainment culture, and I remember feeling then, more than at any time before or since, that we were onto our own 'New Wave.' Great movies were under way-things like Milos Forman's for which Jane Fonda won an Academy Award. "My belief, based on my experiences, was that a vast market was not addressed. Audiences were impressed by the foreign imports, but very few American filmmakers experimented. American theater per se was similar. We had a disproportionate interest in diversion therapy and too little interest in discovery. What came upon us in the Watergate era after a decade of a.s.sa.s.sinations and dirty tricks was a kind of national enlightenment. Collectively we became cynical. I thought it was healthy. I also thought it was bound to affect entertainment culture, and I remember feeling then, more than at any time before or since, that we were onto our own 'New Wave.' Great movies were under way-things like Milos Forman's One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Dog Day Afternoon, Network One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest, Dog Day Afternoon, Network-and we were suddenly looking for social discussion in film, and I thought this was a breakthrough. And this was my att.i.tude in taking on All the President's Men. All the President's Men."

For Redford, there were glorious offers abounding-including roles in Stanley Kubrick's Barry Lyndon Barry Lyndon and in and in Superman- Superman-but he declined. He was sure he wanted to do something with weight. The meeting point between him and Pakula was their common view that accorded intellect and curiosity to the audience. "I knew Bob wanted Wildwood to gain distinction as a producer of quality films," said Pakula, "and he wanted signature, personal films. He used all his a.s.sets. He had great personal skills with agents. They liked him mostly because he was a money magnet, but also because he was earnest. He was the real deal. No one was going to get him into a Mel Brooks movie."

As research on the Watergate movie went on, Redford decided to fit in another acting role. With three strong successes behind them, Pollack was more eager than ever to make another movie with his old friend. The fact that Pollack had acquired a cabin at Sundance, ten minutes across the canyon, kept communication open and easy. "We talked about projects all the time," said Pollack. "We were on the phone daily, always saying, 'Maybe.' Then I saw an opportunity during that summer of 1974. I had a deal with Paramount; he had time. I thought, If we can hone the right one down fast, it's perfect."

For a while, the two men worked evenings on Robert Penn Warren's A Place to Come To, A Place to Come To, an epic, Joycean novel Redford loved. But a workable adaptation, it was agreed, would take years. They pledged to continue, but looked elsewhere. One evening in Utah as he was raking through Watergate research doc.u.ments, Redford turned again to a script that had come to him with Peter Yates's name appended. It was written by the former an epic, Joycean novel Redford loved. But a workable adaptation, it was agreed, would take years. They pledged to continue, but looked elsewhere. One evening in Utah as he was raking through Watergate research doc.u.ments, Redford turned again to a script that had come to him with Peter Yates's name appended. It was written by the former Batman Batman writer Lorenzo Semple Jr. and adapted from a slim, melodramatic novel by James Grady, a twenty-four-year-old a.s.sistant to Lee Metcalf, the U.S. Senator from Montana. writer Lorenzo Semple Jr. and adapted from a slim, melodramatic novel by James Grady, a twenty-four-year-old a.s.sistant to Lee Metcalf, the U.S. Senator from Montana.

"To begin with," says Redford, "it was nothing I was interested in. It was a potboiler, all set in D.C., and the end had guys parachuting down with Sten guns and big cannons and heroin and the kind of stuff that didn't excite me personally. But in the middle was a great concept, about a guy struggling to deal with a situation he cannot understand. It was basically about paranoia, and that did grab me." This, at its heart, was a CIA story. With a simple shift of emphasis, Redford felt, Grady's book could be moved from potboiler to a postulation of the CIA's ambiguous morality. Form would then shift from thriller to commentary, the implication of which was a national security system fouled by its own principles, where individual objective and inst.i.tutional aim were not often, or even necessarily, harmonious. This fit well with the Watergate zeitgeist. Redford pulled on a jacket and crossed the canyon by motorbike to knock on Pollack's door. "I told him, 'This one has something. Read it and tell me if you think we can remodel it. I think we can.'"

Semple's redrafted script transformed the six days of the Condor-the duration of the chase in which the CIA agent code-named Condor attempts to dodge a.s.sa.s.sination as he unravels an internal coup designed to cover up a heroin-trading cabal-into three. Despite Semple's verbal dexterity-and his evident artistic growth in his recent adaptation of Papillon, Papillon, combined with impressive work for Pakula on combined with impressive work for Pakula on The Parallax View The Parallax View-he failed to produce the paranoia Redford hoped for. Pollack once again turned to David Rayfiel to layer the script. "Bob's instincts were spot-on," said Pollack. "It was a Russian dolls scenario, and it had this tremendous personal story of Joe Turner, the guy who trusts his organization, then wakes up one day to see that everything he believed in has turned on him and everyone's out to get him. The story then unfolds like a Hitchc.o.c.k film, with the audience pulling for Joe as he moves through this bewildering world just one step ahead of a bullet in the back. All the time he's homing in on a criminal cover-up. But it was not an easy adaptation to film, and I saw Lorenzo's problem very quickly. The action, ironically, slowed it down. There needed to be a lot more humanity, and I saw that in terms of romantic engagement. I have been accused of playing that card too often, but I make no apologies because it engages people. How human beings connect, how they embrace and trust and love, engages people. And once you have that connection, the audience is paying attention and all the rest works." It was Rayfiel's ultimate job, said Pollack, to bring "breathing and feeling" into the story. Finally, after ten collaborations with Pollack, Rayfiel was on his way to earning his first formal screen credit. "A lot of the humanizing was in building up the girl role, Kathy Hale," says Rayfiel. "She's the innocent bystander, a photographer Turner kidnaps and holes up with and talks to. She becomes his dialogue with us, the audience, and with her we share his tension."

At the end of the summer, as they worked at a Connecticut house Redford rented close to Rayfiel's, important new elements were introduced by Redford, including subst.i.tuting oil for the heroin cover-up in Grady's novel, which Redford thought more apt, especially in light of the environmental stance he was taking in Utah. It was also his idea that Turner, having exposed Atwood and Joubert, the CIA villains, should turn his information over in final retribution to The New York Times, The New York Times, a symbolic salute to the best of the Fourth Estate. "I worked hard on a symbolic salute to the best of the Fourth Estate. "I worked hard on Three Days of the Condor, Three Days of the Condor," says Redford, and Rayfiel attests to his "really vivid insights, not just lines of dialogue, but overview. I was impressed by his intuition for drama, for when a scene should start and how vulnerable the hero should seem-just so much, not too much. He had a writer's eye and ear more than any actor I ever worked with."

Redford also collaborated on the casting, approving Max von Sydow for Joubert, Addison Powell for Atwood, Cliff Robertson for Higgins, the CIA's deputy director, and Faye Dunaway for Kathy Hale. The movie was then relocated from the novel's Washington to New York, and a tight schedule was honed to facilitate the hoped-for winter start of the Woodward-Bernstein movie.

Redford felt he was focused; Pollack sometimes didn't. For him, too often, "Bob's attention was divided. He was into patrolling Washington with Hersh and McGrory a little too much. We started shooting in October, before we lost the light [of the early winter evenings], but it got quite stressed from time to time. I remember complaining to him, 'Excuse me, can I get five f.u.c.king minutes of your time, please?' I was also uptight because Dino [De Laurentiis, the executive producer] had a tough reputation, and my my neck was on the line." neck was on the line."

Redford feels that Pollack was unfair in his judgment, and also dismisses the crew rumors that he and Dunaway did not get on. He very much liked Dunaway, he says, though he felt at that time she "existed in a bubble emotionally" and seemed intensely distracted, perhaps by events in her personal life. "Those rumors might have originated from one incident, where she had to rail at me with some very rapid lines and she simply could not remember the words. So I left the room and Sydney stepped in and delivered her speeches to her line by line."

When Pollack previewed the first cut for De Laurentiis and friends, it proved a major disappointment. "Every part of it was awkward, every beat was off," he remembered. To fix it, he instructed Don Guidice, his editor, to "cut every scene. Take the heads off every shot. Take the tails off every shot. Take out reaction shots. Take out establishing shots. Reduce everything by half."

The effect, says Redford, was stunning. "Sydney had never made a film that moved as fast as a moving train and looked so tense. It was a new style of work for him, and it set the bar for all his later thrillers."

Pollack was proud. As contributions to paranoia movies go, he knew he had scored. It was now Pakula's turn.

Sundance, meanwhile, had taken a debilitating body blow. In 1973 serious compet.i.tion arrived with the opening of Park City, a new resort funded by a California businessman, fifteen miles up the road at a higher elevation, with more organized accommodations and services. Redford's resort manager, Brent Beck, saw Sundance at a turning point. "We were on our knees by the time Park City opened. When the snows came, our business was limitless. In 1973 we had 122,000 day-pa.s.s skiers. But the problem was, the snow often didn't come till late January, sometimes even later. Hendler was goading me on because I was the chief executive with the responsibility of making it all viable, but the only extra revenue I could generate was from leasing acreage for sheep farming. That amounted to nickels and dimes. We charged $6 a head for sheep, and there weren't many sheep because Bob didn't want the area overfarmed. So income from farming was just $1,200 a month. As soon as Park City came on the scene, we knew we were going to the wall, that there was no way to survive unless we went a radical new route."

Redford had been routinely pumping in a minimum of $300,000 a year from his own pocket. Now it was apparent that not even this annual injection could keep the resort afloat. Compromises had to be made. Stan Collins brought in Bobby Davenport, the Kentucky Chicken King franchise owner, as coexecutive to manage a newly restructured resort. The first priority, with the help of Davenport's credit line, was to create more accommodations for overnight visitors. Beck went around the canyon to the existing plot holders, like Sydney Pollack, Steve Frankfurt and Jeremiah Johnson Jeremiah Johnson set designer Ted Haworth, and persuaded them to put their cabins into a rental pool. "These cabins were second homes for the residents," says Beck, "so I urged them to join the club. Their silver and tableware and linens weren't the best. I said, 'Look, you have to put something in to get something out. If we address this together, we can all make money and we can compete with Park City.' They went along with it, most of them. We created the rental pool, which Sundance then managed, and we had a chance finally to open year-round business opportunities." set designer Ted Haworth, and persuaded them to put their cabins into a rental pool. "These cabins were second homes for the residents," says Beck, "so I urged them to join the club. Their silver and tableware and linens weren't the best. I said, 'Look, you have to put something in to get something out. If we address this together, we can all make money and we can compete with Park City.' They went along with it, most of them. We created the rental pool, which Sundance then managed, and we had a chance finally to open year-round business opportunities."

Redford's support for Davenport, like for the business partners forced on him before, was never more than halfhearted. "What I didn't want to happen was covert sellout," says Redford. "No one was more sensitive than me to the burden of paying a mortgage in excess of a quarter of a million. But Park City becoming the pacemaker for redevelopment was the wrong way to go. Stan and Brent did well, but truthfully I believed we couldn't compete in the long term. It was an artificial objective we were chasing."

Beck was critical of Redford's ambivalence. "You could say Bob was part of the trouble. The environmental politics were getting in the way. Two Utah issues dominated his thinking: the state's on-off plans to expand the road along the Provo River, and Cal Edison's plan to build a power plant down the road to supply California's needs. Bob was no longer doing resort business when he came home, which was rare enough anyway. He was organizing town hall meetings, organizing busloads from Washington, organizing student protest bodies. At the same time he refused to let go of his personal fantasy, which was to own a ski haven in the Wasatch Mountains. I used to say to him, or to Lola, who was more practical, 'You will have a big price to pay for this luxury of owning a mountain.' The price, in my mind, was a kind of pollution, a price he was already paying. For a start, the mountain itself was permanently scarred by the ski runs he built there. I said to him, 'Bob, if you want to maintain this Alpine fantasy, you have to yield. The development of the Sundance business is not an option. It's a necessity.' When I'd say those things, his eyes would blank out and he'd mumble, 'Yeah, yeah,' but he was stubborn, so he was an enemy unto himself."

For Beck, the balancing act was harrowing. Committed as he personally was to supporting Redford's conservation instinct, unavoidable irritants rained down. "For example, our main summer scenic hike was to Stewart Falls, the most beautiful natural waterfall in the Southwest. I managed that trail and made little decorative plaques with all the important information about native flora and fauna. But then, because of the Sundance Kid Sundance Kid connection, the Hollywood fans started pouring in and the trail became a souvenir trail. People weren't coming for the nature. They came to steal the plaques belonging to the Sundance Kid. When Bob was here, it was worse. The fans followed his every move, and when he arrived from L.A. or New York, they were here waiting-the gawkers, autograph hunters and hustlers looking for endors.e.m.e.nts. We were caught all the time between the rock and the hard place." connection, the Hollywood fans started pouring in and the trail became a souvenir trail. People weren't coming for the nature. They came to steal the plaques belonging to the Sundance Kid. When Bob was here, it was worse. The fans followed his every move, and when he arrived from L.A. or New York, they were here waiting-the gawkers, autograph hunters and hustlers looking for endors.e.m.e.nts. We were caught all the time between the rock and the hard place."

Within weeks of Davenport's arrival, Redford argued with him about conservation and disengaged from the business partnership set up by Collins. "It was all a big mistake," Redford insists. "Davenport didn't have the influence or the money he said he had. I went back to where I started. Independence was the way forward. I I needed to make the decisions, because no one else had the pa.s.sion for the canyon. As time went on, my love affair with the place intensified. I wanted to ski there. But I wanted others to share that, too. And I wanted people to have access to the summer trails, as if it were a slice of the Uinta National Park. I changed in the seventies. As a younger man, since my grandfather Tot taught me, I was an enthusiastic hunter. I could ride and I was a good shot. But the canyon changed me. I stopped hunting when I saw a buck die at the A-frame. The canyon was full of deer and moose. At that time, it was open season hunting. Then, one afternoon, I was sitting in my living room and this animal came to the bank outside the window and sat there, badly wounded, dying. I went out to try to help, but it was past saving. There was nothing I could do. I sat there, watching it watching me; many, many minutes, maybe more than an hour. And then it glazed over and sank down dead. I was deeply moved. It was another of those Zen moments. That was, literally, the end of hunting for me. It seemed suddenly absurd to be killing for sport. I felt the same about the land. To be draining its resources simply to compete with Park City was immoral. On the other hand, to let it go to any old flake who wanted to build tract housing was equally wrong. So I had to keep drawing from the finances of my film work to fund it, until I could find a way to help it fund itself." needed to make the decisions, because no one else had the pa.s.sion for the canyon. As time went on, my love affair with the place intensified. I wanted to ski there. But I wanted others to share that, too. And I wanted people to have access to the summer trails, as if it were a slice of the Uinta National Park. I changed in the seventies. As a younger man, since my grandfather Tot taught me, I was an enthusiastic hunter. I could ride and I was a good shot. But the canyon changed me. I stopped hunting when I saw a buck die at the A-frame. The canyon was full of deer and moose. At that time, it was open season hunting. Then, one afternoon, I was sitting in my living room and this animal came to the bank outside the window and sat there, badly wounded, dying. I went out to try to help, but it was past saving. There was nothing I could do. I sat there, watching it watching me; many, many minutes, maybe more than an hour. And then it glazed over and sank down dead. I was deeply moved. It was another of those Zen moments. That was, literally, the end of hunting for me. It seemed suddenly absurd to be killing for sport. I felt the same about the land. To be draining its resources simply to compete with Park City was immoral. On the other hand, to let it go to any old flake who wanted to build tract housing was equally wrong. So I had to keep drawing from the finances of my film work to fund it, until I could find a way to help it fund itself."

In November, Redford put the wheels in motion of preproduction on All the President's Men. All the President's Men. Both Michael Ritchie and Jeremy Larner had expected involvement in the film and felt let down when that didn't pan out. Said Ritchie, "I thought Both Michael Ritchie and Jeremy Larner had expected involvement in the film and felt let down when that didn't pan out. Said Ritchie, "I thought All the President's Men All the President's Men would be number three in our trilogy: first sport, then politics and now the 'big business' of journalism. I tried to call Bob, but he was never available." Larner was philosophical: "Friendship and partnership, I learned with Bob, were variables. By would be number three in our trilogy: first sport, then politics and now the 'big business' of journalism. I tried to call Bob, but he was never available." Larner was philosophical: "Friendship and partnership, I learned with Bob, were variables. By his his definition, and only his definition, it worked fine. You were involved if fate allowed. Otherwise ...?" But Redford defends his choices with definition, and only his definition, it worked fine. You were involved if fate allowed. Otherwise ...?" But Redford defends his choices with All the President's Men All the President's Men as a drive for creative newness. "I had done a lot with Mike, and with Sydney Pollack. Jeremy won an Academy Award for as a drive for creative newness. "I had done a lot with Mike, and with Sydney Pollack. Jeremy won an Academy Award for The Candidate, The Candidate, which was well deserved. But personally I needed a fresh challenge, and I wanted to test myself, too." which was well deserved. But personally I needed a fresh challenge, and I wanted to test myself, too."

Finally happy with their script since, crucially, "it made some affirmative statement and not another negative commentary about Watergate," Pakula and Redford sat down to cast the movie. Redford had several old friends he wanted to work with, among them Penny Fuller from Barefoot in the Park, Barefoot in the Park, Jane Alexander, another theater actress who had made the transition to film and had recently been nominated for an Academy Award, and Hal Holbrook, Carol Rossen's husband, who would play the role of Deep Throat, the reporters' White House informer. Redford's initial concept had been a cinema verite black-and-white film in which he would not perform. But a distribution deal had been done with Warners, and Ted Ashley's concerns were primarily the commercial realities. "Ted didn't beat around the bush," Redford recalls. "He told us he needed to sell my name on the marquee, so the movie he was funding must have me in it." If he was to act, Redford felt the obvious role for him was that of Woodward. "I thought I could do something with those little nervous mannerisms, like his always shredding paper. I could make up an accurate picture because I'd spent weeks and weeks with him." For Bernstein, his first choice was Al Pacino, an actor he much admired. "But then I chewed it over, and for some reason Dustin Hoffman seemed more like Carl in my mind's eye, so I called Dustin and asked him if he was interested. That was a very short phone call." Jane Alexander, another theater actress who had made the transition to film and had recently been nominated for an Academy Award, and Hal Holbrook, Carol Rossen's husband, who would play the role of Deep Throat, the reporters' White House informer. Redford's initial concept had been a cinema verite black-and-white film in which he would not perform. But a distribution deal had been done with Warners, and Ted Ashley's concerns were primarily the commercial realities. "Ted didn't beat around the bush," Redford recalls. "He told us he needed to sell my name on the marquee, so the movie he was funding must have me in it." If he was to act, Redford felt the obvious role for him was that of Woodward. "I thought I could do something with those little nervous mannerisms, like his always shredding paper. I could make up an accurate picture because I'd spent weeks and weeks with him." For Bernstein, his first choice was Al Pacino, an actor he much admired. "But then I chewed it over, and for some reason Dustin Hoffman seemed more like Carl in my mind's eye, so I called Dustin and asked him if he was interested. That was a very short phone call."

Hoffman had, in fact, followed every facet of Watergate and knew about Redford's sessions with the journalists. Hoffman recalls: "While I was shooting Papillon Papillon in Jamaica, all the Watergate hysteria was unfolding. I did what Redford did. I kept tabs. My brother worked in the administration in Washington, and we were on the phone every single day, debating it. I always wanted 'in.' I only felt p.i.s.sed that Bob got involved with the project before I did. If he hadn't gone after it, I would have." in Jamaica, all the Watergate hysteria was unfolding. I did what Redford did. I kept tabs. My brother worked in the administration in Washington, and we were on the phone every single day, debating it. I always wanted 'in.' I only felt p.i.s.sed that Bob got involved with the project before I did. If he hadn't gone after it, I would have."

Since his experience with Jason Robards in The Iceman Cometh, The Iceman Cometh, Redford had wanted to work with him again, if only to repay the kindnesses Robards showed him. In 1972, after years of alcohol problems, Robards was almost killed when he crashed his automobile into a roadside wall in California. He was badly disfigured in the accident and needed reconstructive facial surgery, which was carried out by a plastic surgeon who was a Mormon and a friend of fellow Utahan Gary Liddiard, Redford's makeup artist since Redford had wanted to work with him again, if only to repay the kindnesses Robards showed him. In 1972, after years of alcohol problems, Robards was almost killed when he crashed his automobile into a roadside wall in California. He was badly disfigured in the accident and needed reconstructive facial surgery, which was carried out by a plastic surgeon who was a Mormon and a friend of fellow Utahan Gary Liddiard, Redford's makeup artist since The Candidate. The Candidate. Through Liddiard, Redford monitored Robards's recovery. Discovering he was on the mend, he offered him the role of Ben Bradlee, which was gratefully accepted. Through Liddiard, Redford monitored Robards's recovery. Discovering he was on the mend, he offered him the role of Ben Bradlee, which was gratefully accepted.

The most important relationship for the producers was the one with the resident senior staff of The Washington Post. The Washington Post. It was common knowledge that a general air of skepticism hung around the executive offices, but Pakula, a naturally sociable person, proved to be the production's best a.s.set as he created relationships with Ben Bradlee and the paper's owner, publisher Katharine Graham. In their memoirs, both Bradlee and Graham speak with the glow of Hollywood awe about Redford's arrival on the scene. Bradlee was amenable, happy to show Redford off to his family and to converse with the production team led by coproducer Walter Coblenz. Graham, on the other hand, agreed to breakfast with the Redfords but wanted no part of the movie. "It's understandable," says Redford. "How could she know how we'd end up presenting It was common knowledge that a general air of skepticism hung around the executive offices, but Pakula, a naturally sociable person, proved to be the production's best a.s.set as he created relationships with Ben Bradlee and the paper's owner, publisher Katharine Graham. In their memoirs, both Bradlee and Graham speak with the glow of Hollywood awe about Redford's arrival on the scene. Bradlee was amenable, happy to show Redford off to his family and to converse with the production team led by coproducer Walter Coblenz. Graham, on the other hand, agreed to breakfast with the Redfords but wanted no part of the movie. "It's understandable," says Redford. "How could she know how we'd end up presenting The Post The Post? She was cautious and protective, which was what you'd expect of a caring proprietor."

Redford wanted Geraldine Page to portray Graham in the film. Graham refused the offer, though she later regretted her decision and wrote a note of contrition to Redford. "Contrary to what's been written," says Redford, "she did not block us filming at The Post. The Post. We filmed for two weeks, but it went haywire." The reason the We filmed for two weeks, but it went haywire." The reason the Post Post shoot was abandoned, says Redford, was that "the journalists and secretaries went crazy when Hollywood came in their midst. It was all giggling women and people doing their makeup and a general feeling of disorder. It was as bad for them as for us, and we knew we had to get out of there." The entire shoot was abandoned, says Redford, was that "the journalists and secretaries went crazy when Hollywood came in their midst. It was all giggling women and people doing their makeup and a general feeling of disorder. It was as bad for them as for us, and we knew we had to get out of there." The entire Post Post newsroom, desk by desk and filing cabinet by filing cabinet-"even down to the selfsame wastepaper baskets"-was built on a soundstage at Warners in Burbank. newsroom, desk by desk and filing cabinet by filing cabinet-"even down to the selfsame wastepaper baskets"-was built on a soundstage at Warners in Burbank.

As the cameras rolled on All the President's Men, All the President's Men, late in the spring of 1975, Redford had the comfort of working with a team of top-notch creative technicians molded over several years by Pakula in his various executive and directing functions. Among them were production designer George Jenkins and cinematographer Gordon Willis. Both had worked on late in the spring of 1975, Redford had the comfort of working with a team of top-notch creative technicians molded over several years by Pakula in his various executive and directing functions. Among them were production designer George Jenkins and cinematographer Gordon Willis. Both had worked on Klute Klute and and The Parallax View The Parallax View and here, with Pakula and Redford, conceptualized a visually unusual world, where the overlit, all-revealing glare of the newspaper office jars alongside the silent alleys and half-lit underground garages where the secrets unfold. Spatial design, said Pakula, was everything. "I believed this colossal story needed attention to size. We were dealing with something that could alter our view of investigative journalism and here, with Pakula and Redford, conceptualized a visually unusual world, where the overlit, all-revealing glare of the newspaper office jars alongside the silent alleys and half-lit underground garages where the secrets unfold. Spatial design, said Pakula, was everything. "I believed this colossal story needed attention to size. We were dealing with something that could alter our view of investigative journalism and and political office, so it had to feel big. It was therefore decided to use a lot of panorama shots, and when the journalists leave the cradle of the newsroom and go into munic.i.p.al buildings, they are dwarfed by their surr