Robert Redford passed away on September 16 at the age of 89. He officially retired from acting a few years prior, after starring in David Lowery’s 2018 film “The Old Man & the Gun.” In 2019, he stepped down as the public face of the Sundance Institute. Nevertheless, Redford remained active as a producer on various television projects in his later years, including an executive producer role on the AMC thriller, “Dark Winds.” Viewers were delighted by a cameo from Redford during the Season 3 premiere in March, where he shared a scene with executive producer George R.R. Martin and series star Zahn McClarnon. That role would be Redford’s final appearance on screen.
Below is a tribute from “Dark Winds” showrunner John Wirth, recalling how the scene was put together.
My admiration for Robert Redford – actor, director, entrepreneur, environmentalist, and cultural icon – goes back to 1969. As a high school junior, I first experienced “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” and was mesmerized. I could never have envisioned that I’d one day write a line for him to deliver on film, particularly in his last appearance. Yet, that’s precisely what I did last year during a cameo filmed with George R.R. Martin for the Season 3 premiere of “Dark Winds.”
Bob and George were both busy, and finding a mutually convenient time and concept posed quite a challenge. We had initially failed to include them the previous year after Steven Paul Judd and I conjured a scene where they portrayed “Men in Black”-style characters sent by their (possibly extraterrestrial) superiors to retrieve an extraordinary five-horned sheep wavering around the Navajo Nation and return it to its alien overlords – assuming the sheep itself wasn’t the alien mastermind.
For those who watched Season 2 of “Dark Winds,” the sheep idea may not seem entirely ludicrous. I hoped to have fun with it, tack it onto the end of the season finale, and see if it might go viral. Bob was interested, on the condition that George would join, but George chose to pass. Perhaps he perceived the absurdity of the idea or thought revolving around a five-horned sheep alongside Bob was simply too intimidating. So, we scrapped that idea.
Ten months later, I returned to Santa Fe to prepare for Season 3. Rumors circulated that both Bob’s and George’s teams still wanted to make a cameo. April 2 was earmarked as the day both could participate, but George made it clear: neither wanted to speak on camera. They envisioned a fun scene with them playing chess in the Navajo Tribal Police Station while the narrative unfolded around them.
On that April 2, while I sat in my office at Camel Rock Studios outside Santa Fe, I received a text: The Eagle has landed. There hadn’t been any prior agreement for a secret phrase, but I understood precisely what it meant: Robert Redford was here.
I walked to the stage and found Bob and George in the makeshift green room we prepared for their convenience near the Navajo Tribal Police set. Upon my arrival, I saw Bob being attended to by our hair and make-up crew. He was, as always, warm and welcoming. With him were his wife, Bylle; his longstanding assistant, Wendy; and executive producer Tina Elmo. George, a delightful storyteller, was sharing his favorite Redford movie moments with Bob as though Bob hadn’t lived those very moments. It struck me as quite humorous.
The eagle had truly landed, I thought, welcomed by my favorite actor, the prince of western films, The Sundance Kid himself, accompanied by the greatest living fantasy writer in America. With everything seemingly in order, I broke away to check how soon we could start filming.
On set, my gaze landed on Jenna Elfman, the actress portraying an FBI agent involved in Zahn McClarnon’s character Joe Leaphorn’s storyline throughout the season. It was Jenna’s first day. Normally, we’d roll out the red carpet for someone of her acclaim, but with Bob and George present, our attentiveness fell short. I approached to greet her and explained the situation. She was gracious and accommodating, offering to do whatever I needed, which was incredibly appreciated.
I returned to Bob when George and Tina Elmo emerged from the green room looking for me. Things were taking longer than expected. “Bob’s getting antsy,” she said. “He has changed his mind about not wanting to speak in the scene. He wants to say something like, ‘Hurry up, Gene. It’s your move.’” I replied, “Okay, we can manage that. But, who’s Gene?” Tina stated, “That’s the name Bob wants to call George.” Fine. That was no issue.
As I jotted down Bob’s dialogue, it struck me that if he was going to speak to George, George would need to reply, or it could feel off. Yet, George had expressed he preferred not to talk on camera. Still, I felt a response was necessary, so I wrote him a line. Actually, just a word: Checkmate.
What started as a simple cameo transformed into a small scene, and I realized I needed to incorporate Leaphorn’s character to tether the scene to the primary narrative, lest it be cut from the episode afterward. With our chess consultant’s help, I wrote Zahn’s line “Bishop to H5,” which he would say to George while contemplating his move, leading to his victory in the game.
I handed the revised page to Tina, who headed back into the green room. I found Zahn and Chris Eyre, the director, to communicate the adjustments and emphasized we needed to shoot quickly to prevent losing Bob.
Back in the green room, Bob was rehearsing the scene with Tina and Wendy. I could see his impatience escalating. Bylle and Wendy assured him we were nearly ready. I worried we weren’t prepared enough when Bob looked at me and asked, “Who’s Gene?” I wish I could have claimed that didn’t rattle me. The man doesn’t tolerate incompetence, and there I was, feeling foolish.
I scrambled to clarify that Gene was the name I thought he wanted to call George. He questioned why he wouldn’t just address George by his name. “Good point,” I admitted. “Let’s have you be Bob and George be George.” He approved of that but still struggled to deliver the line. Eventually, he suggested, “I’m just going to say, George, the whole world’s waiting. Make a move.” “Perfect,” I replied, just as the assistant director informed us the set was ready.
Bob and George took their spots – Bob in one cell and George in another, the chessboard positioned between them. George had to reach through the bars to move the pieces. Visually, it was striking, but it turned out to be awkward. We contemplated moving them into the same cell, but after a minor adjustment of the table’s position, the sequence worked as planned. Everything was set.
Chris briefed the boys on how he planned to film the scene and they rehearsed it a few times. George enjoyed experimenting with the delivery of checkmate in thirteen distinct ways. Bob sounded just like he did in all his films – resonant and captivating. I began to feel a sense of relief, certain that all the effort leading up to this point was worth it. However, after three or four unsuccessful takes, Bob appeared more agitated.
Then something remarkable occurred. Bob straightened up, composed himself, and right before our eyes regained the essence of the Robert Redford who has always dazzled on camera – flawless. The subsequent takes were perfect. At 88, Robert Redford still had it; his star power remained undiminished, holding everyone’s gaze.
We transitioned into coverage – capturing the close-ups. I peered at the scene through the monitor, and Bob looked magnificent. His delivery was flawless. “George, the whole world’s waiting. Make a move.” Then he glanced at Zahn, who stood just outside the cell as he delivered his line to George, “Bishop to H5.” George executed a marvelous bit of acting, made the move, and declared, “Checkmate.”
We would have completed the scene there had Bob not interjected, “Wait a minute. So, George makes his move, says checkmate. That means I’ve lost. I’m a loser.” I caught Tina’s glance, and we shared the same sentiment – Robert Redford is not a loser. I turned to Bob and said, “Just brush it off. Give Zahn a look to show him you’re in on the joke.” Bob smiled – that unmistakable smile – and seemed to embrace the suggestion. On the next take, he incorporated that iconic Redford double-take I’d seen in his films and ad-libbed the closing line he would ever say on film: “Thanks a lot.” Chris Eyre called, “Cut. Check it,” and our filming was finished.
I expressed my gratitude to Bob and George for making the effort and thanked everyone involved in making this moment happen. As Bob prepared to leave, Tina mentioned he wanted me to visit him at home to discuss the season when I returned to Santa Fe in a few weeks. I was thrilled by the prospect, yet we never ended up having that meeting. I did, however, communicate with Bob about the cut, made a few minor changes he’d requested, and was pleased to see he was satisfied with it. I know I was. Rest in peace, Bob.
