Aspiring filmmakers flock to the indie king

Robert Redford was leaving a photo shoot to publicize his "Quiz Show" almost a decade ago when what he thought was a panhandler approached him in New York. He wasn't begging for change, though. He was begging for a break, Hollywood style.

He wanted Redford to watch the movie he'd made. "I think, `Well, you never know,' " said Redford, who screened the cassette tape back at his hotel and found it 40 minutes too long but otherwise an impressive debut.

The beggar turned out to be Ed Burns, then a production assistant for "Entertainment Tonight." The movie was a rough cut of "The Brothers McMullen," which, with the help of Sundance Institute advisers, went on to become a sleeper hit. The encounter taught Redford not to ignore the oddballs.

"I don't have a lot of peace," is how he puts it. "Even in restaurants, waiters come up and say, `Can I show you something?' People will see me and they'll just grab the chance they think they've got. I'll go to a fund-raiser or whatever and someone will just about assault me, attach themselves like a bird dog, they just want to be a part of movies so bad. . . ."

"On the other hand," he adds, "that's who we're supporting, the independent guy."

Redford, of course, is the king of indies, having made them himself, having nurtured ones made by others, and now, at last, starring in a couple of them that are soon to be released ("The Clearing," with Willem Dafoe and Helen Mirren, and "An Unfinished Life" with Jennifer Lopez -- yes, that J.Lo). He figured it was time.

"I thought I have to put my body where my mouth is," says Redford, 66, whose mainstream movies tend to be of a more independent nature, such as "Downhill Racer," "Jeremiah Johnson," "A River Runs Through It," and "Ordinary People," to name a few of the slew he's made. "Having to be resourceful and creative, you get this family attitude going and your energy stays higher and you feel like you're almost involved in a guerrilla experience, and that just feels good."

For his own part, the Southern California native has no problem with mainstream studio movies. His problem is with the sameness of the movies being made by them. He prefers unique stories, ones with a point of view that indicate an artist with something to say. "But, mainly, the one word would be diversity," he says. "We run the risk of losing that with all the amalgamation going on. It's creating vacancies all around, and we're trying to move into those spaces [at Sundance]."

Legendary mentoring status aside, Redford says he continues to see himself foremost as an artist, someone whose heart is still in making movies rather than nurturing them, although he enjoys that, too. He is, of course, a triple hyphenate: actor, director, producer. Still, he can't name a favorite movie of his, insisting he's proud of many. He's also loath to play Sundance favorites, not wanting to single out one film over another in the annual festival or the new Sundance series. He's too proud of the whole package.

"I'm very happy that something I started that was very risky and that people thought I was crazy to do has lasted," Redford says. "I said to colleagues, `You want to put something back with me? Let's mentor these young filmmakers and see where it goes. It might improve the quality of films in a category that is currently DOA.' "

The creation of the Sundance Institute was as simple and as complicated as that. And Redford expects strangers with moviemaking aspirations will never leave him alone now.