An Era of Untouchable Cool
It’s hard to overstate the star power of Paul Newman in his prime. He wasn’t just an actor; he was an icon of effortless cool, a serious artist with piercing blue eyes who commanded the screen. When he and Robert Redford teamed up for 1969’s Butch Cassidy
and the Sundance Kid, they created lightning in a bottle. The film was a cultural phenomenon. A few years later, 1973's The Sting reunited the duo and director George Roy Hill, winning the Oscar for Best Picture and cementing their status as Hollywood's most bankable pair. In today’s franchise-driven world, sequels would have been a foregone conclusion. The studio, eager to capitalize on the success, certainly tried. But Newman had other ideas.
No Encore for Butch and Sundance
The ending of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid is one of cinema’s most iconic, with the two heroes frozen in time before a hail of bullets. A direct sequel was impossible. However, Hollywood's desire for another hit led to the development of a prequel, Butch and Sundance: The Early Days. But the magic of the original was the once-in-a-lifetime chemistry between Newman and Redford. Recasting the roles was seen by many as blasphemous, and both original stars wisely stayed away. The 1979 prequel, starring Tom Berenger and William Katt, came and went, proving that you can’t manufacture charisma. For Newman and Redford, the story had been told, and attempting to recapture that specific magic for a paycheck held no appeal.
Letting the 'Sting' Stand Alone
After The Sting became another massive success, the pressure for a follow-up was immense. Writer David S. Ward, who won an Oscar for the original script, was even brought on to pen a sequel. The proposed story would have seen the con men taking their talents to the next level. Yet, Newman and Redford again declined to participate. They understood that the film’s delicate, intricate plot was a self-contained masterpiece. Its perfection lay in its surprise; a sequel would inevitably feel like a rehash. The studio eventually moved forward with The Sting II in 1983, casting Jackie Gleason and Mac Davis in the lead roles. The film was a critical and commercial failure, a testament to Newman's instinct that some stories are best told only once.
The Exception That Proved the Rule
Newman’s aversion to sequels wasn’t an absolute rule, but rather a commitment to character. This is best illustrated by his most famous role: “Fast Eddie” Felson from 1961’s The Hustler. For 25 years, he resisted revisiting the character. But then director Martin Scorsese and a young Tom Cruise came calling with a script for The Color of Money. The story presented a compelling new chapter for Eddie—no longer the cocksure young hustler, but a world-weary mentor grappling with his past. It was a chance to explore how a character had evolved over decades, not simply repeat past glories. The decision paid off handsomely. Newman finally won his first and only competitive Academy Award for Best Actor for the role, a fitting honor for an artist who always chose the interesting path over the easy one.
