10/20/2020
My heart goes out to the Redford family on the loss of James Redford. He was only 58. I am a huge fan of writer Amy Tan. Redford was working on a documentary on her life. Ms. Tan’s tribute to James Redford is lovely and gives us a glimpse into the life of a unique documentarian.
From author Amy Tan’s FB page:
“I am devastated over the death of James Redford. I am so lucky that Jamie was my good friend. We met in NYC in 1999. I remembered; he did not. It was at a screening of his documentary, The Kindness of Strangers, about organ donation and those people who are hanging by a thread awaiting a transplant. Jamie had had two liver transplants by then. He was waiting for a third when he also developed liver cancer.
About ten years ago, we met again through mutual friends artist Michael Schwab, who played in a band with him. We ran into each other at literary and film events, so often we became bonafide acquaintances. And then a few years ago, he approached me about being in a documentary on the importance of play for adults. He wanted to include the Rock Bottom Remainders, a band comprised of aging writers with questionable musical ability. He and his film crew flew to Tucson to capture our performance at a book festival. That led to his proposing a documentary on my life for American Masters. Although I was not keen on the idea, he contacted me a number of times and then sent me 10 minutes of sample footage with animation. If I still did not want to do it, he said, he would not ask anymore. I watched the segment. I was touched by what I saw. I called him and said, “Let’s do it, no reservations.” Soon after, when I attended a fundraiser at the Redford Center, I told his wife, Kyle, that Jamie had an exasperatingly charming way of getting what he wanted. She laughed and said that was absolutely Jamie. He was never pushy; he was genuinely passionate.
Having Jamie delve into my life and ask the important questions naturally led to friendship. He wanted to know everything and lugged to his office boxes of documents, photos, old magazines, VHS tapes, and mementoes—many of those things that had been destined for the dump. Whenever I discovered another heap of stuff, he was always eager to come over to see it. He went to my events to get more footage. I came to see what issues were important to him: family, resilience, survival, living fully and deeply, taking risks, the necessity of fun as optimism, activism, individuality, being grateful, experiencing the physicality of life, and being kind to others. Everyone describes him as kind.
A little over a week ago, Jamie sent me the rough cut of the documentary, “Where the Past Begins.” He used to worry when I did not reply to his emails immediately. His antennae would go up, he told me. So I quickly sent back a response expressing my gratitude, extolling his sensitivity in allowing me to see the continuity of the past leading to who I am today. I thanked him for digitizing VHS and micro-cassette tapes that allowed me to watch previously inaccessible interviews I did of my mother talking about her life.
Jamie did not answer my email. That was unusual. I sent another email, telling him my antennae was up, and that I was concerned about him, as always. A week had passed since he sent me the rough cut. I then sent Kyle a note of worry. She told me that he read my email aloud to her, and later read it to his son and daughter. It was the last email he read, she said, the last time he opened his computer. He rapidly declined after that and was unlikely to live beyond that day. I wrote him an email, taking care to say what the film meant to me, what I treasured in our friendship. I learned he died while I was still writing it.
I was sorry I could not give Jamie my fond farewell. But I now think it was unnecessary. I imagine Jamie felt as I do after turning in a manuscript. You hold your breath until you get the verdict. You suspect the worst. And when he received my enthusiastic response, I imagine he was happy and relieved, and my approval was all he needed to know to finally put aside uncertainty and let go of pain.
Jamie told me last year that he was aware he could die before he finished the documentary and assured me that he had assembled detailed notes on all the footage and how it should be laid out. It would be finished, he said, not to worry. I told him I was not worried and he should not worry on my account. I only do things that are worth doing in the moment, I reminded him, not those things that depend on results in the future. I now treasure those days we dug through boxes containing my past, when we spent hours in deep conversation about memory, mind and heart, the important matters that last.”
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James's wife, Kyle, confirmed he died on Friday from bile-duct cancer in his liver
