Two Cents is a Cinapse original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team curates the series and contribute their “two cents” using a maximum of 200-400 words. Guest contributors and comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future picks. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion. Would you like to be a guest contributor or programmer for an upcoming Two Cents entry? Simply watch along with us and/or send your pitches or 200-400 word reviews to cinapse.twocents@gmail.com.
The Pick: All Is Lost (2013)
For the rest of the year, we’re focusing on the great career of the late, great Robert Redford. In this year of great contention and struggle, celebrating some of the great American actors and filmmakers has been a solace for many of us here at Cinapse. With the recent passing of a true legend in Redford, it felt like it was only appropriate to do a deep dive into some of his great films. In fact, he was the heartbeat of so many great American films, calling a two month retrospective a “deep dive” is a false moniker. It barely scratches the surface of his almost mythological career. As we explore some films we love and films we are newly experiencing, we invite you to join us for our Redford Retrospective.
After a string of iconic performances, this week’s Two Cents highlights Robert Redford’s virtuosic turn in J.C. Chandor’s All Is Lost—a late-career gem that’s easy to overlook in favor of other films that further showcase Redford’s singular charm. Our Man (as the taut 31-page screenplay calls him) spends the entirety of this sea-bound survival drama in near-silent solitude–which renders Redford’s seemingly vital wit and social flair all but irrelevant. Yet Redford sacrifices none of his magnetic presence as an elderly man battling nature, eking out only rare, hard-won victories from overwhelming, stormy defeat. As we explore the filmography of an American legend, All Is Lost stands as a remarkable distillation of the quiet, relentless courage Robert Redford has embodied throughout his career.
The Team
Julian Singleton
Revisiting All Is Lost, I worried its luster might have faded since its 2013 debut—unluckily timed to coincide with another audacious life-and-death thriller, Alfonso Cuarón’s Gravity. Those concerns vanish almost immediately thanks to Robert Redford’s commanding performance and J.C. Chandor’s unobtrusive, almost fly-on-the-wall direction.
A far cry from the intensely dialogue-driven Margin Call, and stripped of the easy charm that marks so many of Redford’s roles, All Is Lost sets both its sophomore writer-director and veteran star adrift in uncharted dramatic waters. Yet the two share an unwavering trust in the elemental power of this story: a resourceful loner, pitted against the raging forces of the nature he calls home. That trust makes it impossible not to be gripped by Our Man’s silent, determined courses of action.
Redford’s performance is intensely physical not only in All Is Lost’s armrest-gripping, boat-capsizing storms, but also in the quieter stretches, where Our Man seems as adrift in his own story as we are watching it. Redford offers only the faintest clues to who this man once was, what life he escaped, and what regrets have slipped aboard his efficient-size yacht like stowaways. Is it grief? Shame? Outside of a tantalizing opening monologue, we never know. What becomes clear instead is how each of his methodical tasks are an effort not just to survive, but to avoid facing whatever waits on land.
These traits are alien to so many of Redford’s characters—and to the charming, socially fluent persona that’s defined him for decades. Yet his stoicism becomes the film’s greatest asset, revealing not only competence in crisis but a carefully maintained façade eroding with every setback. More than an hour passes between that opening monologue and his exhausted, primal “FUCK,” and by then the despair feels fully, painfully earned. Where Gravity foregrounds trauma and catharsis, All Is Lost withholds nearly everything. It demands we sit with its silence, pulling us into the same claustrophobic, endlessly stressful isolation Our Man endures in a riveting display of near anti-spectacle.
Yet even in this solitude, Redford’s endurance isn’t entirely his own. As Our Man despairs in his ramshackle life raft, Chandor briefly lingers on sea life that gathers around the drifting vessel, as if nature itself shares his journey. These creatures instinctively understand what Our Man has forgotten in his single-minded resourcefulness: survival isn’t a mission with a clear beginning or end, but a continuous state of being. This natural perspective stands in direct contrast to Our Man’s vulnerable opening admission of inevitable defeat, his belief that fighting to prove his worth amounts only to hubris.
As punishing as the film can be, All is Lost isn’t a story of a man who underestimates nature and is punished for it. Instead, Chandor and Redford highlight his rediscovery of resilience—that even if defeat feels certain, choosing to fight and live anyway can be the most meaningful act we ever take.
Given a film entirely to himself, Redford delivers a distilled version of his screen persona: a flawed, steadfast courage that defined his most iconic roles and one he hoped to inspire in his audience.
Spencer Brickey
A confession up top in regards to All Is Lost: I did what all us cinephiles swear we never do, and I trusted the “vibes” on this one–specifically that it was just Robert Redford trying to swing for an acting Oscar one last time back in 2013. I had assumed it was a dour indie affair that I wasn’t really looking forward to diving into.
Boy, was I a big ol’ idiot! All Is Lost is as propulsive as they come, while also being a minimalist masterpiece. Robert Redford is Our Man, a nameless (and nearly wordless) captain of a yacht out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. What starts as a rude wake-up call as an adrift shipping container crashes into his yacht quickly shifts into an all-out fight for survival, as Redford braves storms, shipwrecks, and being adrift at sea.
Redford’s silent protagonist is up for the challenge, though. Redford silently shows that he is not only preternaturally resilient, but he is resourceful, too. Time after time, as the calamities around him become more and more dire, he keeps a level head and works towards a solution, no matter if it is a malfunctioning radio, shaving in a storm, or abandoning ship. No matter how dour his situation becomes, he keeps his wits about him.
And dour this situation gets! It’s pretty clear from the first scene that the film ahead is going to get rough, but the sheer tension built out of the escalating issues becomes nearly unbearable. You think the first time you hear thunder in this is bad; wait until you hear it the second time!
The third act is where this truly becomes something special, though. We’ve spent the past hour or so watching Redford continuously find solutions to his problems, but as he nears what appears to be a fatal end, his ability to communicate his waning faith crashes furiously against his will to live, all while remaining almost entirely silent (besides one perfectly placed “fuck”), really illustrates not only how difficult of a role this is, but how great Redford is in his ability to make it all seem so easy. You never see the seams between real and acting, he blurs them like the true artist he was.
To end on a slightly personal note; I’ve recently, and continuously, dealt with unexpected unemployment, left adrift in an economy where it has felt impossible to secure employment of any sort. Watching Redford continuously work towards solutions and keep his mind about him through levels of hell I could never comprehend allowed me a modicum of comfort in my own experiences, giving me hope that continued resilience will help me through. The power of cinema, baby!
November and December Lineup: Redford Retrospective
November and December Lineup: Redford Retrospective
