Nobody on the set of Inside Daisy Clover knew why Natalie Wood kept her distance from Robert Redford. She’d arrive early, leave as soon as her scenes wrapped, never made eye contact during blocking rehearsals. Redford, the unknown actor with three film credits to his name, stayed quiet.
Professional, he didn’t push. The director, Robert Mulligan, was getting worried. The whole film hinged on the chemistry between these two characters, between the established star and the new face. They had one week before the kissing scene. One week to find something real. What Mulligan didn’t know was that Natalie had a reason for keeping her distance.
And when she finally told Redford what it was, everything changed. Summer 1965, Warner Brothers Studios, Burbank, California. Robert Redford was 29 years old and terrified. Not of the role, not of the cameras, of Natalie Wood. She was 27. She’d been famous for 19 years since she was eight. Miracle on 34th Street.
Rebel Without a Cause with James Dean. Westside Story. Splendor in the Grass. Four Oscar nominations before she turned 25. She was Hollywood royalty. The kind of star who could make or break a career with one word to the right producer. Redford had three film credits. War Hunt in 1962, Situation Hopeless but Not Serious earlier this year, and a small part in The Chase that hadn’t been released yet.
Television actors didn’t transition to film easily in 1965. Broadway actors had a better shot and Redford had done Broadway Barefoot in the Park with Elizabeth Ashley. But still, this was different. This was a leading role opposite one of the biggest stars in Hollywood. The film was Inside Daisy Clover, a dark story about a teenage girl who becomes a Hollywood star in the 1930s and marries a closeted gay actor.
Natalie played Daisy. Redford played Wade Lewis, her husband. The script required intimacy, kissing scenes, arguments, the raw vulnerability of a marriage falling apart. The problem started on day one. Natalie arrived at soundstage 9 at 6:00 a.m., 2 hours before call time. Full hair and makeup, professional, ready. Redford arrived at 6:30, still learning to navigate the studio lot.
He was wearing jeans and a work shirt. His blonde hair was uncomed. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, which he had. He was staying in a cheap apartment in the valley, trying to save money because he didn’t know if this film would lead to anything else. The costume designer took one look at him inside. We have work to do.
By the time Redford emerged from wardrobe, transformed into Wade Lewis in a 1930s suit, Natalie was already on set rehearsing with Robert Mulligan. Redford stood in the shadows, watching, learning how she moved, how she spoke, how she owned the space. She never once looked at him. Mulligan called for Redford.
Bob, come meet your wife. Redford walked onto the set, extended his hand. Hi, I’m Bob. Natalie glanced at his hand, shook it briefly. Her grip was firm but distant. Natalie. Then she turned back to Mulligan. Should we run the first scene? That was it. No small talk. No, nice to meet you. No, I loved you in barefoot in the park.
Just business. Redford didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t this. The first week was brutal. They’d rehearse scenes and Natalie would deliver her lines perfectly, technically flawless, but but there was no connection, no chemistry. She’d hit her marks, say her words, and then step back, create physical distance, emotional distance.
During lunch breaks, Natalie ate in her private trailer. Redford ate with the crew. During lighting setups, Natalie would disappear to her dressing room. Redford would sit on an apple box reading the script trying to understand what he was doing wrong because it had to be him. Natalie Wood didn’t have chemistry problems.
She’d had chemistry with James Dean, with Warren Batty, with Steve McQueen. The problem was clearly the unknown actor from Van NY who didn’t belong here. Mulligan pulled Redford aside after the third day. How are you doing? Fine. Redford lied. Natalie’s She’s going through some things, personal things. It’s It’s not you, but it felt like it was him.
The crew started noticing the cinematographer would set up romantic shots, two shots where Natalie and Redford’s faces were close together, and the distance between them was palpable. The script supervisor kept notes. Chemistry feels forced. The producer started making phone calls. Could they recast? Was it too late? Redford heard the whispers.
He’d been in Hollywood long enough to know how it worked. Unknown actors were expendable. Stars were not. If this didn’t work, he’d be gone. Back to television. Back to wondering if he’d ever have a real film career. He thought about Utah, about the land he’d bought near Provo Canyon four years ago. Two acres in the mountains.
No electricity, no running water, just wilderness. Sometimes he’d drive up there between jobs and sit under the aspens. The mountains didn’t care if he was a movie star or a nobody. They just were steady, unchanged. He wished he was there now instead of on this sound stage where Natalie Wood looked through him like he was made of glass.
Week two brought the first real argument scene. Daisy confronting Wade about his lies. It required Natalie to be vulnerable, angry, hurt. It required Redford to be defensive, but guilty. Two people who loved each other, destroying everything they had. Mulligan called action. Natalie delivered her lines. Perfect cadence. perfect emotion.
But she was looking at a point just past Redford’s left shoulder. Not at his eyes, not at him. Redford responded. Stayed professional. Hit his marks. But something inside him was breaking. You can’t act opposite someone who won’t see you. Cut. Mulligan called. Let’s take five. Natalie walked off said immediately. Redford stayed.
Sat down on the fake living room couch. put his head in his hands. The script supervisor, a woman named Helen who’d been working in Hollywood for 20 years, sat down next to him. She’s scared, Helen said quietly. Redford looked up. Of me? Of herself. Redford didn’t understand. Helen glanced around, making sure no one was listening.
Natalie’s been acting since she was four years old. She knows every trick, every technique. She can manufacture chemistry with anyone. But you, Helen paused. You don’t do tricks. You don’t manufacture anything. You just are. And that terrifies her. I don’t understand. She can’t control you. Can’t predict you. You’re not playing a role.
You’re just being. And for someone who’s been performing her whole life, someone who’s real, is dangerous. Redford sat with that, thought about it. He’d never considered that his lack of technique might be the problem. He wasn’t a method actor. He didn’t have a process. He just tried to be honest, be present.
That was all he knew how to do. That night, Redford drove to Tanga Canyon, parked his car in a dirt road, hiked to a ridge where he could see the city lights below, the ocean to the west, the mountains to the east. He sat there for two hours thinking about whether he should quit, go back to New York, go to Utah, stop trying to be something he wasn’t.
But then he thought about that four-year-old girl in the blue Chevrolet. Wait, wrong story. He thought about why he’d started acting in the first place. Not for fame, not for money, because there was something true in it, something honest, a way to understand people, to understand himself. He decided to stay.
Week three, they had 4 days before the kissing scene, the scene that would either make or break the film. Redford changed his approach. He stopped trying, stopped worrying about chemistry or connection or whether Natalie liked him. He just showed up, did his work, stayed present, and something shifted. It started small.
During a rehearsal, Natalie laughed at something Redford ad liibbed. A real laugh, not a performed one. Mulligan kept the camera rolling, even though it wasn’t a take. Caught the moment. The next day, Natalie arrived on set and actually looked at Redford when she said good morning, made eye contact, held it for two seconds before looking away.
On the third day, during lunch, Natalie didn’t go to her trailer. She sat on the set alone. Redford was already there eating a sandwich, reading a book about the Great Depression for character research. Natalie sat down three chairs away, didn’t say anything, just sat there. After five minutes, she spoke.
“What are you reading?” Redford showed her the book, trying to understand what WDE would have lived through before he became an actor. Natalie nodded. “I do that, too. Research.” “I know. I saw the notes in your script.” She looked at him, then really looked at him. “You’ve been reading my script?” No, I just I can see them from across the set.
During blocking, you write in the margins. Natalie was quiet for a moment. Then you notice things. I try to. Another silence. Then Natalie said something Redford wasn’t expecting. I’ve been avoiding you. Redford didn’t respond. Just waited. You make me nervous. Natalie continued. Most actors I can read them, figure them out in the first day. But you, she shook her head.
I can’t tell if you’re thinking or feeling or just waiting. It makes me feel like I don’t know what I’m doing. And I always know what I’m doing. Redford understood now. Helen had been right. This wasn’t about him. It was about control, about Natalie’s need to direct the scene, even when she wasn’t the director.
I’m not trying to be mysterious, Redford said. I just I don’t have a method. I don’t have Stannislavski or Strasburg. I just try to listen. Be there. That’s all. That’s harder than it sounds. Yeah. Redford agreed. It is. They sat in silence for another few minutes. Then Natalie stood up.
We have the kissing scene in 2 days. I know. I think we’ll be okay. She walked away, but something had changed. The wall had cracked. The next day’s rehearsal was different. Natalie made eye contact during their scenes. She responded to Redford’s energy instead of just delivering pre-planned performances. When they ran the argument scene again, the one that hadn’t worked before, something real happened.
Natalie’s voice broke on a line that was supposed to be angry. It became vulnerable instead. Hurt. And Redford responded not with the scripted defensiveness, but with guilt. Real guilt. Mulligan watched from behind the monitor, whispered to the cinematographer, “We might actually have a film.” The kissing scene was scheduled for Thursday, July 29th, 1965.
The crew arrived at 6:00 a.m. to set up. It was a crucial scene. Daisy and WDE’s first kiss. The moment where the audience had to believe these two people were falling in love. If it didn’t work, the entire film would collapse. Natalie arrived at 5:30, hair and makeup. But Redford noticed something different.
She seemed nervous, actually nervous. Not performing nervousness, feeling it. Redford arrived at 6:00, found Natalie standing on the set alone. She was looking at the marks where they’d stand, the spot where the camera would be, calculating, planning. “Hey,” Redford said quietly. Natalie turned. “Hey, you okay?” She was quiet for a moment, then.
Can I tell you something? Sure. I’ve been acting since I was 4 years old. I’ve kissed a lot of leading men on camera, but I’ve never She paused. I’ve never not known what would happen. I always know. But with you, I don’t know. And that makes this real. And real is scary. Redford understood. For Natalie, performing was safe. Controlled.
Real meant risk. We don’t have to make it perfect, Redford said. We We just have to make it honest. Natalie looked at him. You really believe that? Yeah. Okay. She took a deep breath. Okay, let’s do this. Mulligan called everyone to set. The crew took their positions. Cinematographer checked the lighting. Script supervisor called for quiet.
Mulligan walked Natalie and Redford through the blocking one more time. They’d approach each other from opposite sides of the frame, meet in the middle. The kiss would be brief, tender, the beginning of something doomed but beautiful. Remember, Mulligan said, Wade knows he can’t give Daisy what she needs.
And Daisy knows something’s wrong. But they’re both trying to believe this can work. That’s the tension. Okay. Natalie and Redford nodded. Positions. They moved to their marks. Natalie on the left, Redford on the right. Mulligan went behind the monitor. The cinematographer made final adjustments. The sound mixer checked levels.
Roll camera speed. Slate it. The clapper. Scene 47. Take one. And action. Natalie walked toward Redford. He walked toward her. They met in the middle, stopped, looked at each other, and for the first time in three weeks, there was no distance, no wall, no performance, just two people looking at each other, seeing each other.
Redford reached up, touched Natalie’s face, gentle, questioning. Natalie’s eyes filled with tears, not scripted tears, real ones. And when they kissed, it wasn’t a movie kiss. It was two actors trusting each other enough to be vulnerable. The kiss lasted 5 seconds. They pulled apart, looked at each other again.
Natalie’s hand was shaking. Redford steadied it with his own. Cut. Mulligan said softly. He was quiet for a moment, then. That’s it. That’s the one. We’re moving on. The crew stayed silent. They just witnessed something rare. The moment when two actors stopped acting and started being. Natalie walked off, set quickly. Redford saw her wipe her eyes before anyone else could. He understood.
When you’ve been performing your whole life, real emotion feels like losing control. and losing control feels like failure. But it wasn’t failure. It was breakthrough. The rest of the film was different, easier. The chemistry everyone had worried about was suddenly there, effortless. Natalie stopped avoiding Redford. They’d talk between takes.
She’d tell stories about growing up in Hollywood. He’d talk about Utah, about wanting to build something out there someday, a place for filmmakers. She didn’t understand it, but she liked listening to him talk about it about mountains and independence and doing things differently. Inside Daisy Clover, wrapped in September 1965.
The film was released in December. Critics were mixed on the film itself, but everyone praised the chemistry between Natalie Wood and Robert Redford. Variety wrote, “The scenes between Wood and Redford crackle with authentic tension.” The Hollywood Reporter called Redford a star in the making. Robert Redford never became best friends with Natalie Wood.
They didn’t stay in touch after filming. Their lives were too different. Natalie was Hollywood. Redford was becoming something else. But years later in interviews, both would talk about that film, about what they learned. Natalie would say, “Bob taught me that sometimes you have to give up control to find something real.” Redford would say, “Natalie taught me that the biggest stars are scared, too.
They just hide it better.” In 1969, four years after Inside Daisy Clover, Robert Redford would become a superstar with Butch Cassidy and The Sundance Kid. In 1981, he’d direct his first film, Ordinary People, and win the Oscar for best director. And eventually, he’d build that place in Utah. He told Natalie about Sundance, a sanctuary for filmmakers who wanted to do things differently.
But in 1965, he was just a nervous actor trying to find his way. And Natalie Wood, the woman who’d been performing since she was four years old, taught him something crucial. Sometimes the scariest thing in acting isn’t failure. It’s success. Real connection, honest emotion. Because once you felt it, you can’t unfeill it. And once you’ve given someone permission to see the real you, you can’t take it back.
That’s what happened on that Warner Brothers soundstage. Two people learned to trust each other. And in trusting each other, they created something neither could have created alone. Years later, after Natalie’s tragic death in 1981, Redford was asked about working with her. He was quiet for a long time before answering.
Then he said, “She was brave.” People don’t realize how much courage it takes to be vulnerable on camera when you’ve been trained your whole life to be perfect. Natalie chose vulnerability. That’s what I’ll remember. Today, Inside Daisy Clover isn’t considered one of the great films of the 1960s, but it’s remembered for one thing.
The scene where Natalie Wood and Robert Redford kiss. Because in that moment, you’re not watching Daisy Clover and Wade Lewis. You’re watching two actors trust each other enough to be real. And that’s rarer than any performance. If this story about trust and vulnerability in filmm moved you, make sure to subscribe and hit that thumbs up button.
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