In Hollywood, the perfect take is rarely perfect. Sometimes, the most unforgettable moments are born from imperfection, honesty, and raw emotion. On September 18, 1969, the final day of filming “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” director George Roy Hill, actors Katherine Ross and Robert Redford, and the entire crew witnessed a scene that would become legendary—not for its technical precision, but for its truth.

The Pressure and Promise of a Hollywood Classic

George Roy Hill had spent months directing the soon-to-be-iconic film. With Paul Newman as Butch Cassidy, Robert Redford as the Sundance Kid, and Katherine Ross as Etta Place, the cast was perfect. The chemistry was palpable from the first table read: Newman and Redford’s brotherhood, Ross’s quiet strength, and the trio’s natural connection formed the emotional heart of the movie.

But by September, Hill was tired. The production had faced weather delays, budget overruns, and technical challenges. The final scene—a goodbye between Etta and Sundance—was scheduled for the last day. The stakes were high: over budget and out of time, Hill needed this scene to work, fast.

Katherine Ross: The Newcomer Facing Her Fears

At 29, Katherine Ross was beautiful, talented, but still relatively unknown. The pressure of working alongside Newman and Redford was daunting. In the first week, she kept to herself, professional but distant. Robert Redford noticed her quietness and remembered his own early days—the feeling of not belonging. One afternoon, he approached her between takes:

“You’re too quiet,” Redford said.
“I’m just focused,” Ross replied.
“You’re scared.”
“Maybe. Don’t be. You’re good. Really good. And we’re lucky to have you. So stop hiding. Be Katherine. That’s who we need.”

Something shifted. Ross relaxed, started joking with the crew, and became part of the on-set family. Her scenes with Redford grew stronger, deeper. They talked about their characters, built a history beyond the script, and made every moment between Etta and Sundance electric.

The Scene That Almost Wasn’t

The final goodbye scene was rehearsed, blocked, and ready to shoot. Etta tells Butch and Sundance she’s leaving, unable to watch their inevitable demise. The script was clean, poetic, Hollywood-perfect. But Ross felt something was wrong. The night before shooting, she confided in Redford:

“The goodbye scene—does it feel right to you?”
“It’s too neat, too Hollywood,” Redford agreed. “Real people don’t say goodbye like that.”

Ross was torn. The scene was technically flawless, but emotionally hollow. Redford encouraged her to speak up. “Tell George,” he said. “Tell him it doesn’t feel true.”

The Courage to Refuse Perfection

On the morning of September 18, Ross arrived early, dressed and ready. Inside, she was struggling. When the cameras rolled, she started her lines, then stopped herself. “Cut,” she said—not the director, but the actress. The set went silent.

“Catherine, we need this shot,” Hill pleaded.
“I know. I’m sorry, but George, this scene—it’s not working.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“It’s too perfect. Real goodbyes aren’t this clean. Real people stumble, say the wrong things. This is beautiful, but it’s not true.”

Hill was exhausted, but he listened. Redford stepped in: “George, can we try something? Let the cameras roll. Don’t call action. We’ll find it.”

Hill hesitated—film was expensive, time was short—but agreed. “We get one shot at this,” he said.

The Take That Changed Everything

Without a formal “action,” the cameras rolled. Redford approached Ross—not as Sundance, but as Bob. He whispered, “Say goodbye to me, not to Sundance. Say goodbye to Bob.” Ross understood. The scene became not just about characters, but about two actors, two friends, saying goodbye after five months of working together.

Ross began to cry—real tears, not acting. “I’m going to miss you,” she said, her voice trembling.
“I’m going to miss you, too,” Redford replied.

They played the scene, not from the script, but from the heart. Every word was colored by the real goodbye happening beneath the surface. When Ross turned to leave, she looked back at Redford and smiled—a genuine, bittersweet smile. Redford smiled back. In that moment, the camera captured something rare: the line between actor and role dissolved.

Hill called “cut,” quietly, reverently. The set was silent, then erupted in applause—not for a performance, but for a moment of truth.

The Aftermath: Truth Over Technique

Ross retreated to her trailer, overwhelmed by the intensity. Redford joined her.
“You were incredible,” he said.
“We were incredible together,” Ross replied.
“What you did—refusing to fake it—took courage.”

They sat in silence, reflecting on the family they’d built during filming. Ross wondered what would happen next. Would they stay close, or drift apart like so many Hollywood colleagues?

Redford was honest: “Hollywood’s weird. People promise to stay in touch. Usually don’t. Everyone moves on. But wanting and doing are different things. So what do we do? We remember. We remember this was real. If it’s supposed to continue, it will. If not, we’re grateful we had it.”

That afternoon, they shot the final scenes. The movie premiered and became an instant classic, making superstars of Newman and Redford, and turning Ross into a household name. But the real legend was the authenticity of that goodbye scene—critics called it heartbreaking, honest, the emotional core of the film.

The Legacy: Imperfection as Art

Years later, Hill reflected on the scene: “I didn’t direct it. I just let the cameras roll. Catherine and Bob found something I couldn’t have planned. They found the truth.”

Ross and Redford stayed in touch, not as close as during filming, but connected—Christmas cards, birthday calls, lunch meetings. At Paul Newman’s funeral in 2008, they hugged, remembering the family they’d built in Utah, and the truth they’d captured on film.

Why the Scene Still Moves Us

The story of September 18, 1969, is more than a behind-the-scenes anecdote. It’s a lesson in the power of authenticity. The best art comes from truth, not technique. The most memorable moments are messy, imperfect, and real.

If this story moved you, share it with someone who creates, someone who struggles with the line between authenticity and performance. Subscribe for more stories about the moments when movies transcended script and became something real.

Because perfection is overrated. Truth is what makes art matter. Truth is what makes goodbye mean something. Truth is what Katherine Ross and Robert Redford gave us that September day—and truth is why we still watch that scene and cry.