I believe in cinema therapy. I know it works because upon occasion a film, a single work of art, has pulled me out of the doldrums. Whenever I try to explain this, I use “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid” as an example.

That movie made me happy for months. I started wearing gaucho pants after wearing it, for goodness sake. Those and the boots I paired with them made me feel open and free, not exactly an outlaw but not my timid self, either. For months, I tromped around in this renegade costume, and I felt the darkness lifting.

Robert Redford was a big part of the reason I loved that film. The scene where he and Paul Newman jump off a high cliff into a raging river always entertained. It seemed the epitome of gutsiness, of braving danger for a desired end. Never mind that they just had robbed the Union Pacific Railroad and were jumping to avoid arrest. They were the heroes. I was pulling for them.

Redford died today at age 89. Another star from my youth is gone. I try to recognize and appreciate young actors, but it’s hard to forget the heartthrobs of my youth. Rest in peace, Robert Redford.

(The cliff-jumping scene was shot near this rugged area of Colorado, north of Durango. Photo: Wikimedia Commons)