REDFORD’S LATE HARVEST

“You may not want to ride with me,” Robert Redford says, “when you see how I drive.”

Then he’s gunning down a mountain road outside tiny Truchas, N.M., in a silver Porsche Targa, taking curves neatly at 60 m.p.h. Half a movie company pulls out behind him in vans and trucks, moving to a valley setup while Redford scouts locations on the way.

“I used to race these things,” he says, and as he downshifts on another curve, maintaining a perfect four-wheel drift, you believe him.

If only his film were moving as smoothly.

Redford’s here with co-producer Moctesuma Esparza to shoot “The Milagro Beanfield War,” directing (but not acting in) his second feature--he won an Oscar with his first, “Ordinary People.”

Based on John Nichols’ 1974 novel, “Milagro” is a seriocomic fable about a community of native New Mexican farmers standing up to developers who threaten to destroy the local farmland and way of life. In the story, an impoverished Chicano handyman tries to raise a modest crop of beans so he won’t have to pick the beans of others to survive. But in a larger sense, Joe Mondragon’s patch of planted ground, irrigated illegally with diverted water, becomes a symbol of rejuvenated Latino pride, a re-cultivation, if you will, of dying roots.

“Milagro” is also a movie about American-born citizens--who happen to be Chicano--suffering the onslaught of insensitive outsiders . . . who happen to be Anglo. But it’s less overtly concerned with politics than with myth, religion (“Milagro” translates to “miracle”), the impact of individual will and cultural history.

It’s a part of American history that’s been shamefully ignored by the major studios until now. (See overview on Page 6.) Financed by Universal Pictures and long-awaited by the Latino film-making community, “Milagro” is the first, big-budget movie to feature leading Chicano characters and to focus on their culture. The principal cast, distinctly non -Chicano, nonetheless represents a broad ethnic mix: Panama’s Ruben Blades, Brazil’s Sonia Braga, Mexico’s Carlos Riquelme and Americans Christopher Walken, John Heard, Daniel Stern, Chick Vennera (who plays Joe Mondragon), Julie Carmen and Melanie Griffith. But despite the strong Latin flavor--and the involvement of Esparza, a longtime Chicano activist and much-honored producer--this is clearly a Robert Redford project.

That appears to be a mixed blessing: Redford’s name unquestionably raised the stature of the project, at least in the eyes of the Hollywood mainstream. But there are reports that Redford’s thoughtful, deliberate pace--coupled with climate and other factors--has seriously slowed production. And because he is a director of such single-minded vision, there is sure to be concern in some quarters that this blondest of major movie stars could overly Anglo-cize a landmark film about Latino life.

Redford’s aware that problems and potential controversy swirl like a high desert whirlwind around the film. Yet he seems utterly calm at the center.

“I learned a long time ago,” he says, laughing, “to let others do the worrying.”

Trim, about 5 feet 10, with weather-crinkled eyes and wind-chapped skin, Redford is unimposing at first glance. But he has a commanding presence as a director, from the go-go-go energy of searching out location sites to a quiet, self-assured, remarkably patient way with his actors. One hears repeatedly from cast and crew that Redford will not proceed until he has gotten exactly what he wants from a scene, until he is certain he has made the right choice.

“I’d heard he was a perfectionist, and it’s true,” Julie Carmen has said in Santa Fe. So intent has Redford been on finding just the right actor for each role that two key cast members were not chosen until the eighth week of production. (Principal photography started Aug. 6, without a finished script.) The shoot was scheduled to end in late October; some now speculate that it could extend into December.

“I’m tired, I’m homesick,” says a weary Riquelme, a noted Mexican actor who at 74 is appearing in his first major, English-speaking role, that of Milagro’s mischievous patriarch Amarante. His shoulders are stooped, his eyes red with fatigue. “We’re all tired,” he says. “I want to go home.”

Universal, which will distribute worldwide, wouldn’t comment, but “Milagro” reportedly is considerably over its initial $10-million budget. (Redford is working for scale and a percentage of the gross.)

Most here are blaming the unpredictable weather more than Redford’s “exacting” approach, as one cast member characterized it. There have been record rains; it snowed last Sunday--and, typically, was crystal clear the next day.

“The weather’s been a major factor,” says cinematographer Robbie Greenberg, while a gusting wind knocks down equipment around him. “It’s extraordinarily beautiful here, but also a challenge. You can go into the toilet with a fierce sun overhead and when you come out, it’s cloudy.”

Esparza claims that budget and schedule problems are not “above the norm” for a complex project with 53 speaking roles being shot outdoors at 10,000-foot elevations. But Esparza concedes that working with Redford can be “more demanding” than with some other directors.

“It was many years before Bob even felt ready to go into production (on ‘Milagro’),” Esparza says. “He has very high standards. (But) I think that’s a plus for the project. Those standards come with a sensitivity and understanding . . . there’s substance behind his standards.”

“There’s been a lot anxiety around this picture,” Redford concedes. “Casting has been particularly tough--we haven’t gone for on-the-nose casting. We’ve moved away from the norm to try for something more interesting. Sometimes that can be a disaster. But I think it’s worth the risk.

“This is a much bigger film than I ever imagined. I once envisioned a rather small film. And it’s getting bigger every day.”

Redford scans the countryside from the Porsche.

“Rabbit brush,” he says, oblivious to a woman in a passing car who stares at him open-mouthed. He squints through dark glasses at the yellow-flowered weeds splashed beside the road. “God, isn’t it beautiful? But we’ve got to get it soon. It’ll be gone before long. Already, it’s fading.”

Suddenly, he pulls off the road, bounds from the car and returns with a bunch of the yellow flowers. He thrusts it under the reporter’s nose.

“Smell it?” Redford says, grinning. He lays the sprig on the dashboard and the pungent aroma fills the car. Then he’s back on the road, the blue eyes keen for certain images.

“I projected in my mind a certain look for this film,” he says. “There was never any doubt it should be filmed in this area.

“The surroundings here lend so much to it. The light is so amazing. There’s something so unique about the light, the air, the landscape. The land is another character in the piece.”

Yet the one-time art student, who studied production design before he ever thought of acting, seems fascinated by people as by landscape. He speaks of the need to capture on film a way of life, close to the earth and with its own spiritual traditions, of families who have been here for centuries.

“We (film makers) haven’t tapped the history of this country,” he says. “And when you think of this area--the people were here long before lots of other things.” Certainly, he implies, before Anglos who came with different ideas, different values.

Redford and company were themselves outsiders when they first brought their costly equipment and studio money up this mountain road, past adobe houses and old pickup trucks stacked with wood for the winter. Redford’s intent was to shoot in nearby Chimayo, with its crumbling, weed-choked village square (it dates to the 1730s), but property owners were divided. Some badly wanted the production and the money it would bring. Others felt they were being offered too little in locations fees, and opposed cosmetic changes and disruption the shoot might entail. At one point, the governor of New Mexico interceded, worried that the brouhaha would harm the state’s efforts to lure production. In the end, “Milagro” pulled up stakes and built original sets in Truchas, shooting some interiors in Santa Fe.

Now, word of Redford’s presence has raced through the hills, and people watch for him the way their ancestors may have once kept an eye out for legendary heroes and outlaws.

A beautiful, brown-skinned little girl is leaning out of a passing station wagon, waving at Redford. He sticks an arm out the window, waves in return, yells, “Hey!”

Then he’s wagging a hand at a group of bikers and low riders gathered at a weathered filling station. They give the thumbs up, shout greetings.

“They were giving us the finger when we first came up here,” Redford says, grinning again. “We must be doing something right.”

“The Milagro Beanfield War” would seem to be the kind of picture where a lot could go wrong.

Nichols’ sprawling, funny, sometimes mystical novel has built a solid cult following rather than a niche on best-seller lists. Its option passed through the hands of several producers before it became available again in 1979. Both Esparza and Redford independently had their eyes on it. By then, they were both established producers, though at different levels.

Redford had used his star’s status to move into production with his Wildwood Enterprises, making such pictures as “Downhill Racer,” “Jeremiah Johnson,” “The Candidate” and “All the President’s Men.”

Esparza, perceived by the mainstream film and television industry (and perhaps the media) as a “Chicano producer,” had created Latino-themed television programming (starting with his 1973 study of barrio life, “Cinco Vidas,” which was his film master’s thesis at UCLA and won him an Emmy), and documentaries (an Academy Award nomination in 1977 for Best Documentary Short, “Agueda Martinez,” a portrait of an old woman from northern New Mexico).

Esparza then joined with the National Council of La Raza, the civil rights group, to develop a series of films with historical Chicano backgrounds; the first was director Robert M. Young’s well-received “The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez.” (Less praised was Esparza’s recent “Radioactive Dreams.”)

The day that the option on “Milagro” became available seven years ago, Esparza seized it. Redford was two weeks late. Unapologetically independent, Redford suggests that he would not be partnered with Esparza or anyone else if he had gotten to “Milagro” first.

But Esparza would not be bought out by Redford’s big money, and Redford joined what sounds like an initially reluctant partnership. “Because of his (Esparza’s) stake in the whole Chicano issue,” Redford says, “he didn’t just want to give it up.”

Because Redford wanted to direct, Esparza also had some reservations--until he saw a rough cut of “Ordinary People,” which was then in post-production.

“I was affected by the film very deeply,” says Esparza, a keenly intelligent but mild-mannered man who keeps a low profile. “I was actually in a stunned condition for a while.

“I saw him the next day and said, ‘Bob, what do you want?’ ”

One senses that Redford still shares the reins a bit begrudgingly: “I would have made it anyway (on my own). When I get determined about something, I stick to it. But Moctie’s involvement, I think, lent a lot of credibility to it.”

Esparza says he had other offers for a co-production “from major people in the industry” within weeks of optioning “Milagro,” and could have had a film in release “by ’82 or ’83. I would have had it made by now--and I think for the worse.

“The opportunity with Bob was to produce an important film that would get attention--no matter how it turned out. And I considered that stature critical in terms of my goal of changing stereotypes in the general consciousness of the country.”

While acknowledging Redford’s impact--”having Bob associated absolutely brings a certain clout”--Esparza also maintains that “our focus was moving in a (creative) direction toward something we both wanted.”

It’s a touchy issue.

Some close observers suggest that Esparza may be less than happy with a seemingly diminished role. Not only is Redford’s approach uncompromising, but he has as his executive producers his longtime partners, Gary Hendler and Andy Meyer. Dede Allen (“Bonnie and Clyde,” “Serpico,” “Reds”) will do the crucial editing. Screenwriter David S. Ward, who wrote “The Sting” and has been at Redford’s elbow for constant script changes, has a 15-year association with Redford--although Esparza insists Ward was also his first choice to try an adaptation on “Milagro” after Nichols had failed.

Esparza is careful to point out that three of his department heads are Chicano, all tops in their fields: production designer Joe Aubel, production manager David Wisnievitz and construction coordinator Bill Maldonado--”probably more Hispanic department heads than on any other feature made in Hollywood.”

Yet Esparza is equally adamant that he never envisioned “Milagro” as an all-Chicano production, as one cast member has offhandedly suggested to the reporter. Esparza sees “Milagro’s” Anglo-Latino partnership as a much more important bridge between Latino film makers and Hollywood’s mainstream than an “ethnic” production could ever be.

“I’m in a difficult position,” Esparza says, sounding pained. “There are not many Chicanos who have gotten to work in this business as a producer. It’s a double burden: I care about my culture and the problems of Chicanos. But I also am obligated to work with the best people I can and with people I want to work with.

“I’m interested in including people, not excluding them. Everything I’ve done has been about breaking down barriers, about humanizing. My goal is to work in Hollywood and to make a contribution. Ultimately, my goal is to reach as broad an audience as possible and to make some kind of a social statement.”

Esparza acknowledges creative disagreements with his co-producer, but insists Redford eventually proved right on each.

That presumably includes a flap over casting the pivotal role of Joe Mondragon. Redford saw about 40 actors to fill the part, most of them Chicano. At one point, Cheech Marin thought Redford had given him the role; it would have been a major career break for the Chicano half of the Cheech and Chong comedy team. Esparza, who favored Marin, celebrated with him that evening. Then, says Esparza, Redford decided “we had not yet exhausted our possibilities.

“We were all feeling a lot of pressure (to cast the role),” Esparza continues. “Everybody was hounding Bob to make a decision. Literally, the next day, Nancy (Nancy Foy, the casting director) found Chick.” Redford decided that the leaner, younger Vennera, who has considerably more dramatic acting experience than Marin, better fit his image of Joe. “He (Redford) was very morose about it,” Esparza says. “It was a very, very rough week. I personally felt very bad for Cheech. It was at that point that I had to trust Bob (on every choice).”

Redford denies that he told Marin that he had the job. “Things were getting tight (time-wise)--the train had left the station,” Redford admits. “What I said to Cheech was: ‘Let’s make this work.’ But in the end, he was not quite right. I saw a certain character and it wasn’t coming. And Chick came in very late and was as close to what I saw in my mind (as we’d found).

“I do think (Marin) is quite talented--and he should have a film career.”

Some speculate that Redford may have feared that Marin might be too broad. Ward’s adaptation appears less comical, less manic than Nichols’ novel. And Redford has been bringing almost all the actors “down” on camera, trying for more subtlety.

One of Redford’s stated aims has been to avoid caricature--”It’s sad how much stereotyping has been done (in film) in presenting Mexicans, Chicanos,” he says. “I feel very bad about that.”

He takes pains to point out that he grew up with Chicano neighbors in West Los Angeles and had a relationship with an older Chicano--a friend of his grandfather’s in Texas--that he feels influenced him profoundly. He also mentions that “El Norte” was sponsored by the Sundance Institute, which he founded, and that “The Ballad of Gregorio Cortez” got its start there.

But he refuses to be defensive about his non-Chicano casting. He saw hundreds of Latino actors, he says, but ultimately based his choices on individuals, regardless of specific ethnic makeup. Vennera, primarily Italian-American, is part-Latino (“My great grandmother was Spanish”) and for many years has been a member of Nosotros, the organization of Latino actors; Julie Carmen, who plays Joe’s strong-willed wife, Nancy, is Puerto Rican-American. There are many genuine Chicanos in the cast--American-born but of Mexican descent--but in secondary or bit parts, including a number of local people who have never acted before. Some are dark-skinned, indicating Indian blood; some who speak English as a second language have skin nearly as light as Redford’s. As in much of the United States, ethnic labels are not so easily affixed here.

Yet some Chicanos may complain that a movie about Chicanos but without Chicano actors in principal roles lacks authenticity.

“You have to be careful about categorizing this film,” Redford says. “I keep hearing ‘Chicano film’--but we get beneath and inside this. It’s about the humanity in this region. It’s about the faces, the wonderful mix that you find here.

“There’s a lot of confusion about the ethnicity in this area. It has a real uniqueness, a tricultural mix of Spanish, Mexican and Indian. And I want to put that on film. It hasn’t been done before.”

Redford, in jeans and Western boots, walks briskly across an open field, stepping over prickly pear cactus. Aubel, Greenberg and several assistants scurry to keep pace. Redford bends to pull off a bouquet of wild chamomile almost without breaking stride, then moves up a gentle slope to a level pasture. Yellow rabbit brush stretches ahead of him like a golden carpet toward the rich greens of the distant Sangre de Cristo Mountains. Behind him, in the distance, are red sandstone bluffs. The sky is sharp blue, nearly cloudless.

Suddenly, Redford stops, his eyes keen. The script calls for Joe Mondragon to escape on foot, fleeing authorities (led by Walken as a steely state police agent) who have hounded him for “stealing” water, and now want him--wrongly--for attempted murder. Redford’s found the setting he wants.

“What I’d love to get,” he says with a sweep of his arm, “is that yellow rabbit brush in the foreground with the shot rising up to the mountains.”

Greenberg explains how he’ll pan with the camera from south to north.

“Great,” says Redford. “That will cement us (in the shot) to the red rock.”

Back at the car, he takes a moment to pose with a nervous young woman while her husband snaps an Instamatic of her beside Redford.

Then he’s back on the road, descending toward the heat of the valley.

He mentions his favorite pictures--”Jeremiah Johnson,” “Downhill Racer,” “The Candidate,” “Ordinary People”--and how they all examine ways that individuals are affected by their particular environments. “Milagro,” he says, fits the same scheme. It has the extra appeal for Redford, the environmentalist, of certain political issues.

“We have a wonderful opportunity with this film to tell a story about people who really are endangered by profit needs from outsiders.

“It would be stupid to pretend we’re not a development-oriented society. We are. But (this picture’s) about a battle being won, even if the war is being lost, a little battle to preserve a culture for a time . . . and a chance to remind audiences that the culture has existed.”

The Porsche scoots past adobe huts with grass and weeds growing from sod roofs, past modest houses perched on hillsides overlooking quiet green valleys, views that would command small fortunes back in Los Angeles. Women hang wash in sun-baked yards, dogs doze or chase happily after the car, healthy-looking children play contentedly with toys made of sticks. Poverty is evident, but so are well-tilled fields, freshly painted churches, signs of family unity and honorable work. And there’s a rare calm here, a sense of tranquillity and deep-rootedness that many city people may have never experienced.

It could almost be another country. In truth, it’s more authentically American than this fancy imported automobile that speeds by, this expensive symbol of another way of life.

Redford, the outsider, savors it while he can.

“Every night on the drive down, it’s a different sky, different colors.

“It’s like driving into a movie,” Robert Redford says.