Death comes for all of us, but movie stars are granted a kind of immortality as long as their films are watched. Few were bigger names of the 20th century than Robert Redford, who died Tuesday at the age of 89 “at his home at Sundance in the mountains of Utah — the place he loved, surrounded by those he loved,” according to a statement from his publicist Cindi Berger.

His films include “All the President’s Men,” “The Way We Were,” “Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid,” “The Sting,” “Three Days of the Condor,” “The Natural,” “Out of Africa” and “Indecent Proposal.” He won an Oscar for directing “Ordinary People.” He was an environmental activist early on. And he founded the Sundance Institute and then launched the Sundance Film Festival, which upped the profile of independent filmmaking.

Many will have a more comprehensive look at his very busy and fascinating career. Instead, I want to take a moment to consider the ways he connected (or intentionally didn’t) with his co-stars on screen. Redford wasn’t content to be the handsome face with a million-dollar smile. He seemed drawn to elusive characters — of a man holding in all his fears and vapid tendencies — and that would be put to great use over his career, thawing mostly when his primary emotional connection was with men, perhaps most notably opposite Paul Newman as an inscrutable outlaw finally showing some vulnerability in 1969’s “Butch Cassidy,” and the scam artist looking for a partner in 1974’s “The Sting.” Redford wasn’t a comedian, but he had an understanding of comic timing and that’s never more evident than in these two roles.

But more often than not, he was drawn to characters who were inscrutable to the women in their lives, which is a more complicated thing to play than you might think. He found a way to make these men interesting conundrums rather than a blank. I’m not sure there’s a contemporary actor who has been able to capture this same glossy-uneasy quality.

No role exemplified this better than 1973’s “The Way We Were,” as the WASPY Hubbell, a man who seemingly glides through life until he meets Barbra Streisand’s Katie, who is Jewish and political (an eye-opener for the comparatively sheltered Hubbell) and she upends all his assumptions about himself. Everything about his self-presentation is pulled together — “acceptable” — compared to Katie, who is a whirling dervish of energy and opinions, pushing the guy to find some goddamn depth for once. That’s very stimulating for them at first. And then ultimately proves to be too much for Hubbell, who is inevitably drawn back to the status quo, where he’s comfortable. He doesn’t have the guts to live any other way. She sees more in him than he could ever see in himself, but despite appearances, he’s ultimately such a pathetic guy. At least he knows this about himself, and the way Redford’s performance subverts his good looks is fascinating.

Perhaps best known for the film’s bittersweet coda, director Sydney Pollack doesn’t overplay his hand as Hubbell and Katie spot one another in New York, years after their divorce. She’s on the sidewalk leading a “ban the bomb” protest; he’s exiting the Plaza Hotel with his new wife. They can’t help but smile when they lock eyes. The chemistry is still there. She trots over for a quick hello. But then he follows her back across the street, her magnetism drawing him in once again.

“You never give up, do you?” he says, and he’s referring to her activism, but there is heavy subtext to her reply: “Only when I absolutely have to. But I’m a very good loser.” There’s still so much unspoken electricity between them.

“Your girl is lovely, Hubbell.” And then she brushes his hair away from his forehead. They share one last embrace and that’s it; they return to their separate lives. Look what you gave up, Hubbell! He sees it. And he knows his limits. What an ending.

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