At 78, Sally Field Names The Six Actors She Hated

For over five decades, Sally Field has been a fixture of American cinema, an actress of such genuine warmth and relatability that she earned the enduring title of “America’s Sweetheart.” Her two Academy Awards are a testament to a talent that could effortlessly pivot from lighthearted comedy to profound drama. She is an icon whose on-screen presence feels like a comforting embrace. Yet, the smile that captivated millions often concealed a steely resolve, forged in the crucible of Hollywood’s most challenging film sets. Behind the curtain of her celebrated career lies a hidden history of conflict, a series of deeply toxic and trying professional relationships with some of the industry’s biggest names. This is not just a story of difficult co-stars; it’s the story of a woman’s quiet resilience against the towering egos that sought to diminish her.

The most famous and perhaps most damaging of these relationships was with Burt Reynolds. Theirs was a romance that played out in the pages of tabloids and on the silver screen in films like “Smokey and the Bandit.” To the public, they were the perfect, charismatic couple. In reality, Field has since described the relationship as overwhelmingly complex and suffocating. In her deeply personal memoir, “In Pieces,” she revealed a man who was far more controlling than his charming public persona suggested. He was, in her words, not her biggest fan and discouraged her from stretching her artistic wings, particularly when she pursued the role in “Norma Rae” that would ultimately win her first Oscar. The on-set dynamic was fraught with this personal tension, a blend of undeniable chemistry and a deeply rooted power imbalance that left Field feeling diminished and fighting for her own artistic identity. The love story the world saw was, for her, a cage she had to break free from.

While her relationship with Reynolds was a slow-burning fire of personal and professional conflict, her experience with Tommy Lee Jones was a blast of icy hostility. When they were cast as leads in the 1981 film “Back Roads,” Field was a newly minted Oscar winner, a respected star at the top of her game. Jones, however, allegedly met her talent with a wall of cold indifference. Reports from the set described him as intimidating, uncommunicative, and openly hostile. For an actress like Field, who thrives on connection and collaboration, working opposite a co-star who seemingly despised her was torturous. She later admitted to being terrified of him, stating that he was unfriendly and that she tried her best to be a “ray of sunshine,” a futile effort against his stormy demeanor. The experience was a harsh lesson in artistic isolation, forcing her to deliver a compelling performance while receiving nothing but animosity from her leading man.

The set of the iconic ensemble drama “Steel Magnolias” should have been a celebration of female talent, but it became a battleground of powerful personalities. Here, Field clashed with the legendary Shirley MacLaine. This wasn’t a case of male ego, but of two formidable, Oscar-winning actresses with vastly different approaches to their craft and to life. Their on-set friction was palpable, a clash of wills that simmered just beneath the surface of their characters’ witty banter. While they maintained a professional veneer, the tension was an open secret. Both were titans of the industry, and neither was willing to cede ground, leading to a dynamic that was reportedly more “iron” than “magnolia.”

Perhaps no experience was more emblematic of the dark side of “method acting” than Field’s time on the set of “Kramer vs. Kramer” with Dustin Hoffman. The film is a masterpiece of emotional depth, a raw and honest look at divorce that earned both actors Academy Awards. But the authenticity on screen was born from genuine off-screen torment. Hoffman, deeply immersed in his method, allegedly subjected Field to relentless psychological manipulation and harassment. He was said to have taunted her about the recent death of her then-partner, and in one infamous incident, he slapped her across the face without warning just before a take, leaving a red mark. While some might defend these actions as part of a process to elicit a genuine performance, for Field it was a violation. It was cruel and unnecessary, a crossing of professional and personal boundaries that she endured for the sake of the film. She got the Oscar, but the victory was tainted by the memory of the abuse she withstood to achieve it.

The list of difficult collaborators unfortunately continues. While filming the legal drama “Absence of Malice,” she found herself opposite James Woods, an actor known for his fierce intelligence and equally fierce intensity. That intensity could often bleed into his on-set behavior, creating a tense and unpredictable working environment for his co-stars. Likewise, working with the notoriously volatile Robert Blake was another challenge in a career filled with them. In an industry where collaboration is key, Field repeatedly found herself in a professional foxhole, forced to protect her own creative space and emotional well-being against formidable and often hostile forces.

Through it all, Sally Field’s response was not to lash out publicly, but to channel the turmoil into her work. The frustration, the fear, the anger—it all became fuel for the complex, resilient characters she portrayed. Her performances became her silent rebuttal. She proved, time and time again, that she could not be intimidated or broken. Her legacy, therefore, is twofold. It is one of immense artistic achievement, of a beloved actress who has left an indelible mark on cinema. But it is also one of profound personal strength, a quiet testament to the battles fought and won far away from the camera’s eye. She didn’t just play strong women on screen; she was one in life, navigating a treacherous professional landscape with a grace and grit that may be her greatest, and most unsung, performance of all.