An American icon and the price of difficult truths

Robert Redford's portrayal of Bob Woodward in All The President's Men remains the classic study of the investigative journalist, as relevant now as then.

by Rob Corbidge

Published: 15:41, 18 September 2025

Investigative journalism can feel like trying to pull at the individual strands of a knotted rope while wearing a blindfold, and there are few better depictions of this process than the film All The President's Men.

We write following the death this week of the actor Robert Redford, who, in his superb low-key depiction of the tenacious Washington Post reporter Bob Woodward, made journalism, and particularly investigative journalism, look about as cool and vital as it is possible to do.

Disregarding anachronisms in its 1970s fashion, hairstyles, cars, phones, office cigarettes and typewriters, the story of how Woodward and fellow reporter Carl Bernstein brought down a "Black Ops" group of meddlers in the US political process, and the eventual political demise of then-president Richard Nixon, is as tense and watchable now as it was then.

Aside from his portrayal of Woodward on screen, Redford was the driving force in getting the movie made at all, acquiring the rights to the book of the same name with his own money and bringing on William Goldman to adapt it into a screenplay, for which he would win an Oscar. 

What's been interesting is noting how many journalists and publishers today - born long after when Watergate was still the only '-gate' - still hold the essence of what the film captured as a sacrosanct truth.

For those who know, one of the film's many attributes is its straight truths about how investigative journalism actually works, particularly how, when catching those who operate in the shadows, it requires you, as a reporter, to enter the shadows yourself. By this, I mean when you come across people who aren't playing fair, then sometimes it's necessary not to play fair yourselves. I've read countless articles and papers about journalistic ethics over the years, but I always come back to the fact that - as long as it is legal - it doesn't matter how you get them if they've done wrong and what you write is true, then you have nothing on your conscience. It's how I learned the trade, for better or worse.

The film also captures what is best described as the "leg work" at the root of so much journalism. Having served as a "leg man" myself for a time, I understand that building up a complex story requires a lot of going to places and talking to people, going to places and confirming someone is there, going to places and pulling records, going to places and finding nothing. The internet and mobiles have made parts of the job easier today, but those who do not wish to be found and their deeds uncovered don't tend to make it simple.

The part of All The President's Men that struck the soundest reporting chord with me was the game of "You don't know what we know". This is one of the best tools an investigative journalist has, an invaluable pry bar for getting at the truth. If you know a bit, implying you know much more will sometimes make a nervy subject decide they'd better get their side of the story out, so the walls don't come crashing down on them too. It's rather like being a cop I suppose, except your only prosecuting authority is the public written word.

Such journalistic endeavour comes at a cost though, and not just to the journalist's sleep patterns. For every attempt at revelation that is successful, a bunch won't be. That is expensive journalism, even more expensive given that months can be spent on a potential story, with nothing to show for it - a difficult sell to a cash-straightened publisher in any era.

Yet this is the work that is required in order to service democracy and the people newsrooms write for. Cleaning the barnacles from the bottom of the body politic is a constant task, and an important one. It must also be done without fear or favour. If they're up to no good, then they'll become fair game, regardless of what side of the political aisle they sit or who their friends are. Even in an era of seemingly more partisan news, most newsrooms clearly remember that. It also requires a constant combative stance in the news organisation, from the mail room to the editor's office, something that can get lost in the day-to-day grind of news gathering but which again makes itself clear in the film.

It's of course possible for a lone, unsupported journalist to do these things, and many do so with the amplifying powers of digital media making their voices heard more easily. Yet, when push to comes to shove, having an organisation behind you which has a track record, a loud voice, and the legal means to back you, means you can tread more surely in those shadows. 

As once reliable publisher income streams became a trickle thanks to a broken advertising market, and their very product is prey to rapacious AI crawling, it's become harder to pay for the vital function investigative reporting plays and the set of subtle skills required to perform it.

At the same time, those up to no good are as well funded as ever they were.

The old adage may be that no news is good news, but I'd argue that no news is in fact very bad news indeed. For those outside the industry who dismiss publisher and media complaints over income loss against tech monopolies as noise born of self-preservation, they aren't seeing the big picture.

If that is the case, I recommend the big picture they watch is All the President's Men.