At 79, Sally Field Talks for the Last Time about Steven Spielberg

A Blind Date That Never Became Romance—and the Role Sally Field Refused to Lose

More than half a century ago, Sally Field and Steven Spielberg first crossed paths under circumstances that could easily have led to a Hollywood romance.

Instead, the two young talents began a friendship that would survive decades of fame, disappointment, personal struggles, and extraordinary professional achievements.

Their first meeting took place at a party in 1968, although Field later remembered the timing differently.

A business manager who represented both performers had apparently hoped they would connect and arranged what was presented as a business meeting at Universal Studios.

In reality, the encounter was closer to a blind date.

Nothing romantic came of it.

Something much more enduring did.

Over the years, Spielberg became one of Field’s most trusted supporters.

Their friendship remained largely outside the spotlight, developing through shared experiences rather than publicity.

By the time Field spoke publicly about their relationship in 2023, she described Spielberg as her “biggest supporter” and a place that had always felt welcoming.

Their connection had moved far beyond professional admiration.

To Field, Spielberg had become family.

That bond became especially meaningful when Spielberg offered Field the role of Mary Todd Lincoln.

Spielberg had imagined her as Lincoln’s wife as early as 2005, when Liam Neeson was expected to portray the president.

But the ambitious project spent years in development.

Eventually, Neeson departed, and Daniel Day-Lewis accepted the title role after repeatedly declining Spielberg’s invitations.

For Field, Day-Lewis’s casting created an unexpected crisis.

She was roughly a decade older than Day-Lewis, while the historical Mary Todd Lincoln had been younger than Abraham Lincoln.

Field also worried that Spielberg might prefer an actress whose public identity would disappear more easily into the character.

Her fears proved justified.

Spielberg told her he could no longer picture her opposite Day-Lewis.

He had believed she was right for the role alongside Neeson, but the new casting changed his perception.

Field could have accepted the rejection.

She had already won Academy Awards for Norma Rae and Places in the Heart and had nothing left to prove on paper.

Yet she refused to let the role disappear without a fight.

She challenged Spielberg directly.

Field insisted that he was wrong and declared that she was Mary Todd Lincoln.

She demanded a screen test, even though Spielberg warned that arranging one would be difficult because Day-Lewis was preparing in Ireland.

Her determination came with fear.

Field knew rejection could be humiliating, particularly after carrying a role in her imagination for years.

But she also understood that walking away without fighting would leave her with a regret she might never escape.

The first test did not go well.

Field performed a monologue from Tony Kushner’s screenplay while acting opposite an empty wall.

Instead of feeling transformed, she felt as though she were struggling to get the performance off the ground.

Spielberg reached the same conclusion.

He told her the test had not worked and still could not see Mary beside his Lincoln.

Then Day-Lewis changed everything.

Spielberg sent the footage to the actor in Ireland.

Day-Lewis believed it was unfair to judge Field without seeing the two performers together.

In an extraordinary gesture, he traveled to Los Angeles for a single day to conduct another screen test with her.

Field initially thought she was simply meeting Day-Lewis for coffee and planned to dress casually.

Instead, she learned that he was arriving specifically to rehearse in costume.

The moment he arrived, he was Abraham Lincoln.

Field became Mary.

She greeted him as “Mr. Lincoln,” and he responded in character with an affectionate name for his wife.

For approximately an hour, they improvised as the famous couple, discovering their relationship without relying solely on rehearsed dialogue.

Something clicked.

When Field left, she believed she had done everything possible.

Then the phone rang.

Spielberg and Day-Lewis were together on the other end, asking whether she would become their “Molly.”

The answer changed the course of her career.

On the set of Lincoln, Field found an artistic environment she had rarely experienced.

Spielberg created an atmosphere of discipline and seriousness, while Day-Lewis immersed himself deeply in Abraham Lincoln.

He maintained the character’s voice between takes and embraced the language and manner of the nineteenth century.

For Field, however, the most important change was personal.

She had trained at the Actors Studio under Lee Strasberg and had long been accustomed to working privately and intensely inside her characters.

Yet she sometimes feared that other actors or crew members might regard her process as excessive or strange.

She would retreat between scenes to preserve the emotional world she had created.

On Lincoln, she no longer felt the need to hide.

Spielberg and Day-Lewis understood her process.

Instead of apologizing for her intensity, Field could embrace it.

She later described the experience as a kind of artistic nirvana.

That freedom helped her portray Mary Todd Lincoln not simply as a historical figure, but as a grieving mother, intelligent political partner, resilient wife, and emotionally complicated woman confronting extraordinary loss.

Field ultimately received an Academy Award nomination for the performance.

Yet the nomination was never the greatest prize in her eyes.

After decades of awards and recognition, she understood that the most valuable part of acting was the opportunity to work with extraordinary artists on meaningful material.

The role also stayed with her long after filming ended.

Field has spoken about how deeply inhabited characters can permanently alter an actor.

The emotional experiences of characters such as Sybil, Norma Rae, Edna Spalding, and Mary Todd Lincoln did not simply vanish when production ended.

They became part of her.

Years later, her relationship with Spielberg remained just as powerful.

At the 34th Palm Springs International Film Awards in January 2023, Field presented Spielberg and The Fabelmans with the Vanguard Award.

Instead of delivering a conventional tribute, she told the audience about their unlikely beginning.

The blind date that never became a romance had produced a friendship lasting more than five decades.

Field recalled Spielberg’s unwavering presence through the “good and bad,” laughter and anxiety, describing him as a constant source of support.

Spielberg responded with affection of his own, revealing that Field had become part of his family.

She had attended his wedding decades earlier and remained close to his wife and children.

It was an unusually intimate glimpse into a Hollywood relationship that had survived the industry’s relentless changes.

For Field, Spielberg represented something rare: someone who believed in her, even when she struggled to believe in herself.

Yet their friendship was not simply about encouragement.

When he doubted her for Lincoln, she challenged him.

When she was rejected, she fought back.

And when the opportunity finally came, she proved that her insistence had been justified.

That may be the most revealing part of their story.

Hollywood often celebrates romance, rivalry, fame, and competition.

Field and Spielberg’s relationship represents something quieter and arguably more enduring.

Their story is about loyalty, honesty, artistic trust, and the ability to remain connected long after the spotlight moves elsewhere.

A meeting that was supposed to become a date became a lifelong friendship.

A role that almost slipped away became one of Field’s most celebrated performances.

And a director who initially doubted whether she belonged opposite Daniel Day-Lewis ultimately helped create an environment in which she could deliver the performance she had always believed was inside her.

For Sally Field, the greatest rewards were never confined to trophies.

They were found in the people who stayed, the artists who took risks, and the moments when someone believed strongly enough to give another person a chance.

Her friendship with Steven Spielberg endured because it was built on something Hollywood fame cannot manufacture: genuine trust.

More than fifty years after their first meeting, their story remains a reminder that the most important relationships in a performer’s life may begin almost accidentally—and sometimes become far more powerful than anyone could have imagined.