As you probably know, the ending of the movie The Natural is the exact opposite of the ending of the novel by Bernard Malamud.
The Novel:
There was also a statement by the baseball commissioner. “If this alleged report is true, that is the last of Roy Hobbs in organized baseball. He will be excluded from the game and his records forever destroyed.”
Roy handed the paper back to the kid.
“Say it ain’t true, Roy.”
When Roy looked into the boy’s eyes he wanted to say it wasn’t but couldn’t, and he lifted his hands to his face and wept many bitter tears.
And the movie:
UMPIRE
Roy? You okay, fella?
Roy resets himself in the box.
ROY
Let’s play ball.
Roy sets the bat on his shoulder. An eerie silence has pervaded the stadium in the wake of Wonderboy’s demise. The catcher notices that Roy is bleeding. He calls for a fastball. Roy, with a menacing fury, swings — violently and perfectly — with the ball exploding off his bat.
The ball, a white blur aiming straight for the lights of the stadium roof. CRASH! One light goes. Then in a chain reaction, they all start to go — pop! pop! pop! — like a giant short circuit. Lighting up the darkened sky like the fourth of July.
ROY’S HOMERUN BALL — FOLLOWING IT
Dissolve to …
THE WHEAT FIELD
A baseball glove breaks the surface of feathered stalks, stretches spectacularly and catches the ball.
ROY
stares in wonder after his son.
I’ve often thought about those two endings … the darkness and hopelessness of Maladmud’s novel, the Hollywood corniness and dreamy optimism of the movie’s triumphant finish. The connecting thread is Robert Redford. He died on Tuesday at age 89; and he was a true Hollywood giant — box office gold, Oscar-winning director, founder of Sundance, sex symbol, recluse, activist, the whole thing.
And he is Roy Hobbs. You know, the movie got panned pretty hard when it came out; people found it overly sentimental, which, you know, fair. But as times have evolved and cynicism has become the national pastime, there’s something beautiful about a movie that is unabashedly hopeful and nostalgic and heroic.
And only Redford could have pulled it off, nobody else. It’s funny, I read one review in the New York Times from 1984 that gauged his performance like so:
Redford’s performance is difficult to analyze. At times his almost legendary presence as a major movie star perfectly fits the character of Roy, who is as much of a legend as the actor. At other times, his diffidence appears to be that of a movie star who is afraid someone’s going to ask for his autograph. Though he looks terrific, especially on the field in action, his performance is chilly.
I think that was meant as something of a pan. But I actually think Redford got Roy Hobbs exactly right, as a legendary presence and an apprehensive hero. It’s that polarity that helps him deliver the best line in the movie, one of the best lines in all sports movies:
Roy: That day in Chicago, why did you stand up?
Iris: I didn’t want to see you fail.
Roy (pondering): I wish Dad could’ve … God, I love baseball.”
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