The Wonder of Wonderboy.

The Natural is directed by Barry Levinson and adapted to screenplay by Roger Towne & Phil Dusenberry from the novel written by Bernard Malamud. It stars Robert Redford, Robert Duvall, Glenn Close, Kim Basinger, Wilford Brimley, Barbara Hershey, Robert Prosky and Richard Farnsworth. Music is by Randy Newman and cinematography by Caleb Deschanel.

The Natural is a wistful sports movie, one that asks every person who views it to buy into the whimsy and mythologising on show. If able to do that then it's a film of beguiling beauty, awash with strength of the human spirit and of luscious technical credits. The Arthurian core to Roy Hobbs' (Redford a superb presence yet calmness personified) second chance ensures we always know this is fanciful stuff, but that's just fine, we are in Field of Dreams territory here and fans of such fare are rewarded royally. Period art design, photography and musical score are grade "A", snuggling up nicely with a support cast to Redford that is of high end proportions. If it's in you and you know what sort of film to expect, you may well, come the end, be punching the air whilst having a tear in your eye. Lovely film making. 8.5/10

Many, many years ago when I was a bit of a sports fan, I remember reading stories about scouts who had seen athletes in the olden days like Roy Hobbs. Players who could hit a ball a mile or throw a hundred mile per hour fastball, but who never made it to the big league for some reason. But of course, this movie is based on a novel by Bernard Malamud, though there are hints of actual events here and there.

It is an entertaining movie, presenting baseball as America’s game and therefore, ultimately, above corruption. It has an old timey feel, perhaps even older than the 1939 setting that is presented. The movie is less gloomy than the book, and I guess the purists don’t like that, but for me, life is gloomy enough and the mood and ending were just fine with me. (And I did read the book.) Since actual events and people from bygone days are cleaned up and mythologized for our history books, why get upset when fictional stories are purified with a rose colored lens?

If you ever saw how Josef von Sternberg photographed Marlene Dietrich then you'll appreciate a similar style of camera adulation from Barry Levinson with Robert Redford in this touching adaptation of Bernard Malamud's complex and characterful novel. Every opportunity is taken to glisten the sunlight through his blond locks to create an almost halo-like effect as his "Hobbs" picks up a very special baseball bat and helps to guide a team that previously couldn't have beaten an egg to possible world series status. "Pop" (Wilford Brimley) is the sceptical coach who can't fathom why this thirty-something has been hired, but before too long he begins to see that his new and very single-minded batter is not just impacting on the results, but he is also galvanising a despondent team to raise their game. Why is he coming to the game so late, though? Well along the way we witness some flashbacks and hear tell of an incident from his past that almost cost him his life - and thereby, with his bat crafted from the wood from a tree struck by lightning, we begin to wonder if there isn't something a little super-"natural" to this engimatic chap. Those suspicions might also be enhanced by the arrival of the equally ethereally lit "Iris" (Glenn Close) whose presence offers "Hobbs" not just some chance for romance but also some additional inspiration to lead his team to success. Finally, on that very motivational front, he is also aware that their duplicitous owner "Judge" (Robert Prosky) has plans to get shot of "Pop" - and only a pennant at the end of the season can thwart that. Goading him at just about every stage is journalist "Max" (Robert Duvall) who in many ways reminded me of one of those devils on your shoulder - only this one's own agenda isn't always so terribly clear until a denouement that takes us down to the wire with no certainties as to the result. The film has a gloriously soft-focus look to it and there's an enjoyable paucity of dialogue. That's not to say the text struggles for breath - it doesn't; but as the story gradually unfolds both Redford and Close don't really need so much verbiage to tell their stories and his skills on the field does a lot of his talking for him, too. The assembled cast gel perfectly with the light-shunning Prosky proving quite an effective counter-balance to the celestially illuminated Redford; Barbara Hershey also delivers sparingly but poignantly as the aptly named "Bird" and as it all knits together we are left with a stylish story that's not so much about winning on the diamond as it is about winning in life.