The Natural

Synopsis: An unknown middle-aged batter named Roy Hobbs with a mysterious past appears out of nowhere to take a losing 1930s baseball team to the top of the league in this magical sports fantasy. With the aid of a bat cut from a lightning struck tree, Hobbs lives the fame he should have had earlier when, as a rising pitcher, he is inexplicably shot by a young woman.
Genre: Drama, Sport
Director(s): Barry Levinson
Production: Sony Pictures Home Entertainment
  Nominated for 4 Oscars. Another 3 wins & 4 nominations.
Rotten Tomatoes:
138 min

This is your spot, Roy.

Pay attention to it.

Pitch it in.

You got a gift, Roy.

But it's not enough.

You gotta develop yourself.

Rely too much on your own gift

and you'll fail.



Gotta go.

Can I see you?

Right now?

What is it?

Wait a minute!

The Cubs sent for me. It's just

a tryout. I haven't made it.

- You'll make it.

- There's so many guys.

Not with your arm.

Wouldn't your daddy be proud?

- I gotta reach for the best in me.

- Promise me you will?

I promise. Come on!

- So when do you have to go?

- Tomorrow.

Oh, God.

I've never been on a train before.

It makes you feel important.

There's nothing to be

afraid of, Iris.

I love you so much.

I want you to marry me.

I do.

I want to send for you.

It's all right.

Thanks, Whammer.

My kid will treasure this.

Are you sure it ain't

for yourself now?

You see this?

What's that?

An Olympic athlete was shot

just one day after the slaying...

...of a football star,

Johnny Zirowski.

In each case,

a silver bullet was used.

A silver bullet?

That's crazy.

Max Mercy, the sportswriter?

I don't believe I know you.

Sam Simpson.

"Bud" Simpson, remember?

I may have heard of you somewhere.

Of course, you know

who this fella is.


You look different in street clothes.

It's always nice to meet

a member of the general public.

You boys heading to Chicago too?

That's right.

I've been invited

to see the Cubs myself.

Is that so?

I bringing my slam-bang

pitching prospect for a look-see.

What's his name?

Roy Hobbs.

Where'd he play?

Like I said, Max, he's young.

He mowed them down

in that Sabotac Valley game.

You might've heard

of his 8 no-hitters.

There he is. I'll bring him over.

You do that.

This is Roy Hobbs.

Max Mercy, syndicated sportswriter.

I'm pleased to meet you.

And this here's the Whammer.

How do you do?

You look different in street clothes.

First Pete and now "Repeat. "

Let's play some cards.

Keep up those no-hitters...

...or they'll look for you

at Soda Pop Valley.


Whatever. Hang on to

the water wagon, old-timer.

- Hey, mister...

- Forget about it.

What'll it be?


Next stop, lola.

Half-hour water stop in lola.

Half-hour water stop!

Mind the time now.

Half-hour only.

Another home run!

Hey, Whammer, that's the way

to hit them!

Come on, Whammer! Hit another one!

Is he the best?

Best there ever was. Best there is

now and best there ever will be.

All right, that's it, folks!

Come on, Whammer!

You got a good audience out here!

You wanna see some more?

You'll have to come to Chicago,

buy a ticket!

You keep that bat, compliments of me.

Nice job! Keep it up!

There he goes, folks!

Whammer! The best baseball player

in the country!

You don't have

enough prizes for him.

He's a natural.

Give me that green doll.

Hey, busher!

Pitch one in here.

I'll knock it to the moon.

All right, folks.

You sure can pick them, Simpson.

I got $10 here says he strikes

Wambold out on 3 pitch balls.

You old boozer,

your brain's full of mush.

This sh*t-kicker couldn't

strike me out with 100 pitches.

Three is all he'll need, Whammer.

I love contests of skill.

Do you, honey? So do I.

What about you there,

Huckleberry? Scared?

Not of you, I'm not.

Why don't we go on the other side

of the tracks, so nobody gets hurt.

Come on, folks!

56, 57, 58...

...59, 60 feet...

...6 inches, exactly.

Now here are the rules.

There's gonna be three pitches.

Any ball over the plate, or if Whammer

swings and misses is a strike, okay?

Anything outside the strike zone...

...that means the contest is over...

...and the Whammer wins.

I'll call them.

Why don't you take

some warm-up pitches?

- My arm's loose.

- It's your funeral.

Shall we proceed?

The sun's gonna set.

I wish you hadn't bet that money.

You come by it hard.

I wouldn't have made that bet

if I didn't believe in you.

So come on. There.

We're gonna show

what Roy Hobbs is all about.

- Batter up.

- Keep your shirt on.

Batter up! Let's go! Play ball!

Help you down there, old man?

Throw it here, plowboy!

It don't get lighter.

Chuck it down his whammy.

Chuck it down here.

Give him a shave with it!

- Strike 1!

- Wait a minute.

You okay, Sam?

It's all right.

This damn glove.

How will you call them

from back there?

He looks wild.

Them your knees shaking?

Mind your business, red-nose,

and play ball!

Throw it in here, greenhorn.

Do it again, Roy.

Come on, boy, do it again.

- Strike 2!

- He's throwing spitballs!

In a pig's poop. That ball's

as dry as your granddaddy's scalp.

You better not be trying any

funny business out there, rum-pot!

Watch your mouth, mister!

Forget it.

This one's it, Whammer.

This is it. Don't let me down.

Don't let up.

One more, boy.

Come on, Roy. Right by him, baby.

March him out.

Strike 3.

You're out.

Mister, you forgot this!

Wait, mister!

What's your name?

Roy Hobbs!



I'm Harriet Bird.

It'll be in 110 papers.

I wanna do a little

background on your boy.

Not now. Maybe in the morning.

- Why?

- I'm not feeling well.

Listen, bring that sawbuck

you owe me.

We'll have breakfast on me, okay?

And I can do wonders

for that boy, if you let me.


Everyone thought

he would murder you.

And the way everyone

rallied around you!

They'll be talking about today

for years to come.

It was just like watching

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Submitted on August 05, 2018

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