Adventures in the Screen Trade by William Goldman Read Free Book Online

and O'Keefe play a game of one-on-one, the first to score ten baskets wins. It's all very idyllic, the family happily cheering on the underdog son. O'Keefe and Duvall engage in a little taunt- ing family banter, the kid has the ball. He fakes, shoots, and scores.
    1-0, for the son.
    Duvall takes the ball out, maneuvers, scores. 1-1 tie.
    O'Keefe takes the ball out, puts on another move, slips past Duvall - and just as he goes up for the shot, Duvall shoves him against a fence. The family starts chanting "Dirty," but O'Keefe says 'No foul." His shot has gone in spite of Duvall's tactics. The son is ahead of the father, 2-1. Now there is a quick dissolve: We're later in the game. It s 8-6, in favor of the father. As he scores. Duvall shouts out, "All right, who's for me?"
    The answer is immediately evident: Everyone's rooting for the kid. And tension is mounting.
    Duvall's play, which has always been rough, is now far past that. This is combat, something he knows about. And he's winning. And now, another dissolve. The score is tied, 9-9.
    Duvall takes the ball out. "Last shot of the game coming up," he says. He dribbles this way, that- - and the kid steals the ball from him. The boy bounces the ball, talking to the Bull. He says that none of the family has ever beaten him in anything, not checkers, not dominoes, not softball Don't goad him, the mother calls out to the son. The boy still bounces the ball. He tries moving toward the basket, Duvall shoves him back. He tries another way, again he's shoved away. The rest of the kids are trying to cheer him on-
    -and the kid fights off another illegal shove, shoots, scores. Game over, 10-9, the son wins.
    Duvall stands tossing the ball in frustration as his wife and kids rush to the boy, congratulating him. One daughter goes to Duvall and says, "You played a great game. Dad."
    And Duvall says, "Get out of here before I knock every freckle off your face." Crushed, the girl bursts into tears and runs into the house. .
    Then Duvall says to his son that the game isn't over, you have to win by two baskets. The kid says that those weren't the rules. Duvall persists.
    The kid is hesitant, willing to give in, but Blythe Danner goes to Duvall and says no, he beat you, don't try and cheat him out of it.
    He throws the ball at her, tells her to shut up or he'll kick her butt.
    Surprised, terribly hurt, she runs into the house too. Next he insults the remaining two small children and they take off.
    The father and the son are alone on the court, facing each other, standing close. But the boy has changed his mind-he
    won't play on now, because his father has behaved so badly.
    Duvall says, "Mama's boy. Mama's boy, bet you're gonna cry." And he takes the basketball and sharply bounces it against the kid's forehead; catches it, does it again, a third time, again and again, all the time saying, "Come on, let's see you cry, come on, cry."
    The boy is deeply upset and he turns, walks past the father into the house. But Duvall follows him inside and then up the stairs. And all the time he's bouncing the ball against his son's head, going "One, two, three, cry. One, two, three, cry." And the First tosses, outside, were by no means love taps. But now he's really throwing hard, the ball careening against the back of the retreating boy's head. "One, two, three, cry."
    Finally they're at the son's door. They face each other a moment. "You're my favorite daughter," Duvall says. "My sweetest little girl." The son finally explodes-"This little girl' just whipped you good, Colonel"-and hurries inside his room to be alone.
    Obviously my retelling can't come close to conveying the power and brilliance of the scene. But please believe me, it was brilliant and moving, filled with the knowledge of family love, family frustration, hate, and the wisdom of showing the proximity of these moods, how the one seamlessly shifts into the other. And growing up and getting old, battles that can't be won or lost, only fought