Duff (Ivan Dixon) is a young railroad labourer whose line of work has prevented him from settling in any one place for too long, which has made him something of an enigma for the people who encounter him over the years. However, he’s growing disillusioned with his chosen career, with the idea of being a manual worker not being particularly appealing to him, a realization that comes almost concurrently with the arrival of Josie (Abbey Lincoln) in his life. She’s a quiet, reserved daughter of the local preacher, and she immediately takes a liking to Duff, whose stern masculinity and steadfast refusal to abide by the unspoken socio-cultural rules associated with African-Americans at the time is extremely alluring, a breath of fresh air compared to the more submissive people she normally meets. They soon find themselves falling deeply in love with one another, and plan to start a life together. However, there are far too many people who don’t believe that their relationship will last, whether it be Abbey’s strict father (Stanley Green), or any of the various people who don’t see their love as valid. As expected, they do encounter numerous challenges, such as the Duff’s lack of investment in a long-term relationship (as well as the omnipotent question of having a child) or the fact that his immense pride prevents him from settling for many of the available jobs, which he sees as being beneath him. The couple does their best to overcome these various challenges while trying to resolve the fact that they may be in love, but they exist in a time and place where such passion isn’t normally accepted in the way they would like, and that there will always be a sense of scepticism looming over their love.

Nothing But a Man has mostly faded away into obscurity, despite being one of the more interesting hallmarks of early African-American focused cinema. Directed by the German-born Michael Roemer, who somehow manages to do well in capturing some of the nuances of the lives of his subjects despite his own background (which he claimed did give him the empathy to understand such stories), the film is part of the movement of pre-New Hollywood independent cinema, where small, intimate dramas were built around character-driven stories that borrowed heavily from the school of kitchen-sink realism that had gradually started to make itself known on the other side of the pond. Nothing But a Man is an extraordinary piece, a simple work of romantic drama that doesn’t go too far in exploring some very austere themes, while still be thorough and insightful, a beautifully poetic portrait of the human condition, tenderly put together by a small group of artists who set out to portray the lives of two individuals in a world ridden by bigotry, without constructing a morality tale that said more than it needed to. There isn’t much reason for this film to not be considered one of the forerunners of early independent narrative filmmaking, coming about almost concurrently with the work of other early independent realists, and would go on to be inspirations for many subsequent directors who looked into the African-American experience, even if questions can undoubtedly be raised to the relevance of Roemer’s accuracy in describing the plight of those he portrays here, which is a question overcome by the fact that this a descriptive work that sets out to provide a sincere snapshot of a certain group, rather than a discursive work of unconventional cinema.

There’s a certain underlying message pervading throughout this film that makes it clear that Nothing But a Man is more than just a work of social realism, and that its very existence may itself be worth mentioning, in addition to the story it tells. In no uncertain terms, what makes this film so fascinating is not that it’s a wonderful love story, but that it is a wonderful love story made at a time when romantic dramas just didn’t look like this, with Roemer giving audiences who were previously not represented on screen the chance to see characters like them at the forefront, rather than being shoved to inconsequential supporting parts. Nothing But a Man is a very simple film that harbours a very meaningful set of intentions, which is the inverse of many of the films that those involved were intending to respond to with this story. Roemer is a filmmaker whose small body of work reflects a sense of wanting to give a voice to those who were never afforded it before – to the point where a middle-aged German film professor making a film about a pair of young, working-class African-Americans and their various challenges, was not only acceptable, it was the only way a story like this could be told. Venturing into the world of independent cinema, there were factors underpinning these kinds of films that kept them away from the mainstream – either the stories were too specific, too audacious or, as unfortunate as it is to say, not focused on the kind of people studios believed audiences wanted to see on screen. This is precisely what makes Nothing But a Man such a worthwhile piece of early independent cinema because its sheer audacity itself is quite admirable, but considering everything it stood for gives us further insights into the exact reasons why this is a film in dire need of reanalysis, as its almost undeniable that his work deserving of the status of one of the formative moments in socially-charged cinema of the 1960s.

Throughout the story, these characters are told that their love is not valid, or is doomed to fail for a number of reasons – and while the film certainly doesn’t waver from showing the difficulties experienced by the protagonists, but it is also not built from the foundation of showing how their relationship is bound for failure. The film establishes itself as a very simple, unfurnished drama that is about love – not necessarily one that is soaringly romantic, or even one that has much of a happy ending (even if the final moments of Nothing But a Man are amongst the most heartbreakingly beautiful in the history of independent cinema), but undeniably powerful in its simplistic, straightforward but achingly poignant demonstration of the extents to which one will go to satiate the desires of the heart. Ultimately, this is a film centred around two people in love, and it definitely doesn’t deviate in any significant way in the formal aspects of the screen romance – there’s the lovely first encounter between the two main characters, the period of slowly falling in love, and the eventual conflict that causes them to question their relationship, brought on by inner turmoil and their own insecurities. The difference is, Nothing But a Man adds another layer by infusing it with a socially-charged story of the contextual milieu in which the film takes place. Setting the film in Alabama (and releasing it a full year before the Selma to Montgomery marches, which is considered one of the most significant moments in the Civil Rights Movement) is not as prophetic as it would seem, but does harbour a sense of attentiveness to the issues of the time – Nothing But a Man is remarkably potent in how it addresses underlying racial commentary through its portrayal of the central romance, which makes the fact that this was produced during the height of the Civil Rights Movement, rather than being a retrospective work, all the more astounding, and lends it even more credence as one of the most important works of fiction produced at the time.

There is more to Nothing But a Man than just the intentions – there have been innumerable socially-motivated works over the course of the industry’s existence, many of them making bold statements that reflect the realization that artists have the power to change hearts and minds. What puts this film at the very top is that, not only is it an admirable effort from all those involved, it’s an incredible work of cinema on its own. Made on a shoestring budget, the film is incredibly realistic, being filmed in real bars, homes and churches. Authenticity is obviously one of the cornerstones of social realism, but Roemer takes it even further with Nothing But a Man, developing it as a simple but effective work of cinematic romance that doesn’t only convey a message, but also delivers it in a very meaningful package. A large part of this comes on behalf of the two leads, with Ivan Dixon and Abbey Lincoln being absolutely magnetic in the main roles. Dixon is the focus of much of the film, with his character of Duff being the central driving force – he’s a stoic, quiet man who wants to exist equally to everyone else, and cannot fathom any reason why he’s treated any differently. He’s not unaware of the bigotry that pervades the southern states that he traverses as part of his career, but he’s simply unable to find any coherent reason as to why he, or anyone else, should settle for this treatment. Lincoln is just as powerful in her capacity as the loving but deeply conflicted wife who undergoes her own journey, without reaching the same apex of anger that her husband does being restricted by the limitations set on her socially. Other standouts include Gloria Foster as Duff’s stepmother, who has grown haggard from being on the other side of middle-age in a time when hope seems far too distant for people like her to ever experience it, and Stanley Green as Josie’s stone-faced preacher father, who has grown complacent in his social position. Nothing But a Man is a very simple, character-driven drama, and Roemer’s cast delivers on all aspects, tying this film together and bringing it to life.

It’s important to consider Nothing But a Man as a product of its time, because while it does make for particularly compelling viewing in a modern context, it serves more as an indictment on the particular environment in which it was made. The 1960s was a decade of both tumultuous social turmoil with rebellion being consistent, in both the boldest actions by furious groups growing weary of being treated as sub-human and through more subversive means, such as this kind of protest art that makes a statement in very quiet ways. However, there was also a sense of progression motivated by the fury of those who demanded better representation, whether in the broad socio-political conversation, or in something as seemingly inconsequential, but no less important, as the cultural sphere, where the arts needed to be reflective of social truths – if anything, cinema, literature and music were some of the first platforms given to those who demanded a voice – it’s easier to incite change from the lower-rungs of society, targetting those who may not be aware of how complicit they are in perpetuating these harmful actions by simply being complacent – if they can change their way of thinking, progress has been made, which is precisely why art of this era shouldn’t just be seen as descriptive, but as heavily important as works of socially-charged commentary. Nothing But a Man is a film made by a filmmaker using his platform to tell a story centred around those who simply were not given the chance to have their stories portrayed on screen, and even if we just consider what it stands for, rather than the more traditional aspects of the story, Nothing But a Man demonstrates the inextricable importance of representation, and how even the smallest, most intimate story can have long-lasting impressions if the message is strong enough to resonate and impart a certain meaning that simply wasn’t afforded to those at the time, making this an undeniably essential work of revolutionary art, even if its simple appearance would lead you to think otherwise.