While it doesn’t necessarily have a bad reputation, Marty is often dismissed as being a minor work, a simple and ineffective romantic drama produced during an era where many notable teleplays were being quickly and cheaply turned into films, in order to profit off the charms of the wildly popular actors that often signed up for these projects. This is a film that has been slightly devalued as time has gone on, seen as a lesser work, especially in contrast to some of Paddy Chayefsky’s more cutting-edge scripts. However, like any great writer, he had to make his living somewhere, and in putting together the story of Marty Piletti, a middle-aged Italian-American butcher who yearns for love, but has resigned himself to a life of loneliness, Chayefsky struck gold, since this is a story every one of us can relate to on some level. Whether in the beautifully simple execution, the magnificent performances or the lovable atmosphere that situates us somewhere between an effervescent romantic comedy and unforgettable character-driven drama, Marty is a triumph. Helmed by the sadly underrated Delbert Mann, who may not have been the strongest when it came to having an authorial voice, but certainly got by as a journeyman filmmaker with a penchant for bringing smaller texts to the big screen, the film is a wonderful exercise in simplicity, a delicate and entertaining drama that might not carry much weight when it comes to addressing enormous issues, but still manages to be such a charming and insightful exploration of love and loneliness, set to the story of a man seeking a companion, whether it be to satiate some socially-mediated standard, or to fill the void of isolation he has been feeling for years. It’s a lovely film, and one that deserves a much more positive reputation, much more than the reliable but unremarkable romantic drama many perceive it as being.

The 1950s were an interesting time for social realism – across the ocean in Europe, many filmmakers in countries such as the United Kingdom, Spain and Italy were making films that were fueled by their post-war fury, using the platform to comment on how the Second World War irrevocably changed the entire world. In America, while there were certainly many filmmakers that employed a similarly angry critique to their films, the general pattern was one more focused on passive explorations of social issues, using the space to look deep into the human element of these stories, rather than making bold, harrowing statements. Marty is often considered an example of the gold standard of mid-century American realism – it’s gritty (but not entirely unpolished, still having the sheen of a substantial Hollywood production), and focuses on the intricate minutiae of everyday life. It looks at roughly two days in the life of the titular character, mainly centred around an evening he spends with a peculiar young woman he finds himself rapidly falling in love with – and this limited space gives Chayefsky the opportunity to dive deep into the character’s psychology, dissecting his insecurities and showing how he is a solid representative of a class of people who may not be considered to be struggling to survive, but rather are inconvenienced by heightened social expectations. A fascinating account of masculinity, where the main character is the epitome of a working-class, blue-collar citizen, filled with a kind of peculiar bravado, but is still so endearing in how he is not afraid to show emotion, Marty has a lot of merit in how it constructs its protagonist as more than just a mere archetype, which becomes a major component of how the story unravels, revealing itself to be a lot more complex than we originally may have imagined, based on the direction in which it seemed to be moving.

Marty is never too involved with issues outside of its orbit – even when it had the opportunity, it refuses to take the low-hanging fruit and become a scathing indictment on society and its various contradictions. Ultimately, the film is a wonderful celebration of the simplest things in life, the experiences that may not be particularly noteworthy when considering everything in comparison, but still makes our lives all the more interesting. It helps that so much of the film focuses on a particular cultural way of life, with the main character’s Italian heritage factoring heavily into the story, guiding his interactions with his family (who are strict adherents to the Italian way of life), and his new companion, who is from outside his community, which causes tension between Marty and his mother, who uses the cultural differences to advocate against her son’s burgeoning romance, in fears that venturing outside of his culture will cause him to leave her behind. It feels as if Chayefsky and Mann are inviting us into the lives of these characters, allowing us to quietly observe their various challenges, which may not be particularly noteworthy, but are still beautifully portrayed. It’s a simple, delicate film that finds the perfect balance between comedy and drama, ruminating on a number of themes that may not be profoundly cinematic (there isn’t much traditional tension in this story), but are still thoroughly captivating, especially in the moments where Marty seems to be on the precipice of saying something meaningful. This is a film that works best when it is operating in intricate details, rather than broad strokes, which is very often the best way to adapt a story such as this. It never promises to be all that complicated, and it is in the smallest, most intimate moments, that we see the true scope of the humanity that underpins this film and makes it so thoroughly enthralling.

A slice-of-life drama works best when there is a strong performance at the centre, and Marty is anchored by the towering work of Ernest Borgnine, who is giving arguably the finest performance of his career. Marty Pilleti isn’t a particularly complex character in theory – in fact, so much of his characterization is made up of the fact that he is just a simple butcher, an ordinary working-class man who defines the concept of the “Average Joe” that didn’t have their stories represented on film all that often. It’s in how the film positions Marty that is becomes truly spellbinding. He’s a lonely man who is seeking love, but has resigned himself to the fact that he isn’t likely to find it. He’s a stocky, unremarkable man, and he has a heart of gold that he truly believes will win him the love he deserves, if only someone could look beyond his appearance. Borgnine was an actor who was often defined by the fact that he was rather rough around the edges, an unpolished but still very dedicated performer known for capturing a kind of spirited commonness and elevating it far beyond the confines of mediocrity, which is often what a character such as this would struggle with. He’s just a revelation – it is quite rightly one of his best-known and most beloved performances, since he plays heavily into the raw, gritty nature of the story. It’s the kind of performance we’d expect to find in the independent films produced half a century later, where the most unconventional character actors are repurposed as movie stars. For 1955, Marty certainly did take a risk (and the original casting of Rod Steiger, who had played the character in the teleplay, was not too different either – clearly Mann and Chayefsky knew the importance of casting someone who fit the role, rather than a star who would draw in the crowds). Betsy Blair is also wonderful as the young woman who captures Marty’s heart, and starts to see value in this unconventionally charming butcher, and Esther Minciotti steals every scene she is in as the titular character’s sweet but frantic mother.

Marty is a simple film about lonely people working through their feelings of isolation, taking a risk and finding that one can easily accomplish anything if they show tenacity and a willingness to look beyond their own perspective, seeing that it is never too late for another chance at life, even when it feels like we’ve reached the limit of our life’s ambitions. It’s not a particularly complex film, and there are moments where it feels like it is receding into a kind of social realism that is defined by its naturalism and refusal to concede to conventions in the way that a more traditional romantic drama at the time would. This was a minor revelation – suddenly, a film could break away from the pattern. It didn’t need to follow the same structure, and even at its most simplistic, there was a degree of underlying depth that makes the story all the more nuanced. Anchored by the wonderful Ernest Borgnine, who commands the screen from beginning to end with his exquisite portrayal of a young man looking to start his life before it’s too late, and told with a kind of compassion that is rarely seen in these kinds of films, Marty is an absolute triumph. It may not always be particularly original, and it often runs the risk of becoming too pedestrian in its themes, but it has heart, soul and a lot of well-meaning humour that counteracts the melancholy nature of the story, creating a vivid and unforgettable portrait of individuality, and a fervent celebration of life and all its peculiarities.