In Marty (1955) we’re introduced to Marty’s (Ernest Borgnine) Italian family, where, for the elder generation, marriage is the only thing, having a son is a close second, and the bitterness of no longer being useful is brought forcefully to the fore. In the background, an argument, centering around the lustful, dishonorable urges of wolfpacks of young men, is made for the importance that everyone be married, for otherwise the emotional pain of objectification and consequent cessation of social bonds will come to the fore; it’s an interesting argument, but given our knowledge of social heterogeniety, perhaps not as forceful as it once was.
But Ernest gives a fine performance as the butcher taking care of his mother and, for that matter, the rest of the family. The unhappiness of a branch of the extended family in having the mother living with the young married couple with baby is examined in fine detail as the young people show their problems in superb, yelling fashion: his concern that he’s abandoning his mother and blaming it on his wife, while she is not amenable to the constant criticism and micromanagement of her mother-in-law, who happens to be a hyper-competitive flying witch on wheels.
They don’t make movies like this anymore, and probably thank goodness: a less than excellent version of this sort of movie would be a failure and make my teeth itch. But this is Marty, a 4-star effort which will repay a close viewing with insights, laughter, and a real empathy for all the characters who are not part of a wolfpack.
