Tools of Characterization
Characterization in Marty
Appearance
Tomatoes Versus Dogs
Beauty standards tend to change from decade to decade, going from Marilyn Monroe to Twiggy, but most folks tend to have an idea of where they fit on the desirability spectrum. The Bronx in 1955 has its own set of beauty values: youth, fitness, and a symmetrical face, for starters. Women measuring up to these values are called "tomatoes."
The fact that Marty finds himself ugly and believes other people do too is an important part of his self-perceived station in the world. He has a bit of a chip on his shoulder. Meanwhile, his female counterpart, Clara—who's proclaimed "a dog" by several men in the movie, from her blind date to a well-meaning Angie—is obviously played by an attractive actress who happens to be wearing dowdy clothes.
Still, both are "dogs" by their community's standards, and it's Marty who says quite poignantly, as the couple dances together: "Maybe we're not such dogs as we think we are." In other words: beauty is on the inside, kids.
The only exceptionally beautiful person (if tall, blonde, and modelesque is your bag) is Cousin Virginia, played by Karen Steele, who was model and cover girl before she became an actress. However, with her crying baby and powerlessness in the home, her beauty is kind of dulled: She's not a happy camper.
Another case study: that meanie Herb who dumped our girl Clara. He's an objectively good-looking doctor with a little bit of charisma. We're sure he has charm when he's not being so awful to characters we care about. But maybe, just maybe, he's not so much of a tomato as he thinks he is.
While characters in other films might present their goodness on the outside, it's not so simple in Marty: Sometimes tomatoes are dogs, and dogs are tomatoes.
Thoughts and Opinions
It's late that Saturday night when Teresa Piletti and Clara Snyder accidentally confront each other on the state of women, motherhood, and the professional world in 1955. Teresa is explaining how her sister is coming to live with her and Marty, and is depressed about it. Clara judges (maybe not on purpose), saying that she shouldn't rely on motherhood for her self-worth.
Clara's an NYU-educated school teacher, while Teresa is an Italian-American immigrant who prides herself most on her fine, large family. Marty would've liked to have gone to school, and was set to go twice: once, when his father died, and again, upon returning from the war and confronting a big-time depression. Because of this he considers himself less-than, even though Clara doesn't agree.
And what do Teresa and her sister Catherine think of college girls and women who work outside of the home? Well, "they're one step from the street" (referring to prostitution). It's a little harsh, but this rainbow of attitudes when it comes to schooling and work helps us see how all of these characters relate to each other… and relate to the larger world.
Love and Sex
A Relentless Binary
Like binary code, the characters in Marty are married or unmarried: ones or zeroes. (Ever wonder how to write "Shmoop" in binary? It's easy: 01010011 01101000 01101101 01101111 01101111 01110000.)
All of Marty's siblings and cousins are married. Clara, Marty, Angie, and the boys? All single. And this marital status connects directly to their social value as people. The singletons, aging out of natural solo-ship in their thirties, are beginning to seem like weirdos: folks who aren't following the regular pattern of human life.
Neither 1 Nor 0
Teresa and Catherine are both widows. They're beyond the work of partnership (and maybe, as far as the young people are concerned, full personhood). Not only do the young people see them as vestiges of their own childhoods, Teresa and Catherine see themselves as useless sine they're no longer partnered.