As we go through the process of revising HAPPY FUNERAL, I find myself looking at films that possess similar thematic threads.
One archetype I've been studying is that of the "beautiful loser," a perhaps awful shorthand for that character who is beautiful in his brokenness. We can't help but love these compelling misfits, brimming with unrealized potential. You know the type- he can't quite figure out how to navigate his way through life, or is always allowing others to run it. It's the guy who says lines like "I coulda been a contender." It's the character James Dean and Marlon Brando made careers out of playing, and in our time, Juaquin Phoenix and Johnny Depp have had their own go at it... And back in 1955, Ernest Borgnine won a Best Actor Oscar for his own doughy take of it in Marty.
We first see Marty (from whom the film takes its name) working in a local butcher shop. He is a 34 year old bachelor, hectored by his own customers about his single life even as they force him to detail the various nuptials of his own siblings. He's a sad, but noble figure, clearly principled with a desire to better his life and surroundings, yet without a sense of agency in his own life, especially when it comes to the question of finding his life partner. It doesn't get better when he gets off of work and meets up with his group of friends at a nearby diner. Their trivial pursuits only further remind him of his own aimlessness.
Perhaps the moment most emblematic is this exchange with Angie, Marty's best friend:
ANGIE
This conversation reminded me of a lot of the ones I would have with friends in high school- but maybe that's the point, the "beautiful loser" is stuck in an extended adolescence.
Yet in spite of himself, Marty does as his mother advices and as he has done innumerable times before, and goes off to the Stardust Ballroom. There again he is rejected in typical fashion, then forced to watch his best friend Angie dancing. But fate takes a turn when a guy tries to bribe Marty and pawn off his own homely date. Upright as always, the very suggestion offends Marty. Instead he watches as the guy moves on and finds another chump to hand his unwanted girl too. But the attempted hand off goes badly, and in a long take we watch Marty as he watches the transaction go sour. The young woman is devastated and the two jerks wander off bickering about the money. The young woman walks out to the balcony and Marty follows her. It's then the two connect.
Look at this lovely stream-of-consciousness discourse that stumbles out of the mouth of Marty, as he tries to console the dejected Clara:
MARTY
Now I figure, two people get married, and they gonna live together forty, fifty years. So it's just gotta be more than whether they're good looking or not. You tell me you think you're not very good-looking. My father was a really ugly man, but my mother adored him. She told me that she used to get so miserable sometimes, like everybody, you know? And she says my father always tried to understand. I used to see them sometimes when I was a kid, sitting in the living room, talking and talking, and I used to adore my old man, because he was so kind. That's one of the most beautiful things I have in my life, the way my father and mother were. And my father was a real ugly man. So it doesn't matter if you look like a gorilla. So you see, dogs like us, we ain't such dogs as we think we are.
To this day, Chayefsky's influence looms large. A notable example: Love the stylized and rambling dialogue of Paul Thomas Anderson? The poeticized monologues especially on display in Magnolia? Well look no further than Chayefsky to discover Anderson's own aesthetic roots.








