Marty is a great film, both for National Marriage Week (February 7-14) and for Valentine’s Day weekend. Even though it is 71 years old, it’s telling to see what’s changed — and what hasn’t — since 1954. (And, I’ll admit, there’s something about black-and-white films.) Marty (played by Ernest Borgnine) is a 34-year-old single Italian butcher living with his mother in the Bronx. All his siblings are married. The film opens with a scene in his Little Italy butcher shop where the customers are talking about his brother’s marriage the weekend before. They’re also asking “when you gonna get’a married?” Marty’s been asking himself the same question. It’s not like he isn’t interested or doesn’t want to. Okay, so maybe he’s a little socially awkward and, by early 1950s standards, a bit “over the hill.” He’s not confident in himself but has reason not to be.

The film follows Marty for roughly 30 hours, from end-of-business Saturday afternoon until Sunday night. After closing up shop and stopping by the local watering hole where a friend encourages him to call some girls they had met a month earlier, Marty goes home and gets up the courage to ring one, only clearly to get dumped. So, his plan is to stay home and watch television. His mother theoretically wants Marty to get married and gets some advice to send him to a Midtown ballroom. More out of resignation than expectation, Marty goes.

Marty approaches a woman to dance. She looks him over once and blows him off. Relegated to wallflower status, he’s approached by another man. This guy was set up on a two-couple blind date with a girl he finds unattractive. As they enter the dance hall, he spies an old flame and wants to ditch his date for her. He offers Marty $5 to take his blind date off his hands and eventually just take her home safely. Marty refuses, saying you can’t treat a woman like that. The other man finds somebody else to unload his date on, except she doesn’t want to be a “substitute to a substitute” (think “Elizabethtown”). Marty watches from the side, sees what happened, and sees the date — Clara — run off, clearly upset, to the balcony. Marty follows her, trying to be nice. She eventually just bursts into tears. That is the start of a beautiful friendship.

They dance. They go for coffee. They talk. They walk. It’s clear each discovers an interest in the other. It’s also clear each has his history of rejections (Clara is 29, an “old maid” by the times) and is skittish from the scars. They eventually stop by Marty’s home. The morality tells us “we’re not in 2025, Toto!” Although Marty has no wrong intentions (he offers her “chicken from the icebox”), she feels she “ought to go.” When Marty tries to kiss her, she pulls back, which produces another long and sincere conversation that ends in him kissing her and introducing her to mama before escorting her home. They clearly want to meet again and Marty agrees to call the next day. You want a different era? Marty says he’ll call about 11:30 because “that’s after 10 o’clock Mass,” while Clara tells him to wait till 2:30 because “that’s when I get home from Mass.” As he leaves Clara at home safely, Marty positively floats back to the bus stop, banging the sign out of happiness.

Then life happens and the question becomes “to call or not to call.”

Marty gets up Sunday enthusiastic about a new day. His relatives rain on the parade with their marital fight, one consequence of which is that the man’s mother — Marty’s aunt — is moving out and coming to live with Marty and Mama. Aunt Catherine thinks life is over at 56 if she can’t mess in the young couple’s lives. She makes Mama think daughter-in-laws shove away mother-in-laws so that, even though theoretically Mama wants Marty to marry, she suddenly finds all sorts of reasons she does not like Clara (including she’s not Italian). Marty’s pal with whom he went to the ballroom calls Clara a “dog” and urges Marty to ditch her.

So goes Sunday until it all breaks with one decision. Sunday night and Marty not having called Clara (a moment earlier we see Clara sitting with her parents in their living room watching Ed Sullivan, ready to burst into tears), Marty and the guys at the local watering hole return to their ritual question: “What’d ya wanna do?” “I dunno.” “What’d ya wanna do?” “I dunno. What…” Finally, Marty mans up and makes a decision. “What’d ya wanna do? What’d ya wanna do? You know, I got something good going, and I don’t care if you or my mother or anybody else doesn’t like her. I had a good time and I’m gonna take her out and if we keep having good times, I’m gonna get down on my knees and ask her to marry me.” Marty then turns to the phone booth, dials Clara’s number and, as he starts talking to her, symbolically closes the door on his pal.

In 2025, we’re in a marriage crisis. Fewer people have the courage to get married, and those who do, do so later than ever (for more on this, see here). Some have objective reasons: education, jobs, money. Some have subjective: I’d like to get married but haven’t found the “right” guy/girl and I don’t know where to meet him/her. Besides, how do I know he/she won’t use and then discard me? In the seven decades since the film, today’s Martys and Claras live with the fallout of the Sexual Revolution, liberal divorce, little religion, and strains of “I hate men” feminism. It’s also said there’s an education/status gap today that does not work in men’s (especially non-college-educated men’s) favor. That could make them gun shy. But Marty anticipated all that. Clara is, after all, a high school science teacher who aspires to be department chair. Marty is a butcher who gave up the dream of college to support his widowed mother and siblings. Both of them are interested in getting married but haven’t found the “right” other. And both combine fascination of possibilities with fear of rejection or worse.

But amidst all the vagaries they face, there’s also one truth applicable then and now: in the end, love requires a decision, a choice of another person. As Karol Wojtyła noted in Love and Responsibility, “love” can be built on sensuality (physical appeal) or sentimentality (emotional appeal). In the film, another of Marty’s friends tries to get him to ditch Clara for some nurses that, in modern terminology, would be “hook-ups.” It’s also clear Marty is carried along by Clara’s feminine mystique, even as his friends dismiss her looks. But nothing comes together — or can come together — until a decision is made. Love never truly becomes love until it has the spine of a decision — until Marty stops listening to what others want, picks up the receiver, calls Clara again, and closes that telephone booth door on what has been.

I’m convinced today’s viewer would find a lot in Marty that is very modern and resonates with contemporary life. I have no doubt it could also be a great conversation starter. Marty can be rented/purchased from Amazon or viewed on Amazon Prime. Or try here.