Marty is the perfect “sleeper,” a gem of a film that became the prototype for low-budget indies emerging with little fanfare to garner rave reviews, an armful of Oscars, and the box-office receipts to match. It cost a mere $343,000 and grossed $3 million in the U.S., making it one of the more profitable ventures up to that point. Nothing is flashy about the story, acting, physical production, or direction, but all of these ingredients are flawless. Oscar-winner Ernest Borgnine as Marty and nominee Betsy Blair as Clara are among the most romantic couples in cinema history. Neither is attractive by conventional standards, a point that was established by screenwriter Paddy Chayefsky, whose goal was to tell an “ordinary” love story. It’s through the palpable chemistry of his leading characters that we are able to find true beauty. Each time I watch this film, I get caught up in the emotions. The heartache and elation, that lightheaded feeling when you meet the right person for the first time, the anxiety and uncertainty that it all might go away in an instant—it’s all there.

Borgnine, known for his reliable work as heavies in films like From Here to Eternity, is Marty Piletti, an unassuming, friendly butcher from the Bronx, who never married and hangs out with his bachelor buddies on weekends. The role was originated by Rod Steiger on television in 1953. You read that right; Marty was created for The Philco Television Playhouse, and it marks the first time a TV movie was used as source material for an Oscar-winning film. Every customer in the shop asks Marty, “When you gonna get married?” He brushes them off, but it’s clear he harbors deep-rooted feelings of loneliness and inadequacy. One night at the Stardust Ballroom while he’s out with his best pal Angie (nominee Joe Mantell), he meets Clara (played by Betsy Blair, who was a Broadway dancer and actress married to Gene Kelly at the time). Marty observes Clara getting ditched on a blind date, which motivates him to strike up a conversation with her. She collapses in tears into his arms, and from this moment on, I’m hooked. The sentiments are raw, true, and simple, but also deceptively powerful. This is “real people falling in love.”

Betsy Blair as Clara and Ernest Borgnine as Marty.

The rest of the principal cast is equally memorable. As Marty’s mother, Esther Miniciotti is particularly good. Chayefsky establishes a side story involving her and her sister Catherine (Augusta Ciolli) that enriches rather than distracts from the main plot. These older women love their children but worry about being cast aside as life goes on without them. Catherine lives with her son, Marty’s cousin Tommy (played by The Dick Van Dyke Show’s Jerry Paris), his wife Virginia (Karen Steele), and their new baby. These loving mothers want what’s best for their children but often stifle them unintentionally from asserting any independence regarding their own lives. Chayefsky manages to capture the humor, frustration, and heartache of the situation. He shows us just how hard it is to break these familial patterns.

Ernest Borgnine and Esther Minciotti.

That’s why Marty’s decision ends up being such a risk. He has to come to terms with sacrificing the current arrangement at home with his mother to get to the next step: romance, marriage, and someone new in his life. The older he gets, the harder it becomes to let go and trust an unknown future. It should be noted that family culture has changed over time. It was not uncommon a century ago for all generations to live under one roof, especially families with immigrant roots and before Social Security was established, which allowed elderly people to be on their own and remain more self-sustaining in their retirement years. The fact that Marty and Tommy both still live with their mothers when the story begins isn’t all that odd. By the 1950s, it was going out of fashion, however, and the systematic erosion of the family unit continued throughout the 20th century. What’s unusual by traditional standards of the day is that, at 34, Marty is unmarried.

I never tire of watching this film. It’s running time doesn’t hurt. Clocking in at 90 minutes, Marty is the shortest Best Picture in history. The score composed by Roy Webb should be applauded as well, including a charming theme song with music by Harry Warren and an uncredited Chayefsky as lyricist. It uplifts the subject matter and adds a bit of whimsy, ensuring the story doesn’t grow too heavy or off-putting, because when all is said and done, loneliness and unworthiness are serious subjects. The Academy rightfully honored this film as the best of 1955. It would be a dozen years before they awarded a “smaller” film again with Best Picture. There’s a bit of irony to note that this modest production based on a TV movie would also usher in an era of epic dramas and lavish, widescreen musicals, designed to compete against that tiny box with three channels in America’s living room.

Marty