The Many Faces of Marty

Throughout this film, the viewer is treated to a small buffet of Ernest Borgnine's Marty expressions: familiar resignation, goofy self-effacement, polite frustration, sudden explosive anger, and, of course, totally lost-in-love. (Full disclaimer: We could watch Ernie Borgnine's face forever.)

We think we've seen them all (at least three times) until suddenly a new one appears as Marty stands outside the bar: He's lost in thought, and he stares into space.

Around him, his buddies are making chin music, asking "What do you feel like doing?" "I don't know, what do you feel like doing?" Suddenly Marty is struck by the boring cycle of repetition his life has become. He knows he'll be miserable—and caught in a life like this forever—and he rushes inside.

What's Love Got to Do With It?

By the time Marty has made up his mind and is sitting and beaming in the telephone booth, waiting for Clara to pick up, we understand that it doesn't really matter if it's happily-ever-after for these two. Love has freed Marty to reach for the life he deserves.

But what do you think will happen if Clara gets gun-shy and refuses another date with Marty? What will become of him? Will he buy the butcher shop, or find another job? Will he live with his mother for the rest of his days? Will Clara retreat into a lifetime of TV-watching every evening with her elderly folks?