Marty Supreme is ostensibly the story of Marty Mauser, a 23-year-old Jew from New York City who works as a shoe salesman for his uncle Murray. In his spare time he plays table tennis—a sport that becomes his obsession—and dreams of winning the British Open, defeating reigning champion Bela Kletzki. He is in love with table tennis. Perhaps more importantly, he is in love with being better at table tennis than anyone else on the planet earth. His plans to travel to London and dominate the world are foiled when Murray, in an attempt to keep Marty tied down to Norkin’s Shoe Shop, avoids paying him the $700 he’s due. Marty, never one to quit, steals $700 from the company safe and uses the cash to pay his way across the Pond.
As the Open unfolds, it becomes clear to Marty that his real competition is not Bela, but a Japanese player—Koto Endo—who was permitted to participate because the international body governing table tennis had lifted the ban imposed on the Empire following World War Two. Both Marty and Endo advance, closely watching eachother’s rise. Finally, the moment comes: Marty and Endo face off. Despite a heated final set, Endo beats Marty 3-0. Marty is livid, blaming his loss on Endo’s novel style of play and his specially designed paddle. He resolves to face off against him again.
Eventually returning home to New York, Marty is reunited with Rachel Mizler, his lover. Rachel is pregnant. The child is his. I’ll save the reader from the details of the middle part of the film, mostly because it’s worth watching for oneself. Suffice it to say that Marty leaves mayhem in his wake—including but not limited to several dead mobsters, one dead farmer, an abandoned dog, some successful and failed attempts at extortion, and plenty of property damage—doing whatever he can to get to Tokyo for the table tennis World Championship, his next opportunity to face Endo. Eventually he does get to Tokyo, hitching a ride with ink-pen magnate Milton Rockwell. Rockwell has agreed to allow Marty to face Endo in a promotional match—Marty was banned from the World Championship for racking up a massive bill at The Ritz during his stay in London—on the condition that he lets Endo win.
Upon throwing the game for Endo, Marty is informed by the game’s announcer that he will need to kiss a pig in front of the crowd. He finally revolts, revealing that he was told to throw the match, begging Endo for a real chance. Endo agrees. Despite Rockwell’s protestations, the match begins. The match is extremely close, with both players never more than two or three points apart. Then, a deuce: Tied. Marty, unwilling to lose, finally achieves his dream. He defeats Koto Endo.
Marty flies home to New York, hitching a ride with the American military officers who enjoyed watching an American triumph over the Japanese table tennis hero. He arrives just in time to find Rachel at the hospital, lying in a bed in the maternity ward. Marty sits beside her, professing his love. After she doses off, he navigates to the room where a nurse is tending to newborns. The nurse picks up the child for Marty, and Marty stares at him through glass, tears welling up in his eyes.
The film presents us with two climaxes: Marty narrowly defeating Endo in Tokyo, and Marty returning home to stare into the eyes of his newborn child. These peaks typify the choice Marty, or any person deeply attracted to and capable of greatness, faces. In both moments, Marty and the viewer are overcome with emotion. His victory over Endo evokes goosebumps. His tears at the sight of his newborn child melt the heart. Marty’s son is the fruit of his love for Rachel. His victory over Endo is the fruit of his love of greatness. Torn between his natural duties and the allure of greatness, Marty faces his choice. He may have professed his love to Rachel, but love is a language spoken primarily by deed. The audience is left to wonder what comes next.
The human heart is home to many loves. What one love orients their thoughts, and speech, and deeds towards its totalizing claims. Because our time and resources are finite, at some point our hand is forced: We must choose to love something, or someone, to the exclusion of someone else or some other thing. What we love is who we become, to the exclusion of who we do not become. Andrew Neiman, the protagonist of the 2014 film Whiplash—a film likewise interested in greatness—shows us just this when he breaks up with his girlfriend to pursue greatness as a drummer:
“I’m gonna keep pursuing what I’m pursuing. And because I’m doing that, it’s gonna take up more and more of my time. And I’m not gonna be able to spend as much time with you. And when I do spend time with you, I’m gonna be thinking about drumming. And I’m gonna be thinking about jazz music, my charts, all that. And because of that, you’re gonna start to resent me. And you’re gonna tell me to ease up on the drumming, spend more time with you because you’re not feeling important. And I’m not gonna be able to do that. And really, I’m gonna start to resent you for even asking me to stop drumming. And we’re just gonna start to hate each other. And it’s gonna get very… It’s gonna be ugly. And so for those reasons, I’d rather just, you know, break it off clean… because I wanna be great.”
Rockwell attempts to teach Marty a similar lesson in the middle of his concluding match with Endo:
“I was born in 1601. I’m a vampire. I’ve been around forever. I’ve met many Marty Mausers over the centuries. Some of them crossed me, some of them weren’t straight. They weren’t honest. And those are the ones that are still here. You go out and win that game, you’re gonna be here forever too. And you’ll never be happy. You will never be happy.”
Greatness may well grant Marty the immortality he seeks. It may satiate his desire to excel at table tennis like no one has before. Rockwell doesn’t deny this. But, he says, it will not make him happy. Marty would be right, however, to say that working at Norkin’s Shoe Shop did not bring him fulfillment, either. Neiman similarly possesses a lust for greatness that would not be satisfied by half-assed commitment. Greatness demands our all. There is something about Marty’s soul—a soul made for greatness—that will not allow him to sit still and opt for a normal life. He is made for more. Marty and others like him are, perhaps, doomed to what Frank Herbert termed “terrible fate.”
Greatness, as it was classically understood, is an anachronism. Something to be scoffed at as delusion at best. Marty Supreme, for all of the doubt it casts on the pursuit of greatness’ superiority to other ways of life, nonetheless acknowledges its reality. The film dares us to imagine that for some people, “hope and history rhyme.” That for some people, the lofty ambitions of youth are something other than delusion. That for some people, greatness is due. Is greatness worth its pursuit? That is the question we are left with. And it is left for us to decide.
Image Credit: Rotten Tomatoes
