It's as useful to find a critic with whom you disagree as to find one you agree with, and I've found a very useful critic: The New Yorker's film critic, Richard Brody. Here's what he said about Marty Supreme and Rear Window in his review of Wuthering Heights.
Marty Supreme is driven by romance, and the thinness of its central couple’s relationship—the one that begins and ends the movie—is compensated for by its thematic implication of a bond of ineffable absoluteness, a passion beyond words. In this regard, Marty Supreme, set in 1952, reminds me of one of that era’s great movies, Rear Window, in which Alfred Hitchcock offers, in a monologue spoken by the superb character actress Thelma Ritter, a definitive credo of transcendentally carnal love. But, Marty Supreme, true to its title and its eponymous character, isn’t a women’s picture; the romance, sharply conceived though it is, is ultimately little more than a series of obstacles on the protagonist’s athletically existential journey.
First, if you've seen Marty Supreme you know it's not a romance, it's not driven by romance, there's no ineffable passion, and what he calls "the central couple" is nothing of the kind. Marty has no feelings for Rachel when they meet in the shoe store, he has nothing to do with her for eight or nine months, and the tears he sheds in the final shot are more likely to be for his lost career as a ping pong champion than newfound love for his son. And second, the "monologue" from Rear Window is not a monologue; it's part of a conversation between Stella (Thelma Ritter) and Jeff (James Stewart) in which she tells him to marry Lisa (Grace Kelly) because she's clearly in love with him. "Carnal love" is an unbearably high-falutin' description of what she's saying. (I've posted the dialogue from a version of the script in the comments.)
Brody said that Wuthering Heights represents a welcome return to romantic movies, though it's news to me that they ever left. He's constructed a thesis about the rebirth of romance, done his damnedest to maneuver Wuthering Heights into it, and it doesn't fit.
Whoever doesn't love Thelma Ritter better leave now. You're dead to me. This is the dialogue from Rear Window that Brody called a monologue.
STELLA: Look, Mr. Jefferies. I'm not educated. I'm not even sophisticated. But I can tell you this — when a man and a woman see each other, and like each other -- they should come together — wham! like two taxis on Broadway. Not sit around studying each other like specimens in a bottle.
JEFF: There's an intelligent approach to marriage.
STELLA: Intelligence! Nothing has caused the human race more trouble. Modern marriage!
JEFF: We've progressed emotionally in —
STELLA: Baloney! Once, it was see somebody, get excited, get married — Now, it's read books, fence with four-syllable words, psychoanalyze each other until you can't tell a petting party from a civil service exam.
JEFF: People have different emotional levels that —
STELLA: Ask for trouble and you'll get it. Why, there's a good boy in my neighborhood who went with a nice girl from across the street for three years. Then he refused to marry her. Why? Because she only scored 61 on a Look magazine marriage quiz! When I married Myles we were both maladjusted misfits. We still are. And we've loved every minute of it.
JEFF: That's fine, Stella. Now would you make me a sandwich?
STELLA: Okay — but I'm going to spread some common sense on the bread. Lisa Fremont's loaded to her fingertips with love for you. I'll give you two words of advice. Marry her.
JEFF: She pay you much?
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