Chris & Martina: The Final Set

 Some sporting rivalries are quantified by statistics; others are immortalised through iconic encounters and glittering championships. Yet only a rare and exalted few transcend the confines of sport to become enduring explorations of the human condition itself. Rebecca Gitlitz’s Chris & Martina: The Final Set belongs unequivocally to that distinguished category. Though ostensibly a documentary chronicling the lives of two of the greatest tennis players ever to grace a court, it gradually reveals itself to be something infinitely more profound: a deeply affecting meditation on friendship and rivalry, ambition and vulnerability, resilience and mortality.

For viewers anticipating another formulaic sports documentary — replete with triumphant montages, inspirational clichés and sentimental retrospection — The Final Set offers an altogether richer and more rewarding experience. Tennis, magnificent though it remains, serves merely as the stage upon which unfolds one of the most extraordinary human relationships in the history of modern sport.

The documentary traces more than five decades of intertwined destinies shared by Chris Evert and Martina Navratilova, two women whose rivalry did not merely define an era of women’s tennis but fundamentally transformed it into a global spectacle. They first encountered one another as gifted adolescents, became companions before becoming adversaries, drifted apart beneath the immense pressures of professional competition, and eventually rediscovered one another amid life’s most formidable trials. Gitlitz demonstrates with remarkable sensitivity that theirs is a story in which friendship and rivalry are not opposing forces but complementary ones, each lending meaning and depth to the other.

One of the documentary’s greatest virtues lies in its steadfast refusal to manufacture simplistic narratives of heroes and villains. Instead, it presents two immensely accomplished women of strikingly different temperaments, each admirable precisely because of her individuality.

Chris Evert emerges as the very embodiment of composure. Graceful, disciplined and almost preternaturally self-controlled, she became America’s quintessential sporting icon, her relentless baseline precision approaching mechanical perfection. Yet beneath that serenely polished exterior resided an uncompromising ambition sustained at considerable personal cost. With admirable candour, Evert reflects upon the loneliness, emotional exhaustion and fractured relationships that accompanied a lifetime spent pursuing perfection, reminding us that sustained excellence often extracts a price invisible to the cheering crowds.

Martina Navratilova, by contrast, personifies perpetual reinvention. Having defected from Communist Czechoslovakia in pursuit of freedom, she challenged not merely opponents across the net but political orthodoxies, entrenched social conventions and the very assumptions underpinning women’s athletics. Her revolutionary commitment to strength training, nutrition and an audacious serve-and-volley game permanently altered the sport’s tactical landscape. The documentary addresses her sexuality and the relentless public scrutiny it attracted with admirable honesty, illustrating how the courage she displayed in confronting society frequently equalled, and perhaps even surpassed, the courage she exhibited on the tennis court.

The tennis itself remains utterly exhilarating. Beautifully restored archival footage transports viewers to a rivalry that seems almost inconceivable in today’s sporting landscape. Between them, Evert and Navratilova contested 80 professional matches, including an astonishing 60 finals, with Navratilova holding only the narrowest advantage in their head-to-head record. Yet Gitlitz wisely resists presenting these contests as isolated spectacles. Instead, she reveals how each encounter compelled both women to reinvent themselves. Evert’s metronomic precision demanded ever greater aggression from Navratilova, while Navratilova’s relentless attacking brilliance forced Evert to elevate consistency into an art form. They were, in equal measure, each other’s greatest obstacle, sternest critic and finest teacher.

Perhaps the documentary’s most compelling insight is its insistence that rivalry and affection need not exist in mutual contradiction. Contemporary sport frequently thrives upon narratives of hostility, encouraging audiences to regard opponents as adversaries whose triumph must inevitably diminish one’s own. Chris & Martina rejects such facile binaries. It suggests instead that genuine greatness often requires an equal standing across the net — someone sufficiently gifted to expose one’s limitations and thereby inspire one’s evolution. Without Evert, Navratilova might never have attained such extraordinary heights; without Navratilova, Evert’s legendary consistency might never have achieved its fullest expression. Each became indispensable to the other’s greatness.

Yet the emotional nucleus of the documentary lies far removed from Centre Court. As the narrative progresses, both women confront cancer — an adversary entirely indifferent to Grand Slam titles, sporting immortality or public adulation. Their willingness to permit cameras into chemotherapy sessions, moments of profound physical frailty and deeply intimate conversations elevates the film beyond conventional biography into something approaching quiet testimony. There is neither melodrama nor self-pity, only a remarkable dignity born of honesty. Watching these former champions comfort one another through illness proves infinitely more affecting than any Wimbledon final they contested in their magnificent prime.

Gitlitz exercises commendable restraint behind the camera. Eschewing intrusive narration, she allows conversations between Evert and Navratilova to shoulder the documentary’s emotional burden. Particularly enchanting are the moments in which they revisit old matches together, teasing one another over disputed points, laughing at youthful intensity and gently correcting each other’s fading recollections. In these exchanges we encounter not carefully curated sporting legends guarding polished public personas, but two lifelong companions sharing memories that no one else could possibly comprehend with equal intimacy.

From a technical standpoint, the documentary is exemplary without ever becoming ostentatious. Its editing seamlessly interweaves archival broadcasts, contemporary interviews, historical news footage and intimate domestic moments into a narrative of remarkable fluidity. The painstaking restoration of vintage tennis footage lends renewed vibrancy to an earlier era, while the understated musical score enriches the emotional landscape without ever descending into manipulation.

The film also succeeds as an illuminating chronicle of broader social transformation. Their careers unfolded during an era when women’s sport still struggled for legitimacy, when Cold War politics profoundly shaped athletic identities, and when homosexuality remained burdened by pervasive prejudice within professional sport. Rather than relegating these realities to historical footnotes, Gitlitz demonstrates how both women navigated — and, in many respects, fundamentally reshaped — these cultural landscapes. Their influence extended far beyond championship trophies; they altered the very contours of the society in which they competed.

Ultimately, Chris & Martina: The Final Set is not truly about tennis. It is about two remarkable women who gradually discovered that the individual standing opposite them across the net was also the person who understood them most completely. It is a story of ambition untainted by malice, competition uncorrupted by hatred, and friendship resilient enough to survive fame, political upheaval, relentless public scrutiny and life-threatening illness. In an age increasingly captivated by manufactured sporting feuds and performative antagonisms, the documentary offers a refreshing reminder that the greatest rivalries are often sustained not by animosity, but by profound mutual admiration.

By the time the closing credits roll, one realises that the “final set” of the title is played neither on grass, clay nor hard courts. It unfolds instead in life’s twilight innings, where trophies recede into insignificance, records surrender their lustre, and companionship emerges as the only victory that truly endures. Chris & Martina: The Final Set stands among the finest sports documentaries of recent years — not because it celebrates champions, but because it celebrates the enduring triumph of our shared humanity.