Marty Supreme, 2025.
Directed by Josh Safdie.
Starring Timothée Chalamet, Gwyneth Paltrow, Odessa A’zion, Kevin O’Leary, Tyler Okonma, Abel Ferrara, Fran Drescher, Emory Cohen, Penn Jillette, Larry Sloman, Sandra Bernhard, Luke Manley, John Catsimatidis, Géza Röhrig, Spenser Granese, Mitchell Wenig, George Gervin, Isaac Simon, and Fred Hechinger.
SYNOPSIS:
Marty Mauser, a young man with a dream no one respects, goes to hell and back in pursuit of greatness.
From opening credits following swimming sperm to a series of seemingly never-ending high-energy, stressful debacles across the streets of New York, calling into question morality in the pursuit of sports legend immortality, with Marty Supreme, director Josh Safdie is aggressively determined to outdo every aspect of the heart-racing absurdity of Uncut Gems. Once again, it’s subversive in that the sport is more of a launching pad for something entirely outrageous.
Now collaborating on the screenplay with editor Ronald Bronstein, following Josh’s split with brother Benny (these two couldn’t be further apart in their approaches to storytelling), one wonders to what end this is all for, other than to say that lofty ambitions of greatness typically go hand in hand with narcissism or a blinding delusion that a sacrifice that immensely effects, sometimes hurts, loved ones in one’s orbit is the only way forward to provide. That’s also not a message that needs two and a half hours to drill into the skull, but if that is indeed the point, it’s welcome that this is an indisputably wild ride without a single dull moment. There’s no denying that critics recommend all kinds of strange, obtuse, and esoteric films to the typical moviegoer to feed curiosity, but the greatest irony in Marty Supreme is that the ping-pong/table tennis movie is breathlessly kinetic, exhaustively electric, and somehow continuously tops itself in crazed chaos.
At the risk of sounding too hyperbolic, there is no way of knowing where this scumbag nuttiness is going next other than that Timothée Chalamet’s charismatic motormouth of an American table tennis powerhouse/tournament failure Marty Mauser will either get cocky, greedy, offensive, shamelessly selfish, self-absorbed, overly prideful, snarky, or some variation of too far ahead of himself, fudging up his poorly conceptualized cons to secure funding to, one year later after a loss and blow to his ego, compete in the same tournament against the Japanese athlete crowned champion contending for something bigger than himself in the wake of World War II. Marty (loosely based on the hustles of table tennis athlete Marty Reisman, although taken with such liberties that there are full-on car chases, shootouts, and explosions in this sports story) is also the type of person who probably can’t even conceive of the idea of other countries, centering himself against the world with enough dumb confidence to fill an ocean.
Whether one wants to take his word for it or not, Marty believes that, since table tennis is the fastest-growing international sport, achieving superstardom and the money that comes with fame is the only way to take care of his mom (Fran Drescher) and, perhaps, an impending family. He ghosts his already married partner, Rachel (Odessa A’zion), after inadvertently impregnating her, seemingly refusing to believe that he is the father out of a combination of unprepared immaturity and shame, knowing he doesn’t have the money to provide for them. Nevertheless, it doesn’t excuse 90% of his treatment towards her once he finds himself in deep shit financially, with, quite literally, his whole world falling apart (while on-the-nose for sure, it is amusing that such troubles begin with him falling through a floor), essentially teaming up with her out of convenience on small cons that go nuclear sideways rather than a sincere attempt at correcting wrongdoings.
Disappointingly, Josh Safdie and Ronald Bronstein are disinterested in giving Rachel much to do in terms of characterization, meaning she comes across as a doormat who will always crawl back to Marty and place her faith in him. In her defense, the alternative is a temperamental, abusive husband (Emory Cohen), and working in a pet store isn’t exactly going to cover all the necessary expenses. And make no mistake, Odessa A’Zion remains one of the most exciting performers on the rise, exceptionally so here, which makes it all the more frustrating that what is poised as her true breakout role is somewhat empty.
Then there is the faded former Hollywood star, Kay Stone (Gwyneth Paltrow’s return to movies) that Marty becomes infatuated with on his first go-around at the tournament, occasionally whisking her away or finding privacy from her demeaning and insulting husband (Kevin O’Leary, who I know nothing about other than what I’ve heard, and can believe from his five minutes of screen time here that he is every bit the asshole everyone claims him to be), a pens businessman. Naturally, this May-December filing reflects where they are in life and what they want or are trying to hold onto. It also provides ample opportunity for Marty to get scheming once he becomes desperate for money to return to the tournament the following year. There is also another narrative intersection here, unrelated to Marty, in that the elite-class businessman is quick to sell out his own country if it props up sales. Other asides involving the Jewish Marty’s, also Jewish friend, having escaped World War II horrors, point to a larger canvas of nationality.
That doesn’t even begin to describe the amount of cons here and how they go wrong, one of which includes actual table tennis scamming. Another involves securing a lost dog for a sleazy gangster (Abel Ferrara), strong-arming him for sizable compensation. With longtime outstanding cinematographer Darius Khondji aboard and a fittingly tense synthetic score from Daniel Lopatin, it is no surprise that the visuals and soundscape are equally propulsive. The real challenge is to frame and capture something as unexciting, in theory, as table tennis with similar immersion, here always with the camera at the proper distance and angle in an unbroken shot so that the viewer’s eyes practically feel attuned to tracking the ball. There are also occasional close-ups of more riveting paddle shots, also emphasizing how sweaty and physically draining the sport is.
Undeniably, Marty Supreme is exceptionally crafted and performed. The nagging issue is that, even if the many fumbles and screw ups here admittedly come from a place of characterization, it also feels as if Josh Safdie is extending the insanity of the middle stretch for as long as possible, as if Benny or someone got him to agree to an ill advised bet of how contrived, wacky, out-there, and chaotic things can get; one also turns into about five other ongoing hustles, all while Marty straddles the line between outright detestable and endearing dreamer. Even when something happens nearly 2 hours into the film that could extend the chaos by another hour, there’s frustration and exhaustion from the repetition, but the filmmaking is so deliriously entertaining that one can’t help but remain in Josh Safdie’s grasp. However, it’s fair to wonder whether Benny was responsible for reining in that impulse to ensure the characterization was of the same quality.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film: ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★ ★ ★
Robert Kojder
