Meet Marty Mauser, our charmingly hapless protagonist, and the embodiment of hustle gone wild. In the whirlwind opening of Marty Supreme, we find the wiry 20-something—masterfully played by Timothée Chalamet—shilling shoes in 1950s New York. Picture this: a fussy customer, a shoe salesman with the charm of a used-car dealer, and a fancy brand being peddled like it’s the last pair of sneakers on Earth. Spoiler: it works. But instead of basking in his uncle’s lavish praise after being offered the store manager position, Marty has a dream. And no, it’s not about selling shoes—it’s about becoming the world’s most famous table-tennis player. You know, the kind of ambition that real estate moguls and poets can only dream about.
Marty, in all his vivacious glory, dances through the film like a caffeinated squirrel. The narrative is akin to a rollercoaster designed by someone who forgot to have safety measures (or a budget). Instead of slowing down for a breather, Marty jumps straight into a romantic dalliance with his best friend Rachel (played by Odessa A’zion) in a storage closet. Let’s make a note: storage closets are the unsung idols of romance. Who needs candlelight and fine dining when you have dusty boxes and the thrill of possibly getting caught?
As we follow Marty on his zigzag journey, he lands in London, ready to take on the Ping-Pong world while grousing about the terrible hospitality he’s enduring. Did someone say ‘first-world problems’? Enter Josh Safdie, the mastermind behind this kinetic insanity, who demonstrates that the ‘high-stress journey’ trope can be jettisoned into the stratosphere with the right momentum. The film spans a hefty 150 minutes, yet it feels as though you signed up for a whirlwind tour of last-minute flight connections.
This cinematic marvel is Safdie’s first solo venture since his partnership with Benny, who turned his sights to a more subdued outing titled The Smashing Machine. It’s impressive how they’ve tread such different paths: one racing through chaos while the other plods along like an old man on a Sunday stroll. But fear not, Safdie has commandeered the ship, steering it through plot fluctuations that make Olympic gymnastics look like playtime. The opening act cleverly plants Marty’s desire for sports stardom amidst a journey that starts resembling every cliché sports flick—only with more absurdity and a soundtrack that would make any ’80s kid weep with nostalgia.
Marty’s world is populated by a bizarre ensemble of characters, exemplifying the fine line between genius and insanity. We meet Milton Rockwell (Kevin O’Leary, yes, the Shark Tank guy), who is more shark than human, eager to fund Marty’s madness. Then there’s his icy wife Kay (the frost queen Gwyneth Paltrow), the marital affair waiting to happen. And let’s not forget Ezra Mishkin (the scruffy Abel Ferrara), whose presence makes one question if Marty is auditioning for a new reality show titled “How to Lose Friends and Alienate People in Five Easy Steps.”
Chalamet injects undeniable charisma into Marty, a character whose difficult personality could easily be unlikable. He embodies passion with a capital ‘P’, attracting sympathetic vibes like moths to a flame. Unlike past Safdie protagonists who tumble through the criminal underbelly like they lost a bet, Marty’s quest is a charmingly misguided flight of fancy. His misadventures don’t seem to stem from sheer impulse but a kind of delusional optimism that would make a motivational speaker weep with envy.
Marty Supreme straddles the line between indie cinema and blockbuster allure, managing to retain that scrappy charm from the Safdie brothers’ past exploits while showcasing a budget that does not skimp on its dazzling details. The film features an eclectic cast—because, why not include playwrights, retired sports icons, and magicians? It makes holiday viewing an experience unlike any other: while others are cheering for their larger-than-life heroes, we’re rooting for Marty, a self-proclaimed superstar who exists only in his own dramatically oversized imagination.
