Marty Supreme

New York, early 1950s: Table tennis is still far from being taken seriously as a sport in America, but Marty Mauser isn’t interested in what others take seriously. He wants to be the best, become famous, and break free from a life that feels far too small for him. Josh Safdie chases after this delusion of grandeur like a train that’s long since been going too fast and yet keeps accelerating.

Marty Mauser (Timothée Chalamet) sells shoes, plays table tennis, and possesses a self-confidence that’s about three careers ahead of his actual social standing. He knows he’s exceptionally good. More importantly, he’s convinced that eventually the rest of the world will have to find out about it, too. He lacks money. He lacks influence. Patience is completely lacking. So Marty talks his way, tricks his way, negotiates his way, promises his way, and improvises his way from one opportunity to the next. To him, people are friends, opponents, investors, lovers, or obstacles—sometimes several things at once. Chalamet doesn’t play him as a likable underdog, but as a walking nuisance with enough charisma to repeatedly convince someone that his next plan might actually work this time.

Around Marty, Safdie weaves a dense web of people who are either drawn to or overwhelmed by his energy. Rachel Mizler (Odessa A’zion) knows him well enough to see through his tricks, yet remains emotionally close to him. The wealthy Kay Stone (Gwyneth Paltrow) opens the door for him to a world where relationships, status, and money operate by different rules. Murray Norkin (Larry “Ratso” Sloman) is also part of Marty’s circle, where someone is constantly needing something from someone else. As a result, almost every conversation becomes a transaction. Who can help? Who knows someone? Who’s paying? Who believes the story? And how quickly can Marty disappear before anyone realizes the numbers don’t add up?

Safdie shows little interest in the usual sports movie narrative of the talented underdog who trains hard and finally gets his chance. Table tennis is important, but even more important is what Marty sees in it: a way out. He doesn’t just want to win. He wants significance. Recognition. Money. Attention. A place in a world that won’t give him that place willingly. That’s what makes his ambition both fascinating and unsettling. Because Marty possesses exactly the kind of obsession that biographies of successful people later like to sell as admirable determination. But Safdie shows what that trait looks like while no one yet knows whether it will actually lead to success in the end. And it looks pretty chaotic.

Chalamet carries this film with an almost aggressive presence. His Marty talks fast, thinks faster, and often acts even faster than he can think. He can be charming one moment and ruthless the next. Vulnerability flashes through, but is immediately buried again by a new plan. Chalamet doesn’t even try to soften every bad decision with sympathy. That’s crucial. Marty is allowed to be exhausting. In fact, he has to be. A sensible Marty Mauser would go home after twenty minutes, pay off his debts, and find a stable job. This Marty considers reason to be something invented by people without grand ambitions.

Therein lies the film’s central question: When does ambition become selfishness? Marty believes so uncompromisingly in his future greatness that the present becomes almost secondary to him. Obligations can be put off. Relationships can be strained. Debts are problems for later. The only thing that matters is always the next opportunity. Safdie doesn’t openly condemn him for this, but he doesn’t romanticize him either. He observes a man who has declared himself the protagonist of his own life and, as a result, increasingly forgets that everyone else has one too.

Formally, Marty Supreme is just as frantic as its protagonist. Cinematographer Darius Khondji stays close to faces and bodies, while Safdie and Ronald Bronstein’s editing allows for hardly any respite. Spaces feel crowded, conversations overlap, people appear, demands arise, phones ring, doors open, and somewhere the next problem is already waiting. Daniel Lopatin’s music adds to the drive. The film doesn’t just play out—it pushes forward. Even quieter moments convey the sense that Marty really ought to be somewhere else already.

Yet Safdie’s direction is more controlled than the chaos would suggest. 1950s New York isn’t presented as a glossy retro fantasy. Streets, stores, hotels, and gyms feel lived-in and bustling. The era isn’t merely a decorative backdrop, but a world with clear social boundaries that Marty is constantly bumping up against. Table tennis, meanwhile, takes on a surprisingly physical presence. The small ball, the quick movements, the sharp clacking—suddenly, a sport that looks almost harmless from a distance seems like a high-speed duel played out in just a few square meters.

At 149 minutes, Marty Supreme is a long film, but it still hardly allows itself a moment’s rest. That can be exhausting. Yet that is precisely where its consistency lies. Safdie doesn’t want us to sit back and comfortably watch Marty’s rise. You’re supposed to run, calculate, lie, hope, and improvise alongside him. One more chance. One more connection. One more game. One more plan. Maybe this one will work. Maybe not. In any case, Marty doesn’t stop to think about it.