MARTY SUPREME

THREE STARS A New York hustler and athlete has his eyes set firmly on winning the Olympics at table tennis. First he has to get there.

DRAMA US English #MARTYSUPREME Starring Timothée Chalamet, Gwyneth Paltrow

MARTY SUPREME is powered by the kind of performance that dares you to look away. You won’t. As Marty, Timothée Chalamet dominates Josh Safdie’s sports movie with a restless, electrically charged turn that is as impressive as it is punishing. He is on screen almost constantly, driving the film forward with sheer force of personality, and the result is a star performance that is as undeniable as it is exhausting.

On one hand, Marty is an extraordinary athlete determined to take the US to the Olympics in his sport of choice - table tennis. But Marty is also a hustler in perpetual motion, fuelled by ambition, ego and an unshakable belief in his own exceptionalism. The actor leans hard into the character’s volatility, finding humour, charm and menace in equal measure. It’s a bravura display of stamina and precision, and one of the most commanding performances of his career. Even when the film falters, Chalamet doesn't.

Fittingly, Safdie stages MARTY SUPREME as an endurance test; not just for its protagonist, but for its audience as well. The pacing is relentless, the soundscape aggressive, the emotional temperature set permanently to eleven. Consequently, his film barrels through scenes with little interest in letting them breathe, favouring momentum over reflection. On one level, this feels intentional: the film wants you to feel Marty’s compulsive drive, his inability to stop, to rest, to question himself.

But intention, as Marty well knows, doesn’t always equal a win. At nearly two and a half hours, the experience is wearying at best, and not always productively so. There’s a fine line between immersion and attrition, and MARTY SUPREME takes us well beyond it. You begin to wonder whether the film is actually interrogating his behaviour, or simply indulging it at volume.

That question sits at the centre of the audience’s unease. Scene by scene Marty proves he is not a hero, he’s not even a particularly nice person, and the film knows it. Yet it remains fascinated by his self-serving bravado, his refusal to grow, his ability to bulldoze anyone who gets in his way - friends, girlfriends, competitors, even his own mother (Fran Dreshcer in fine form). But to what end? Does the world need another swaggering, unpleasant, antihero? Do we need another film that mistakes noise for meaning? Or are we being dared to confront our own attraction to these types? Who knows? Safdie doesn't give us time to think about any of these things.

Propelled by Chalamet’s sheer screen presence and the director's nerve-jangling intensity, it’s hard to look away from MARTY SUPREME. Whether that makes it a triumph or a trial depends on how much chaos you’re willing to endure.

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