Story Over Thought

As I sat at a Waffle House after an advanced screening of Marty Supreme a couple of weeks ago, I thought back on the film that I had just watched and wondered how it was supposed to make me feel. There was a distinct buzz from the jam-packed crowd at the Belcourt, who collectively seemed to absolutely love it. Cliché as it sounds, I’d honestly bet every single audience member clapped when the credits rolled. Me included. It was the type of theater experience you rarely get anymore, from a film you rarely get anymore: one that genuinely feels alive. So why did I feel so empty afterwards?

Let it be known that I’m not trying to be clever when I say that Marty Supreme is both better and worse than Uncut Gems; I just can’t think of a better way to phrase it. Formally, Josh Safdie has somehow exceeded the chaotic rhythm of both Good Time and Gems, delivering a propulsive, crackling domino-effect of a movie that is thrilling and paced to near perfection. The film is set in the 50s, but stylistically cribs from decades that would follow, such as the 80s-inspired synth-heavy score and the snappy dialogue of a 70s thriller, giving the film a unique and exhilarating vibe.

As the plucky Marty (Timothee Chalamet) scrambles to achieve his dream of becoming the International Ping Pong champ, he becomes increasingly embroiled in dangerous, comically risky behavior. With zero money and nothing left to lose, Marty gives a big fat middle finger to the world by upsetting Japan’s champion in an exhibition match that he was supposed to throw, which doubles as revenge for an earlier loss. Cue the “Everybody Wants to Rule the World” needle drop. Cue the applause. 

But after the rush is over, there’s a hangover that is hard to ignore. To be blunt, Marty Mauser is without question an unrepentant scumbag: someone who finally tells his pregnant “girlfriend” he loves her only after he wins a meaningless game of ping pong against his foreign archenemy in a match that doesn’t give him a single dime to pay back his (many) debts. Someone who lies and cheats and steals and goes after whatever he wants with little concern for anyone. For a win that does nothing but satisfy the ego.

Now, I’m not here to bash good old-fashioned American underdog spirit, or pretend that Marty Supreme doesn’t have some satirical elements baked in (this is, after all, a movie about a professional ping pong player who gets punished by Big Ping Pong™ with a literal paddling to the butt cheeks; a rebel who obviously makes life worse for almost everyone). But although it is almost certainly unintentional, Marty Supreme is less an exploration of postwar America than a celebration.

Especially since Josh Safdie has made more complex films about this type of character before. Adam Sandler’s Howard was certainly no role model, but that film works hard to establish a vulnerability that isn’t as easily found here. (Remember how Uncut Gems begins with a POV shot of its protagonist undergoing a colonoscopy? This film’s opening sequence follows one of Marty’s sperm cells inseminating an egg, set to the tune of “Forever Young.”) As Marty angrily turns to the mother of his unborn child and tells her that he is gifted with purpose while she is most definitely not, I was reminded of a very similar line from Connie in Good Time. It sort of feels like your friend retelling a joke, except this time he’s kind of serious.

And unlike Howard and Connie, Marty gets an ending that is inarguably a happy one. Rather than paying for his hubris by being imprisoned or shot in the head (oops, spoilers for Good Time and Uncut Gems), Marty looks into his newborn’s eyes and stops running for the first time. He decides it’s finally time to be a man, having spent the entire film swearing up and down that it was a scientific impossibility that this child was his, while scornfully banging the wife of the businessman he tried to swindle. Marty, you silly boy. Someone loan this man another diamond necklace before he acts up again.

Indeed, Marty’s relationship to the older Kay (Gwyneth Paltrow) is what unlocks the irony of Safdie’s vision. Kay is in a thankless marriage and has lost any sense of passion for her acting career, which Marty revitalizes as he worms his way into her bed. But even Marty himself sees her as another trophy to collect; he mocks her for wanting him and bristles in disgust when she expresses concern for how broke he is. Later, he returns to beg for money and almost gets them both arrested after initiating sex in a public park. This is all played for laughs.

So, when the ending clearly marks a turning point for Marty, it feels unearned, as he has only sparingly approached even the ballpark of self-reflection in the preceding two hours. Marty may not have become champ, but the film makes sure he proves his superiority in his own way (at the end of a journey that, hilariously, involves very little time spent practicing ping pong). That isn’t to say the ending is unrealistic, since most men struggling with the concept of fatherhood likely experience a similar reaction when they actually see their child for the first time. But by equating fatherhood with maturity and a “new dream” for Marty to chase, Safdie only highlights the vapid and vacuous emptiness of everything we just saw the character engage in. We are expected to laugh at Marty but cry with him, too, on a whim, without any of the necessary character work in between, and only after Marty “wins.”

Of course, the periodic humbling of Marty is the point—his hubris keeps digging him deeper. For every attempt to chase his dreams at the expense of someone else, something goes wrong, and he must lose a little more dignity to squirm his way out. And to his credit, Safdie has acknowledged a simultaneous truth: the lower class deserves to dream, yet some of them are just as selfish as those in power keeping the boot to their throats. But the film wants to have its cake and eat it too. While none of us would want to be crossed by Marty personally, we’re asked to ignore that scene after scene in a character-driven film that ultimately tries to redeem him after he has learned nothing. It’s not a sexy point to make, but Safdie clearly admires these despicable protagonists. At the end of the day, I just never found Marty that compelling. His goal isn’t all that special; his actions aren’t all that conflicting. He’s just a jerk.

Maybe Marty Supreme is actually the perfect conclusion to this unofficial trilogy. It is more realistic for Marty (and America) to suffer temporary embarrassment for their rampant greed and lack of empathy, yet still get the last laugh and escape real consequences by shifting the blame to those less charming, or to those who lie, cheat, and steal even more. I can only marvel at the genius casting of Shark Tank‘s Kevin O’Leary as the big corporate antagonist, a move that demands a preordained lack of sympathy for his character. And of course, Chalamet, whose natural charisma is on full display.

If the predictions are true and Marty Supreme proves to be an instant American classic that stands the test of time, then it is only fitting. Bringing to life the thrill of ego, impulse, and vice is what we might be best at. Dream big, kids. 12-1-25