Marty Supreme Review

“Hell yeah.” This was the only thought that consistently ran through my head while watching Jos Safdie’s latest banger, Marty Supreme. Marty Supreme is beautifully shot, insanely well scored, and, in true Safdie fashion, chaotic as hell. The film barely gives you a second to breathe, constantly forcing you to guess how Marty is going to Houdini his way out of each oncoming disaster. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time. 

As usual, Safdie’s direction is on point, and he manages to bring incredibly performances out of genuine movie stars and untrained non-actors alike. Timothée Chalamet (obviously) crushes it as the titular ping-pong dreamer and megalomaniacal showboat, but we all knew he would. The real surprise standout here is billionaire douchebag and Shark Tank co-host Kevin O’Leary, who holds his own in a cast full of newcomers as a nefarious and ruthless business tyrant seemingly sent from Hell to tempt and torment our main character. The performances feel natural, sometimes even improvised, in a way that adds to the film’s frantic rhythm. My biggest gripe is that we don’t get enough time with the rest of the supporting cast. Put-upon cab driver Wally (Tyler, the Creator), sundowning movie starlet Kay (Gwyneth Paltrow), and woefully mistreated and pregnant baby momma Rachel (Odessa A’zion) all feel like characters with way more story to give. 

While Marty is the planet these stars form their constellation around, we never really see them interact, which sometimes makes Marty’s background story and deep-seated motivations feel flimsy, but maybe that absence is part of the film’s intentionally chaotic vibe, as Marty inhabits a cutthroat New York City in which everything is moving too fast for anyone, including the audience, to fully settle in. Thematically and stylistically, this works. Narratively, it sometimes leaves something to be desired. 

With this being said, there are naturally plot threads that never quite get the spotlight they deserve. For instance, there’s Marty’s attempts to create branded merch (such as the film’s already-iconic orange ping pong balls) by cajoling his millionaire failson friend. Marty’s relationship to his mother - played by none other than Fran Dresher! - is undercooked, as is her relationship to the woman who’s about to bear his child. 

And I’ll be honest, the last 40 minutes did drag a bit. I caught myself checking the time, and the final match didn’t hit as hard as I expected, but maybe I was just fatigued at that point. The ending, though, is surprisingly fresh. For a movie centered on a pretty unlikable protagonist, the final beat ties back to the opening in a way I’m always a sucker for. I was talking with a friend about how this could’ve absolutely worked as a The Idol‑style series. The huge marketing stunts feel episodic already, and a series format would’ve given the characters more breathing room and let some of those scattered plot lines land with more weight. But maybe the scatter‑brained, barely‑holding‑it‑together energy is exactly the point. You’re supposed to feel like you’re sprinting alongside Marty, never fully sure what’s coming next. As for the “not enough ping‑pong” complaints, I think people missed the point. This isn’t a sports movie. It’s not about Marty playing ping‑pong, it’s about a deeply flawed guy trying to hustle his way to the tournament by any means necessary. It’s a story about determination, delusion, and the dangerous cocktail of narcissism and poverty in a capitalistic world that doesn’t give a single shit about your dreams. Yet, at the end of it all, the movie finds its thread of hope. You might not like Marty, but, at the end of it all, you get the sense he might eventually turn out alright.

Marty Supreme Review 4.5/5