Marty Supreme is like the Oscar bait version of 2019’s Uncut Gems. Director/co-writer Josh Safdie, one half of the Safdie brothers that literally gave us Uncut Gems, has applied that same panic attack-inducing formula to a more broadly friendly combination of elements (example: this movie doesn’t open on a colonoscopy). Timothee Chalamet plays the titular Marty, a young man in 1952 New York City with a dream of being the best ping pong player on the world stage. He’s so supremely confident of his abilities that he never seems to plan beyond the immediacy. He’s a born hustler, and the majority of this 150-minute exercise is watching him work multiple schemes to gather the funds to secure a plane ticket to Japan. Reminiscent of Uncut Gems, it’s a movie of antic episodic events, with a charismatic but self-destructive lead spinning collapsing scheme upon collapsing scheme, one ending while another begins, and struggling to keep them all spinning and paying out. It makes for a frantic, propulsive experience, and even though there are some shady characters eventually and threats of violence, the stakes feel less dramatic and therefore more accessible to endure for so long. This is the kind of movie where, upon finally getting an item that will pay for that ticket, Marty’s own uncompromising hedonism has to be satiated in that moment of supposed triumph, all for it to get taken away again. In many ways, Marty is his own worst enemy when it comes to actually achieving his goals.

The whole thing is built upon the performance of Chalamet, who dominates the movie. There’s maybe five total minutes where Marty isn’t on screen. It’s a movie that needs a charismatic anchor. Chalamet digs in as the smooth-talking, impulsive, manipulative con man literally looking for his big ticket to stardom. It’s a brash performance of bravado, and it’s easy to get carried away by the actor, or at least intrigued to see how Marty is going to get out of all these crazy jams of his. The whole movie kind of takes a note from its lead to be bold. There’s digressions upon digressions. There’s key supporting roles for Tyler the Creator and Kevin O’Leary, yes, the bald guy from Shark Tank. There’s an opening credits sequence following sperm fertilizing an egg. The last 20 minutes is almost all ping pong action. There’s anachronistic music throughout. It’s remarkable how much of it works, but the frantic, anxious nature of the plotting covers up the hollowness of Marty. Perhaps he’s always yammering because a second of silence could force introspection. I don’t know if this man is capable of reflection, despite what the final image might infer. It’s a wild, whirling, consistently surprising movie that blends in so many characters and incidents to keep you entertained, but I don’t know if, much like Marty, there’s anything deeper under the surface of that desperation

Nate’s Grade: B