Marty Supreme is a bit of a racquet racket

Rating: ★★★☆☆

Written by: Denise Breen

​If you believe the deafening noise coming out of the festival circuit and the early Oscar buzz, Josh Safdie’s Marty Supreme is a kinetic masterpiece—a "racket ride" that redefines the sports biopic. I want to cut through that hype: if you strip away Timothée Chalamet’s truly magnetic performance, what you’re left with is a bloated, stressful, two-and-a-half-hour panic attack that desperately needs a Xanax and an editor. This film is a solid 2-star mess that Chalamet drags, kicking and screaming, into 3-star territory, but only just.

​The primary issue is that Safdie doesn't know when to put the paddle down. At a staggering 150 minutes, the film is an endurance test. The premise—a 1950s hustler trying to become the king of table tennis—is fantastic fodder for a tight, punchy 90-minute comedy-drama. ​Instead, we are dragged through endless, repetitive cycles of debt, screaming matches, and hustle porn that lose their charm by hour two. The subplot involving the globetrotting with the Harlem Globetrotters feels like a different movie entirely, and the detour to the farmhouse (while based on true events) destroys the film's pacing. You find yourself checking your watch, wondering why a movie about ping-pong feels longer than Dune.

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​And yet... you can’t look away, and that is entirely due to Chalamet. He is the only reason this film works at all. As Marty Mauser, he is undeniable. He sheds the "pretty boy" persona for something greasier, faster, and more desperate. He captures a specific kind of delusional New York ambition that is tragic and hilarious in equal measure. Whether he’s sweating through a tuxedo or frantically selling orange novelty balls, his energy is infectious. And yet, it's not his best work. I still recall his performance in "Call Me By Your Name".

​He will almost certainly win the Oscar for this. The Academy loves a transformation, and he carries the entire emotional weight of the film on his back. He makes you root for a character who, on paper, is deeply unlikable.

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​Ultimately, Marty Supreme is a victim of its own excess. It tries to be a screwball comedy, a gritty character study, and an epic sports drama all at once, resulting in a cacophony that is more tiring than exhilarating. ​It’s a film that is being lauded for its "intensity," but mistake volume for value at your own peril.

See it for Chalamet’s masterclass in acting, but be prepared to leave the cinema feeling like you’ve just played a five-set match against a wall: exhausted, sweaty, and wondering if it was really worth the effort.