There is a subplot in Marty Supreme (2025) that sets the standard for everything that follows. It centers around an opponent in the 1952 national ping pong tournament who befriends the recent phenom Marty Mauser (Timothee Chalamet), whose firebrand personality has made him a magnetic yet controversial presence. While waiting for their dinner in a dining hall, the man reveals that he’s a Holocaust survivor who was assigned to defuse bombs. The premise takes a twist when he reveals that during his time alone, he found a beehive and gets the wise idea to rub honey on his chest to help feed others in the concentration camp.
Director Josh Safdie dropped this stirring moment in as a parable of everything to come. Like this survivor, Mauser is of Jewish descent, and there is a deeper ideological bond that should tie them together, possibly rising up the ranks as friends who offer each other advice. There is a kindness to this man that is never acknowledged, instead steamrolled over as another dining patron emerges. The pen company magnate, Milton Rockwell (Kevin O’Leary), mentions how he knew someone who died while freeing prisoners from the camps. There is explicit guilt that overshadows the man’s suffering, ignoring any sensitivity around his self-sacrifice or compassion. Like everything else, the sighs of relief get buried underneath the hubris of selfish gain.
This scene is easy to forget throughout the gargantuan runtime. He’s not a character who changes the course of Marty’s life, instead serving as a marker of humble origins. And yet, as the credits roll, he is the warning shot of an alternate universe where things ended happier. Gone would be the world of endless debts and misery. There would be no need to have gone through the chaotic globetrotting and instead settle for a more gradual rise to fame. Marty would never take this path because, unlike the Holocaust survivor, he has no reason to think about others. He wants to be on Wheaties boxes. He envisions fame without knowing a path that doesn’t involve burning every bridge in town.
Amid the comedy is a deeper tragedy that’s as American as apple pie. The myth that most immigrants approaching Ellis Island are told is that this is a land of opportunity, where everyone can become a self-made man. Some get there, but the dilution is unsustainable, encouraging a level of narcissism and distrust that keeps proper streams of revenue from ever taking root. If everyone wants to be the top dog, who will settle for runner-up? Not Marty Mauser. He’s the type to make a John McEnroe-level hissy fit when he loses to China’s unstoppable champion Koto Endo (Koto Kawaguchi). He makes this his whole identity, suggesting an emasculation that drives him to fund a trip to China even if he has to sell his entire life to the most selfish characters envisioned to get there. His obsession with overcoming this silver medal win stagnates him.
The genius of Marty Supreme can be found in this rivalry that says more about American innovation than it does the sport. While Safdie directs the competition scenes with ferocity, he seems more interested in the global politics of the two opponents. China is a collectivist nation, meaning they generally support what’s best for the community. Even early in the film, there’s a noticeable cheering squad backing Koto. He’s someone who seems stable, focusing on triumph. While Marty’s loss could be chalked up to being young and inexperienced, there’s still the recognition that Endo has what Marty longs for: universal support.
Compared to China, the United States is an individualistic nation that both rewards and punishes risk. It just won’t tell you ahead of time which it’ll be. The thing that makes Marty’s story difficult to stomach is the irony that almost everything could’ve been prevented from within the first 10 minutes. He’s had offers that would’ve given him financial sustainability, that would’ve given him a base to pursue his passion without having to consider the flimsiness of monetary values. He wouldn’t need to spend nights going to social halls to hustle strangers for loose change with his friend Wally (Tyler Okonma), who supports his friend on a delusional journey. While Wally hates his job as a taxi driver, he needs money to protect his family. He’s able to see beyond himself, even if he’s still addicted to the hustle that bonds him with Marty, who, even with a family on the way, can't settle for a steady income.
There’s a good chance that Marty’s willingness to walk into an endless row of traps is because of his addiction to the unknown. Despite his desire to create his own mythic presence everywhere he goes, there’s no certainty that Marty even knows himself. He says he’s the best, but he never is. He’ll never work for somebody else, and yet spends a lot of screen time begrudgingly doing errands for others. The man has never known peace, and even if he sets out to solve his problems, there’s a chance that he likes the discomfort that is sabotaging his future. Audiences may assume by the end that everything isn’t so much resolved as it is the start of another con. He hasn’t learned much of anything. His triumphs, if they can be called such, are meaningless.
A major reason the film works is less because of its predictable onslaught of casualties and more how Safdie writes the protagonist. There is never a point where he’s not at odds with his environment. Sometimes it’s merely a byproduct of being young or Jewish in an impoverished community, but others are self-inflicted in ways that seem preventable. There’s an act of survival that encourages him to try and diffuse the bomb. If he keeps moving, he’ll avoid chaos. There are a few moments of sweet euphoria that are addictive to watch, but they can never reach pure beauty because the audience is expecting the other shoe to drop. As one conflict reaches a settling point, there are reminders of five other things holding Marty back.
Credit must be given to Chalamet for a career-defining performance. As someone who has been selling himself as the actor of his generation, it’s been hard to find that statement often reputable. With Marty Supreme, he has finally found a role that forces him to find something new in his toolbox and really create a character that feels groundbreaking. Here is a man existing in a frazzled world yet never seems to have an elevated heartrate. He seems in control of his environment despite always feeling displaced. He’s electric to watch play ping pong. The audience is persuaded by his billboard-ready slogans and wouldn’t be opposed to being welcomed into his world. He’s the charismatic, narcissistic con man who one can’t help but admire because at some point his talk needs to pay off. It’s a daunting performance, embodied with every muscle in his body, as he does what he can to warrant his existence as a champion. The irony would be easy to dismiss with the wrong actor, but Chalamet’s Mauser convinces everyone that he's a guy of the “I can fix him” variety, who has a good heart even as he risks isolating himself from basic humanity. He may step on everybody to get an ounce of credulity, but by then the actor’s charisma makes his downfall cathartic. While it helps that Marty Supreme is Safdie and co-writer Ronald Bronstein making a film that is far-flung past galaxy brain, it’s astounding that Chalamet knows how to ground the ideas into something palpable.
At multiple points, Marty could’ve settled for stability. But stability isn’t attractive to a young man chasing fame. Short of the caved-in floors and exploding cars, this is the story of Chalamet as an actor, who is not only creating a promise of who he’ll be for decades to come, but also how he sees his acting process. He’s finding ways to tie everything together. He’s chasing the addictive rush of uncertainty, of being the one who gets to stand atop The Las Vegas Sphere and have blimps promoting his movie fly around. He’s passionate in an infectious way, transcending what’s already seen on screen. He’s the type to make people recount the promotion cycle as a great moment to be alive, to witness the spontaneity. He understood the assignment better than most. He could’ve settled for typical press junkets, but would that make this movie memorable? Probably not. In a time where cinema is struggling for relevancy, he’s the poster child that the industry desperately needs.
And that’s the irony that ties back to that early dinner scene. There is a world where Marty could’ve recognized the value of community and worked towards his goal. He might’ve even been able to go further. The downside is that it would’ve involved a more humble trajectory that saw past superfluous, momentary gain that is more thrilling to watch. Nobody wants to see Marty live comfortably. They need the conflict, the drive that builds character. But what happens when there’s no character there worth redeeming? He’s a great enigma of desperation, driving him further from codependence. Part of it was for the best, but there’s a lot that makes it difficult to endorse his erratic decision-making. He’s the paradox of America all rolled into one of the most charismatic performances of the decade. He’s funny, he’s selfish, he’s tragic, he’s human. Marty doesn’t care what the consumer does with the Wheaties box so long as they bought it in the first place. It means he won, and that’s all that matters.
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