I’m really in pursuit of greatness,” Timotheé Chalamet announced in February 2025 while accepting the Screen Actor’s Guild Award for Male Actor in a Leading Role. “I know people don’t usually talk like that, but I want to be one of the greats.” Chalamet’s statement was earnest enough, if not a little self-serious (he was being recognised for James Mangold’s Bob Dylan biopic A Complete Unknown). But watching him in Josh Safdie’s Marty Supreme, one gets a better sense of what Chalamet was talking about. Not quite 30 at the time of writing, his career has been defined by rave reviews and interesting choices; he has a CV most actors his age would kill for. And he’s hungry, enthusiastic, clearly in the business for the love of the game, moving more like a sportsman than a brooding actor. Not unlike Marty Mauser, the street-smart sweet-talking table tennis prodigy who swears he’s got a one way ticket to the top – if only he could stop getting in his own way.
From Daddy Longlegs to Uncut Gems, charming but self-sabotaging hustlers are the Safdies’ domain, but Marty Supreme sees older brother Josh step out alone for the first time since his 2008 solo debut, The Pleasure of Being Robbed. He has been tinkering away with long-time collaborator Ronald Bronstein – it’s been a long six years since Howie Ratner terrorised New York City’s Diamond District, but at least it gave Chalamet ample time to work on his forehand. His ambition is infectious, even as Marty’s slinging slingbacks to well-heeled New Yorkers while he scrapes together the dough for a plane ticket to the world ping pong championships in London. But Marty’s not merely going to compete – he’s going to win.
His single-minded determination puts him at odds with his overbearing mother (Fran Drescher) and adoring (married) girlfriend Rachel (Odessa A’Zion), but at least he can rely on his partner-in-crime Wally (Tyler Okonma, aka Tyler the Creator) and “business partner” Dion (Luke Manley) who’s helping him develop a range of custom “Marty Supreme” ping pong balls. It’s 1952 on the Lower East Side and Marty’s manifesting some fuckin’ destiny, Daniel Lopatin’s keyed-up ’80s score giving way to New Order and Alphaville for this street smart rapscallion who’s always two steps ahead. It’s little wonder he’s able to charm his way into the bed of a retired (married) actress (Gwyneth Paltrow), or that eventually his antics send him on a collision course with a shady individual (Abel Ferrara, who else?). The breathless energy of Marty Supreme is undeniable, from its whipsmart dialogue to the genuinely thrilling ping pong games – it’s somehow slick and scrappy, indebted to such down’n’dirty NYC forefathers as Ferrara, Scorsese and Cassavetes.
Although the third act sags a little under the weight of Marty’s hubris, it’s impossible to deny Safdie is working at a remarkable technical level. Just as Good Time and Uncut Gems played to the strengths of their stars while also transforming them, Marty Supreme challenges Chalamet and he meets the play with fleet footwork. But where the film differs most is in its outlook – as sunny and irrepressible as Marty himself.
