Marty Supreme

Marty Supreme is a frantic, kinetic, frenzied American epic and might be somewhere in the ‘best of the decade’ list by the time we reach 2030.

Josh Safdie’s pseudo-sports non-biopic about semi-fictional table tennis player Marty Mauser is actually a treatise on the American Dream and all of its foibles.

You can indulge as much or as little metaphor as you like on this tale. In some respects, the more you think of it in those terms the better it’ll seem (like There Will Be Blood, among many others, before it) but it’s also just a rip-roaring film irrespective of any deeper meaning you take from it.

Injected with the same constant motion and sweaty tension of the Safdie’s Uncut Gems, its two and a half hours absolutely fly by in a series of riotous set pieces and exciting sporting scenes.

The absolutely stunning score and 80’s soundtrack somehow perfectly complement its 50’s setting and the luscious, grainy film stock cinematography.

Timothee Chalamet anchors the film in a sure-to-be-awards-bestowed performance and he’s perfectly complemented by a brilliant supporting cast.

Everything here is just filmmaking excellence, delivered with that perfect metaphorical slant that doesn’t preach, takes a little bit of extra reading and contemplation and will doubtless reward repeat viewing.

It is very much its own uncut gem. Absolutely supreme.

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