Disgraced Prime Minister Boris Johnson once infamously tried to claim the invention of table tennis for the English using the archaic term ‘wiff waff’ in a mix of faux whimsy and imperial bluster. Josh Safdie’s MARTY SUPREME is arguably no more interested in table tennis than Johnson was. Still, it uses the sport as the driving force behind an altogether more engaging mix of stress, narrative propulsion, and its American protagonist’s self-aggrandisement.
Timothee Chalamet leads as Marty Mauser, a supremely talented table tennis player determined to make his mark on the world stage and drive the growth of the sport in the United States, which “fills stadiums overseas”. His lack of resources and support hinders his attempts to compete in London and Tokyo (as does a talented Japanese opponent), and the pursuit of his goal leaves emotional and physical destruction in his wake. A revolving door of supporting characters – family, multiple lovers, financial backers, opponents – weaves into, out of, and back into Marty’s journey with dizzying frequency.
The unrelenting, stressful vibe of MARTY SUPREME will be familiar to anyone who has seen, in particular, GOOD TIME or UNCUT GEMS, which Josh Safdie directed with his brother Benny. He also again shares writing credits with Ronald Bronstein. Much like that pair of films, MARTY SUPREME rarely stops to take a breath, and when it does, the pause is precisely that; a single breath, before roaring off into a new sequence. These deviations sometimes have a shaggy-dog quality, but the film eventually transforms them into a purposeful greyhound chasing an elusive rabbit.
“…the film feels like a combination of the trajectories of GOOD TIME and UNCUT GEMS, blending the kineticism of the former with the twitchy anxiety of the latter. The major differentiating factor is the lead performance…”
Safdie’s film is relentlessly confrontational, placing Marty in situations from which his only viable extrication thrusts a new threat into view, before looping back as the various threads tighten into a noose. The technical elements deftly support the script in this regard. The editing is frenetic when needed, but it is also capable of intense focus on Marty. The camera follows him through spaces and often uses tight framing to evoke Marty’s metaphorical tunnel vision, which frequently leaves him side-swiped by re-emerging threats and comeuppance for earlier transgressions. The table tennis matches flick between the competitors in a tense, adrenaline-driven manner while always feeling a half-step behind the players’ feats. Another electronically driven score from Daniel Lopatin lends a sense of accelerating delirium to Marty’s maniacal drive. In this respect, the film feels like a combination of the trajectories of GOOD TIME and UNCUT GEMS, blending the kineticism of the former with the twitchy anxiety of the latter. The major differentiating factor is the lead performance, and the naive arrogance with which Chalamet imbues Marty.
“…when the camera lingers on the custom-made, orange ‘Marty Supreme’ table tennis ball, the ‘Made in America’ that embellishes it feels provocative. Marty embodies the uniquely destructive effects of an especially American exceptionalism and winning at all costs.”
Marty possesses talent, but also an ego and drive well in excess of it, which results in him bulldozing his way across anyone he perceives as impeding his rise. Marty disregards responsibility from the beginning; we quite literally see his sperm fertilise an egg from his married lover, Rachel, in a bizarre opening sequence, before he continually neglects and exploits Rachel’s sympathies. He annoys and abuses family, patrons and believers in his ability. Those close to home suffer the consequences of his determination to succeed globally, and his arrogance and self-confidence irritate those on the global stage he looks to prevail against. Against this backdrop, when the camera lingers on the custom-made, orange ‘Marty Supreme’ table tennis ball, the ‘Made in America’ that embellishes it feels provocative. Marty embodies the uniquely destructive effects of an especially American exceptionalism and winning at all costs. He glorifies his own personal bootstrap mythology to Kay (an excellent Gwyneth Paltrow), a former actress and another extramarital lover, and his ironclad belief in his own rise to stardom recalls manifest destiny thinking.
The film perhaps demands one or two too many deviations in its 150-minute runtime. As certain characters, such as Abel Ferrara’s vengeful dog owner and Kevin O’Leary (another remarkable performance Safdie has gleaned from a non-actor) as financial backer Milton Rockwell, cycle back into the narrative, the film threatens to repeat itself. However, the final act offers a catharsis that rewards endurance.
Nevertheless, Marty’s obnoxious wit, relentless drive and talent draw you into his story. By the time the film finishes batting balls at you and falls to the floor in exhaustion, the chaos left in its path is at once maddening and impressive.