Words by JANE CROWTHER
Timothée Chalamet has already been testing the tensile nature of likeability with his recent promo stunts for this frantic, nervy sorta-triumph of the underdog story from Josh Safdie. With his viral marketing strategy (blimp, orange, ‘schwep!’) and unapologetic declarations about striving for greatness, Chalamet has been prepping audiences for his turn as fifties New York grifter Marty Mauser, a bombastic motormouth who wants to change his humdrum life as a shoe clerk for fame on the international stage as a table tennis champion. Marty will do anything (and anyone) to get that dream; his childhood married sweetheart (Odessa A’zion) or the movie star wife of a prospective sponsor (Gwyneth Paltrow), leading his bestie (Tyler, The Creator) into danger or pissing off a mobster (Abel Ferrara) with a beloved dog. His exploits leave him running as fast as his mouth, always one dollar away from triumph or disaster.
Written by Safdie and Ronald Bronstein and loosely inspired by real-life table tennis star Marty Reisman, Marty Supreme is a tale of America, of ambition, of audacity, of balls – orange ping pongs and the cajones required to con. As Marty races through Manhattan streets, to London (where he represents the USA on a shoestring), to dangerous New Jersey hinterlands and onward to Japan for an all-on-the-line bout, the film unpacks the psyche of a winner… who actually doesn’t win anything. Marty is a mythomanic whose tenacity and self-belief moulds reality, his want naked and feral. Modern parallels can be drawn between American foreign policy, the prostrating of contestants on talent shows telling judges they’ll ‘give it 110 percent’, the performative nature of social media existence.
Marty isn’t ethical or good, but he’s multi-dimensional and magnetic – whether he’s falling through a ceiling in a bath or acing a ping pong into a fruit bowl. There’s something to admire in his endless drive for success despite the odds being stacked against him. Much of that charm is down to Chalamet’s ballsy and unapologetic performance, rattling through the picture like a live wire, his activities soundtracked by anachronistic needle drops. The more Marty fails, the harder he tries, the more sure of his eminence he becomes. The verve and swagger of the kid is hypnotic, impressive.
Directed with kinetic energy by Safdie, watching Marty Supreme is like playing one of the matches so entertainingly essayed in the film. When the lights go up, the feeling is one of exhaustion and relief. And of certainty; that this is Chalamet’s best work of his career, that he is pursuing greatness as fervently as Marty. It is award-winning stuff and worthy of a big orange blimp. Schwep!
Pictures courtesy of A24/Central Pictures
Marty Supreme is in cinemas now
