'Marty Supreme' Review: A Mad-cap Safdie Sprint to Greatness With Chalamet at his Best
- Dan Bremner
- 20 hours ago
- 4 min read
By Dan Bremner - December 29, 2025
Marty Supreme was one of my most anticipated films of the year, largely because Uncut Gems remains my favourite film of the past decade. With Ben and Josh Safdie splitting off to tackle separate sports projects, this felt like an unfair but unavoidable litmus test of which brother “has the juice.” While Ben’s The Smashing Machine deserves far more credit than it received, Marty Supreme makes one thing abundantly clear: Josh Safdie is the architect of that uniquely stressful, vein-popping, anxiety-cinema energy. This is another masterclass in watching a deeply flawed antihero make increasingly catastrophic decisions while you irrationally root for them every step of the way.
Timothée Chalamet delivers what is very likely a career-best performance. He’s feral, hilarious, seductive, and permanently on the verge of self-destruction, fully committing to Marty Mauser’s delusions of grandeur and unshakable belief in his own destiny. There’s a physicality and confidence here that feels entirely earned, from the hyper-focused table tennis training to the twitchy, fast-talking hustler energy. It’s the kind of performance that feels both meticulously constructed and completely out of control, and it’s impossible to look away from. Genuinely could be the best performance I've seen all year.
It’s impossible not to compare Marty Mauser to Uncut Gem’s Howard Ratner, and the film openly invites that comparison. Like Howard, Marty is a compulsive gambler, not necessarily with money, but with his own life. Every interaction is a risk, every opportunity a double-or-nothing play, every warning sign something to be ignored in favour of the next adrenaline hit. Both men are powered by delusion, charisma, and an almost supernatural ability to talk themselves into disaster. The key difference is the setting: Marty’s obsession with table tennis gives the film a bizarre, almost screwball edge, making his spiral feel both absurd and terrifying in equal measure.
Josh Safdie’s direction is pure propulsion. Shot gloriously on 35mm (which I saw on a stunning 70mm presentation), the film looks absolutely stunning, capturing a grimy, romanticised 1950s New York that feels alive and hostile in equal measure. The pacing is relentless, mimicking the rhythm of a ping-pong match itself, volleys of dialogue, movement, and decisions fired back and forth at dizzying speed. At just over two and a half hours, it’s impressive how rarely the film drags, and when it does briefly sag, the third act comes roaring back with such ferocity that it more than justifies the endurance test.
The ping-pong sequences themselves are electric, even if there is far less of it than you'd expect. Safdie shoots them with incredible energy and propulsion (The closest we'll ever get to a Rockstar's Table Tennis adaptation), with the same intensity and stakes as the life-or-death situations. The film repeatedly escalates into genuinely unhinged territory: sudden, shocking bursts of violence, kidnapping a dog from mobsters, a perfectly timed bathtub jump scare that nearly stopped my heart, and Marty casually sleeping with faded Hollywood starlets as if it’s all just part of the hustle. The tonal whiplash is deliberate and intoxicating, constantly keeping you off balance and creating such an insane “Anything can happen” atmosphere all throughout.
As expected, Daniel Lopatin’s electronic score is phenomenal, pulsing with nervous energy, while the anachronistic ’80s needle drops inject the film with style and unpredictability. The editing is razor-sharp, and the cinematography makes every cramped apartment, smoky bar, and sweat-drenched match feel claustrophobic and alive. The supporting cast is equally strong, with Gwyneth Paltrow delivering a surprisingly sensual and restrained performance, Abel Ferrara as a mobster who just wants his dog back and Odessa A’zion and others adding texture to Marty’s increasingly chaotic orbit, then there's your Safdie roundup of non-actors (Including “This Fucking Guy” from Uncut Gems) inhabiting New York to make for naturalistic characters that surround Marty.
Even as the constantly aggressive and tense tone is the film’s greatest strength, it is also its minor weakness. The constant escalation and relentless chaos can be exhausting, and there are moments where the repetition threatens to dull the impact. It’s deliberately draining, sometimes to a fault, and not every gamble fully pays off. But when it works, and it works far more often than not, it’s exhilarating throughout nearly all of its 150 minutes runtime, which locks in with the astonishing third-act that closes things out in a surprisingly moving way for a Safdie film.
Marty Supreme is thrilling, stressful, hilarious, and deeply uncomfortable in the best possible way. It’s not an underdog sports story, and it’s not just another Safdie anxiety spiral, it’s a madcap character study powered by ego, obsession, and the delusional thrill of believing you’re destined for greatness. Josh Safdie absolutely has the juice.
'Marty Supreme' is out now in UK cinemas.
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