Marty Supreme: Conviction as Currency
Josh Safdie's new film is ostensibly about table tennis. It's actually about the psychology of conviction – the same delusion that separates great founders from cautionary tales, and the terrifying truth that you often can't tell which is which until it's too late.
The "Uncut Gems with ping pong" comparison writes itself, and every lazy critic has already made it. But that framing undersells what Safdie's doing here without his brother. This isn't repetition. It's refinement.
Timothée Chalamet spent seven years training table tennis for this role. Travelling with a table between Dune, Wonka, A Complete Unknown. That's the kind of commitment that borders on pathological. Which is exactly what Marty Mauser requires. Which is exactly what founders require. This is the performance that finally silences the "pretty boy" dismissals.
And here's the thing about Marty: no matter how bad his life gets, no matter how many debts he's dodging or bridges he's burning, the man always has the best outfit in the room. Safdie gets it. The hustle isn't just about winning. It's about looking like you've already won.
The temporal displacement is the key. A 1950s story, shot with the jittery handheld grammar of 1970s Cassavetes, soundtracked by 1980s post-punk. Public Image Ltd. Peter Gabriel. Tears for Fears. Marty himself is unstuck in time, chasing a version of greatness that hasn't been invented yet. I've met this founder. You have too.
Darius Khondji deserves his own paragraph. Vintage Panavision glass, 35mm stock, a camera that feels perpetually one step behind Chalamet. The basement ping pong club sequences are lit like Caravaggio by way of a back-alley poker game.
The casting borders on performance art. Tyler, the Creator lands every beat. Kevin O'Leary. Penn Jillette unrecognisable. Fran Drescher. Sandra Bernhard. Abel Ferrara lurking in the margins. New York shows up in all its weird, famous faces.
What stays with me: this is a film about a man burdened by how great he thinks he's supposed to be. The American dream stripped to its delusional core. The conviction that belief itself is enough. It doesn't resolve the contradiction. It just holds it up to the light.
I went back for a second viewing in IMAX before the theatrical run ends. Not because I missed something. Because some films demand to be experienced at full volume, in a dark room, with strangers. The kind of film that rewards surrender. This is one of them.
Go see it. In a cinema. Loud.