Before I saw the trailers and the rave reviews, I was not too interested in Marty Supreme. I mean, who wants a two-and-a-half hour film about … Ping-Pong?
Ah, but Marty Supreme doesn’t actually focus on that subject. In fact, this is such a far cry from your average “sports underdog” story that it’s really not like any other movie I can think of.
Indeed, with the possible exception of the talented Mr. Ripley, I don’t recall another protagonist who’s so pathologically self-centered — and yet at the same time, so insanely watchable and compelling.
Timothee Chalamet — currently one of our hottest young stars — may well score an Oscar for his galvanizing lead performance as Marty Mauser, a 1950s-era Jewish-American who is bent on becoming the world champion at table-tennis.
Trouble is, he will do almost anything to get there — and he doesn’t care who he hurts, or what it costs.
At the movie’s outset, in a beautifully re-created mid-century Manhattan, Mauser is a fast-talking shoe salesman who’s working only so he can afford a ticket to London, where he plans to compete in the British Open.
But like almost everyone else in his life, Marty’s employer (also an uncle) insists this is a pipe-dream; wanting him to stay on as manager instead, boss-man refuses the payout — at which point Marty commits armed robbery for his rightful wages. And this is only shortly after having illicit sex with a young wife — and unbeknownst to him, getting her pregnant in the act.
And things, shall we say, go downhill from there.
There’s an early Ping-Pong loss; another illicit tryst with a married woman — this one a slightly washed-up film star played by Gwyneth Paltrow; a ridiculous expenditure of other people’s money; a near-fatal mishap in a Manhattan fleabag (caused by Marty’s refusal to follow hotel rules); a gangster’s lost dog and a Ping-Pong hustle, both of which quickly become lethal; a shotgun shoot-out; domestic abuse and violent assault; lies, lies and more lies by Marty — with every scenario endangering the lives of folks he’s supposed to care about.
And since all of this is perpetrated solely to get him to Japan for a table-tennis rematch, I got to the point where I didn’t know whether I wanted him to win or lose that climactic bout. The loss, it seemed to me, would make an apt come-uppance for the damage he’s done through his naked, reckless and brazen ambition.
Yet despite all this, Marty Supreme is propulsive, “can’t-look-away” movie-making. The performances are unilaterally excellent, with Chalamet doing his own playing in the dazzlingly acrobatic Ping-Pong scenes.
Paltrow is as watchable as ever — and I was riveted by Kevin O’Leary as her character’s slimy but hard-headed husband; this is all the more remarkable as O’Leary — despite some Canadian political activity and TV work (Shark Tank, for one) — is appearing here in his only movie role to date.
But more important than the film’s execution — with Oscar-worthy direction by Josh Safdie, who also co-wrote — the story tempers and contextualizes Marty’s immoral striving. To wit: There is not a single character who doesn’t act exactly the same way. They are all selfish liars, they all have a scam, they’re all working for some self-centered goal — the more so in O’Leary’s case, as his supposedly principled tycoon is cozying up (strictly for profit) with the same Japanese nation that killed his son during World War II.
In this way, when Marty demands a final match that is played simply for its own sake — with no trophy, no prize and no monetary award — it becomes virtually the only moment in the film that is without ulterior motive.
Translation: It’s OK to hope that Marty wins.
I won’t tell you whether that happens; but I can say that his portrayer will likely take Best Actor at the Oscars in March.
At least I know I want him to win that one.
