Critic Reviews

Marty Supreme rapturously reprises a siren song that transcends any single American era, beckoning hustlers to heed its call.

The pure craziness is a marvel.

Safdie’s daring choices merge with the best performance of Timothee Chalamet’s career for a story of a man who thinks he’s the best in the world at something, and that thinking is as important as actually being it.

The result is a roman candle of a movie that feels like it was shot out of a cannon, despite being burdened with the gravity of an implausible dream; a totemic Jewish-American odyssey about where such dreams come from, where they might lead to, and where they’re liable to come apart at the seams along the way.

This is unquestionably the best performance of Timothée Chalamet's career, and Marty Supreme is one of the best movies of the year. I can't wait to watch it again.

For its entire two and a half hours – which whips past in what feels like mere minutes – Safdie’s film had me vibrating like a tuning fork. It’s a joyous salute to life’s beautiful cacophony.

Though its far-reaching ambitions and many stylistic juxtapositions might make it seem like the work of two (or more!) filmmakers, Marty Supreme isn’t just a masterpiece, but feels vividly like a cohesive — and singular — vision.

One of the year’s few masterpieces.

Josh Safdie follows brother Benny’s The Smashing Machine with his own sports biopic, of sorts. This uncut gem dazzles, from its spotlit table-tennis contests to its dark portrait of American dreams.

Marty Supreme is a rare film that will become a watershed moment in cinematic history, in the same way that Taxi Driver and Pulp Fiction did. It will be spoken of in reverent tones in years to come, and will be endlessly studied and then copied by lesser filmmakers.