Marty Supreme (dir. Josh Safdie)
FINE! I’LL ADMIT IT! THAT LITTLE TWINK TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET, WITH HIS STUPID NAME WITH THAT STUPID THING OVER THE FIRST E AND THAT STUPID SECOND E THAT MAKES IT SO HE DOESN’T NEED A Y IS A GODDAMN FANTASTIC ACTOR AND HE’S GREAT IN EVERYTHING AND HE CONSTANTLY PICKS INTERESTING PROJECTS AND HE’S GOING TO HAVE AN INSANELY LONG AND SUCCESSFUL AND ARTISTICALLY SATISFYING CAREER AND HE HAS ALREADY ACHIEVED MORE BY EVERY METRIC THAN I EVER WILL AND HE’S LIKE HALF MY AGE AND I WANNA HATE HIM BUT I CANT CUZ HES UNFUCKINGDENIABLE.
I WILL HAVE TO LIVE WITH THIS. I WILL HAVE TO MAKE PEACE WITH THE FACT THAT HES ABOUT TO WIN ONE OF THE MOST WELL-DESERVED BEST ACTOR OSCARS IN HISTORY. I WILL HAVE TO JUST EXIST IN A WORLD WHERE HIS KNIFE DOES NOT CHIP OR SHATTER BUT MY BACK INEVITABLY WILL. IN FACT, MY BACK HURTS RIGHT NOW AT THIS VERY MOMENT. YES, THAT WAS A DUNE REFERENCE, WANNA FIGHT ABOUT IT?!?
Well, I can’t. My back hurts.
In Marty Supreme, the Josh side of 2025’s Safdie split, which doubles as the capper for their unofficial “extremely intense men of New York trilogy,” Chalamet plays Marty Mauser, a young man who has his entire future staked on his impressive ping pong skills. He’s one of the best players in the world and he knows it. And if he can manage to stay financially afloat until he can flip his passion into some cash, he’ll become a god amongst men, or so he thinks. In typical Safdie fashion, this intense, high-energy film chronicles Marty’s volatile existence as he borrows, steals, cheats, schmoozes, and very very occasionally begs in order to stay ahead of everyone he’s indebted to, while also giving in to his insatiable appetite for vice — which inevitably puts him into even more debt, both financial and social.
In a lot of ways the film is inspiring: we should all have a drive to chase our dreams like Marty. But it’s also a cautionary tale, and one that feels right at home in an age where rampant capitalism has turned the American dream into a global punchline. It places the viewer into an interesting place relative to the protagonist. On the one hand, we want to see a guy accomplish his dream. On the other, fuck that cocky little prick. Who does he think he is to treat everyone around him as if they’re entirely disposable, even as they bend over backwards to give him the benefit of the doubt? This is helped by an incredible supporting performance from Shark Tank’s Kevin O’Leary, as Milton Rockwell, a very rich man who sees Marty’s potential, but cannot abide the clash of egos that comes from any potential cooperation between the two. Rockwell is certainly the film’s antagonist (as are the hands of time), but he’s also outright villainous, and he delivers maybe the finest piece of dialogue in any film this year. You can ask me what it is after you see the movie.
Safdie, working from a script he co-wrote with longtime collaborator Ronald Bronstein (see his film Frownland if you can get your hands on it), keeps the film ratcheted up to 11 for the entirety of its lengthy runtime, punctuated with a murderer’s row of anachronistic needledrops that had me running to my music streamer of choice immediately as the film ended. Yet for all the film’s breakneck pacing, it is not style over substance. Even with the taut pacing, there’s plenty of room for strong character work (Gwyneth Paltrow is better than she’s ever been), and thoughtful musings on the American Dream, performative masculinity, and even early 20th century Jewish identity. I’m not lying when I say the film’s final moment brought forth unexpected tears, and not just because of the sudden deceleration from a movie that cruised along at 500 mph for 2.5 hours.
The epic, masterfully constructed film features supporting performances from Tyler the Creator, Penn Jillette, and relative newcomer Odessa A’zion, as Marty’s better-but-maybe-not-that-much-better half.
And goddamnit, that Chalamet kid has the goods. I will die mad about this.
Song Sung Blue (dir. Craig Brewer)
Based on the documentary of the same name, Song Sung Blue tells the tale of Lightning and Thunder, two musicians who made a modest name for themselves as a Neil Diamond tribute act. Based on the documentary of the same name, Craig Brewer’s energetic drama hits all of the familiar beats of a music biopic, but does so in frequently unexpected and surprising ways. One could be forgiven for seeing the ads for this film, especially those tinged with Christmas flair, and dismissing it as sparkly pablum the likes of which you’ve seen a hundred times before … but one would be wrong to do so. Not only is this a rousing and frequently moving film, but it features a duo of exceptional central performances, most notably from Kate Hudson, who I’d venture to say is doing career best work.
The film begins before the couple meets. Mike “Lightning” Sardina is a man with a song in his heart, but no real outlet for what he can do. He pays his mortgage (on a house directly under the flight path of a nearby airport) with novelty music gigs, which typically require him to don the drag of a big name musician. He doesn’t love it, but keeps him busy and, more importantly, sober. We get a sense of a troubled past, as indicated by his oddball persona and his divorcee status. He’s friendly and warm, but there’s a darkness in him.
His luck changes when a gig places him in the path of Claire (soon to be “Thunder,” soon to be Sardina), a fellow musician in a similar situation. The two songbirds quickly fall in love, and despite Mike’s hesitance to disrespect the great Neil Diamond by deigning to cover any of his tunes, the duo soon finds their niche doing exactly that, leading to much more success than novelty acts typically find.
All the familiar beats of a music biopic are hit: addiction, tragedy, finding strength and redemption through song — yet the way the film hits these beats breaks the formula in novel ways, and does so without feeling contrived or manipulative. It’s a true story after all. I’d like to see the source documentary (it’s hard to find) to see what, if anything, was generated or rearranged for the narrative adaptation to work as well as it does, but I suspect it’s likely rather accurate to reality. Brewer is a filmmaker who seems drawn to stories about music and identity, and I always emerge from his films feeling as if I saw a pocket of the world that exists just outside my own experiences — and which, prior to the film, I understood largely through stereotype. Song Sung Blue is no exception to this. Viewers will emerge with a much better understanding of the specificities of an industry that exists in the shadows of giants by its very design, as well as of the larger-than-life characters who are drawn to such vocations.
The musical sequences are electrifying, some in montage form, and others in real-time performance capture, and both highlight to duo of talents at the films center, but it’s the supporting characters who really draw out the emotion. It’s a film about what performance means to others, after all. Highest marks go to Ella Anderson as Rachel, Claire’s daughter who begins the film as one of Mike’s biggest skeptics, but who undergoes a profound maturation over the course of the film. Her role in the family is often thankless, and she frequently finds herself as the one level head in a room full of flaky artists. Props as well to Hudson Henley as her little brother Dana, as well as King Princess as Angelina, Mike’s daughter who knows her father better than he knows himself.
And then there’s Jim Belushi, who draws consistent laughs as the road manager with a heart of gold, and a capability that transcends his lack of communication skills.
Song Sung Blue pulls no punches as it rocks and rolls its way toward an inevitable finale, but once again, even though we all know where it’s headed, it the journey that matters.
YA KNOW, LIKE LIFE ::brain explodes from being too smart::
