Marty Supreme, directed by Josh Safdie, is the latest rendition of a recent cinematic favorite: the egotist’s crazed gasp for success. It’s a lovely genre and a homegrown American one: like Ahab, Marty would strike the sun if it insulted him. But its DNA is weakening in the digital age. After There Will Be Blood (2007), each successive link in the chain—Black Swan (2010), Whiplash (2014), Uncut Gems (2019, also directed by Safdie)—has become gradually less interested in the costs of obsession and more interested in its charismatic appeals. We’ve now reached a point of psychological and moral implausibility: Marty is a jerk, a liar, a danger to everyone around him, and, when all is said and done…a joyous dude? The final triumph is a false note, yet no one has noticed, or maybe no one has cared; either way, it seems we’ve drifted toward a cynical longing for a Marty Supreme: a young man who, at least, has moxie, has balls. When a character remarks toward the end that Marty will never be happy, it passes as petty snark. But it’s true. We just don’t want to see Ahab go down with the whale anymore. At least he got off the couch and stopped with the damn video games!
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