Stars: 3/5

Imagine Taiwan during the rainy season, except it’s 1950s New York, and the rain droplets are all ping-pong balls. That’s how it felt watching “Marty Supreme” (2025): pandemonium to the most exaggerated definition of the word. Even as the opening credits begin, we are immediately plunged into a highly graphic depiction of our protagonist Marty Mauser’s sperm fertilizing an egg. 

To play the devil’s advocate (and yes, I mean devil because only masochists enjoyed this movie), I can see how the film’s hectic energy and unpredictable plot may be riveting for some. Individually speaking, though, I despised the erraticism of “Marty Supreme.” Narrative reversal, when done right, ultimately adds intrigue to a story. However, the cyclical format of the movie (Marty inches closer to his goal, but then a jarring, unforeseen circumstance forces him back to square one) made it disengaging and overly drawn-out.

Another bullet from Chekhov’s gun left unfired was the lack of consequences Marty faces. Throughout the film, we come to know Marty as an egomaniac who believes himself destined for ping-ponging greatness. He callously exploits everyone around him at the mere thought of leaving the gritty streets of the Lower East Side. And what does he receive in return for his behavior: a beautiful partner, a darling newborn and a clean slate. Not only is it highly implausible that a child is going to magically cure Marty of his crippling narcissism and clawing need for fame, but also his character arc had not developed nearly enough to deserve any form of redemption or happy ending.

So, though I would very much like to have the viral “Marty Supreme” windbreaker merch, know that it’s only because Bill Nye wore it first, not because I enjoyed this film in any way.

Stars: 3/5