Year: 2026

February 16, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

A confident, unafraid filmmaker is a very powerful thing from the moment the audience sits down until the final frame.

There’s a different energy in the theater when it’s obvious that an auteur isn’t holding anything back.

Much like the film’s protagonist, “Promising Young Woman” and “Saltburn” writer/director Emerald Fennell relentlessly throws caution to the wind with her singular, darkly audacious take on Emily Brontë’s classic novel, “Wuthering Heights.”

Fennell carves her way through the original Brontë novel like a swift, assured swordsman, not merely adapting, but sculpting the novel’s core – keeping only what fuels her vision and casting aside the rest.

The emerging auteur doesn’t treat Brontë’s work as sacred source material, akin to how Yorgos Lanthimos twisted English history with his darkly comic, Oscar winning dramedy “The Favourite,” Instead, Fennell remolds the narrative like clay, reshaping the pieces that serve her interpretation and discarding anything that does not.

Here decision to subvert expectations begins with the opening title card sequence, which leaves viewers suspended in pitch black, listening to the strained groans of a struggling man that initially suggest something far more intimate than what is ultimately revealed. In an instant, the darkness gives way to the stark image of a public hanging – desire replaced by death, suggestion by spectacle.

There are shades of Tim Burton in the exaggerated costuming, heightened production design, and boldly saturated color palette. Fennell and director of photography Linus Sandgren push the cinematography toward something expressionistic, metamorphosing what might have been a straightforward Victorian novel into her own postmodern fever dream.

Fennell’s “Wuthering Heights” prioritizes bold iconography over traditional narrative mechanics. Scenes unfold like striking theatrical tableaus, and the expansive VistaVision format enhances that grandeur. It’s as if paintings on a museum wall burst into life – bold colors, emotional intensity, and a sensory spectacle that favors feeling over narrative.

This stark contrast will likely resonate with those open to reinvention, while those seeking a more faithful adaptation may grapple with its audaciousness.

Margot Robbie brings both gravitas and deeply felt emotion to her performance as Catherine. While clearly layered and textured through careful consideration, there remains enough of a free spirit within Robbie’s interpretation to make her Catherine more dynamic than one might traditionally expect from a romantic heroine. Fennell’s screenplay does not always directly articulate Catherine’s internal conflict between a marriage of convenience and her enduring love for Heathcliff, yet Robbie finds ways to emote those tensions physically through posture, glance, and restraint even when the dialogue does not grant her the words outright.

Grounded in stoicism and restrained passion, Jacob Elordiis far more elusive as Heathcliff and his performance withholds as much as it reveals, leaving audiences with little immediate emotional footing.

This imbalance creates an uneven chemistry between the two leads as Robbie’s portrayal pulses with visible nuance, while Elordi’s remains guarded, resulting in moments of unbridled passion that feel, at times, slightly inauthentic rather than inevitable.

The film’s ensemble cast also delivers strong work with Shazad Latif as Edgar Linton and Alison Oliver as Isabella balancing the world of the film, while Oscar nominee Hong Chau’s turn as Catherine’s close friend and assistant Nelly delivers perhaps the strongest performance of her career.

On paper, “Wuthering Heights” should be a formidable awards-season contender. Yet its early February release and divisive storytelling may prove a bridge too far for some audiences.

However, the film’s technical achievements – from lavish production design and daring costuming to Sandgren’s sweeping VistaVision cinematography and the score by Anthony Willis alongside Charli XCX – could very well find themselves in contention a year from now.

While it will likely be one of the more divisive cinematic experiences of the year, “Wuthering Heights” is a spectacle of original auteur filmmaking that demands to be seen in the best format possible, where its scale and audacity feel at home inside the twisted fever dream of Fennell’s imagination.

Cinephiles entering the theater with an open mind, ready to celebrate creative risk-taking and bold iconography, should experience “Wuthering Heights” unbridled on the big screen rather than confined to a restrained home viewing.

February 9, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Few recent international Oscar nominees arrive with as much fanfare as “The Secret Agent,” a film that’s less James Bond and more Big Brother.

A Best Picture contender and one of the most prominent global films of the season, the latest political drama from writer-director Kleber Mendonça Filho continues a moment of heightened Academy attention toward Brazilian cinema.

Set during the 1970s era of Brazil’s military dictatorship, “The Secret Agent” follows Armando, a researcher forced into hiding from state corruption amid unspoken personal loss. Returning to his hometown for refuge, the film follows Armando in more casual daily life as outside forces tighten the noose around him.

Filho subverts audience expectation by making “The Secret Agent” a slow-burn drama that’s largely inaccessible to American audiences unfamiliar with the Brazilian political landscape of the time and the narrative slowly circles downward to a more compelling conclusion that casual viewers may have checked out of long before.

Oscar nominee and Golden Globe winner Wagner Moura brings quiet control in a considered, internal turn as Armando, grounding scenes through posture, timing, and a constant alertness to his surroundings. While he brings a level of authenticity and restraint to the part, the loose screenplay never provides Moura with enough character development to create a protagonist viewers want to rally behind.

The film’s large ensemble cast does well to help build the world of “The Secret Agent,” though only a limited turn by Udo Kier in his final role as a Holocaust survivor assumed to be a Nazi fugitive standing out among the crowd.

From the director’s chair, Filho leans heavily into the cinematic aesthetic of 1970s political espionage and paranoia films, with strong cinematography by Evgenia Alexandrova and a bright color palette truly emerging on screen to give audiences the feeling of a blazing Brazilian summer heatwave.

There’s clear homage to films like “Three Days of the Condor,” “All The President’s Men,” and “The Conversation” throughout in the visual palette of the film, with a score and sound design meant to slowly ramp up the tension.

Surprisingly, one of Filho’s key influences is Steven Spielberg’s 1975 blockbuster “Jaws,” with shark attacks driving the impetus for a Brazilian folklore tale about a ‘hairy leg’ that attacked residents in coastal town showing up in “The Secret Agent” like a strange fever dream. This sequence, while clearly within the tone of the film, will likely overwhelmingly disengage most American viewers as Filho doesn’t give proper context in advance.

The film’s languishing 160-minute running time doesn’t help matters much either as the slow burn style Filho leans into borders close to two hours before more traditional thriller elements provide a brief urgency that makes audiences want to reengage with the film.

American audiences may also bristle at “The Secret Agent” after having seen “I’m Still Here,” Brazil’s previous Best Picture nominee which debuted recently on Netflix and streamlines its narrative to invite audiences in who may not know much about Brazil’s political history and civil unrest. Even watching “I’m Still Here” before to get a general lay of the land doesn’t fully provide American viewers with enough context to understand Filho’s film on a first viewing.

“The Secret Agent” could still prove to be Brazil’s second straight win for an International Feature Oscar, though it shares front runner status with the Norwegian entry “Sentimental Value.” Moura’s Golden Globe win is indicative of the film’s international appeal, though he remains an outside challenger in a Best Actor race likely to be won by Timothee Chalamet for “Marty Supreme.”

As “The Secret Agent” moves out of theaters to on-demand home viewing, it feels best suited to patient cinephiles willing to engage with the slow burn nature of Filho’s film but even the film’s Oscar prospects don’t demand a rush to see it before Oscar night.

February 1, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Sometimes it’s difficult, when sitting in a darkened theater or scrolling through a streaming platform, to remember where movies truly begin.

Audiences become so immersed in the worlds filmmakers create that it’s easy to forget each film originates as a simple story, written long before it is visualized, and shaped by a director imagining those words unfolding in motion.

Rarely is a film so explicit about its storybook origins as Clint Bentley’s quietly searing drama “Train Dreams,” recently nominated for four Academy Awards including Best Picture.

Based on Denis Johnson’s novella, “Train Dreams” traces the life of Robert Grainier, a solitary logger in the American Northwest whose existence is shaped by labor, fleeting connections, and an ever-changing country that seems perpetually just out of reach.

Much like the man it chronicles, Robert’s story is told with simplicity and majesty through an observational, unseen third-person narrator, voiced with calm restraint by Will Patton. The narration creates the sensation of reading the novella itself, as if Robert’s world is being imagined into existence in real time rather than traditionally dramatized.

It’s a deliberate choice by Bentley and co-writer Greg Kwedar, one that evokes a natural, Malick-inspired sense of beauty and reflection. “Train Dreams” rarely expresses emotion in conventional cinematic terms.

Instead, insight into Robert’s psyche arrives through narration and the stoic, increasingly worn physicality of Joel Edgerton, who delivers an Oscar-worthy performance grounded almost entirely in restraint.

Robert’s fragile psyche is irrevocably altered early in the film by an unexpected act of violence, an event that crystallizes the notion that his indecisions will haunt him indefinitely.

Bentley’s restrained approach allows the emotional impact of this moment to ripple outward rather than explode, and Edgerton responds by internalizing grief and unease instead of externalizing it.

Rather than signaling anguish for the audience, he wanders through the film like a living ghost, more at ease in memory than in the present, embodying a man unable to fully inhabit his own life.

As Robert moves through the margins of his own life, he encounters a series of similarly isolated figures whose work becomes a temporary refuge from loneliness. These quick, unspoken bonds form and dissolve with little ceremony, yet each departure leaves a visible imprint on Edgerton’s performance.

A small but pivotal turn from William H. Macy anchors this transient world, reinforcing the quiet rhythms of Robert’s existence and underscoring how deeply even brief companionships affect him. Each loss hardens Robert’s unspoken grief, further sealing him off from the world.

The one attempted constant in Robert’s life is his wife Gladys, played with measured grace by Felicity Jones. Gladys represents the possibility of grounding and permanence, yet her limited presence only deepens the sense of distance that defines Robert’s inner life.

As his own demons quietly overtake him, it is not Gladys’s absence but her emotional remove that lingers over the film, haunting Robert as thoroughly as any memory.

Bentley’s vision for how Robert’s story comes alive on screen is most clearly demonstrated through the captivating, audaciously majestic cinematography of Adolpho Veloso, whose close collaboration with the filmmaker gives “Train Dreams” a visual language all its own.

Together, director and cinematographer reengage the viewer’s attention by allowing one striking image to give way naturally to the next, rather than emphasizing spectacle for its own sake.

The film operates within an aspect ratio that sits just far enough outside the norm to subtly pull viewers closer, pairing expansive landscapes with off-angle close-ups and heightened contrast that accentuate fine detail without overwhelming the frame.

In a film quietly concerned with change and rebirth, the recurring visual iconography of fire is used to powerful effect, with the ability to discern individual flickers within each flame becoming a kind of cinematic candy for the eye.

Combined with Bryce Dessner’s haunting score, these visual choices give the film a holistic quality, making it feel as though audiences are living inside Robert’s world even as they watch it unfold.

The quiet, introspective, and ethereal nature of “Train Dreams” won’t be for all movie lovers, despite its ease of access on Netflix.

More casual viewers may only linger for a few moments before failing to connect with the subtle, Malick-inspired vision of Bentley’s adaptation and dismissing the film altogether.

But for cinephiles drawn to demonstrative restraint, nuance, and quiet reflection, “Train Dreams” offers a careful balance of emotional subtlety and visual artistry – one that rewards patience and leaves attentive viewers quietly absorbed long after it ends.

January 26, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Horror movies don’t typically find themselves as major awards-season contenders.

But then again, “Sinners” isn’t your typical horror film.

Crafted from the singular vision of auteur Ryan Coogler, this period musical drama weaves elements of supernatural horror into a far more layered and textured piece of cinema that reaches well beyond simple genre exercise. Recently nominated for a record-setting 16 Academy Award nominations – surpassing the previous benchmark shared by “Titanic,” “All About Eve,” and “La La Land” – “Sinners” enters awards season as one of the most heavily decorated films in Oscar history.

Set in 1930s rural Mississippi, the film follows twin brothers as they return home to open a juke joint – part dance hall, part bar, part community gathering space – whose vibrant music draws the attention of a vampiric clan of outsiders.

What begins as a celebration of culture and connection slowly gives way to something more dangerous, as the film allows its supernatural elements to emerge organically from the world it so carefully constructs.

Michael B. Jordan delivers career-best work playing twin brothers, Smoke and Stack. While it’s impossible for him to truly act opposite himself, the duality Jordan brings to each role – as slight opposites of the same coin – gives the film a consistent emotional through line as Coogler winds his tale along two parallel tracks.

The ease with which Jordan compartmentalizes each brother into distinct identities, while still capturing the subtle pull of their twin bond, proves far richer than what initially emerges on the surface. And though Ruth E. Carter’s immaculate costumes make it easy to distinguish Smoke from Stack at a glance, it’s Jordan’s nuanced adjustments in cadence, expression, and body language – often barely perceptible – that ultimately do the heavier lifting.

Newcomer Miles Caton, making his feature film debut, brings both wide-eyed adoration for his cousins and a depth of musical history and wisdom far beyond his years as the enigmatic preacher boy who becomes a catalyst for “Sinners” as a whole.

Hinging so much of the film on a young actor might seem daunting, but Caton emerges as the emotional core of the story, grounding its supernatural and moral tensions in something deeply human. His Oscar-nominated song “I Lied to You” stands as one of the film’s most innovative and engaging sequences, allowing Coogler to confidently step into a new phase of his filmmaking.

Supporting turns from Delroy Lindo and Wunmi Mosaku, who plays Annie, expand the film’s worldview, with the intimate bond between Annie and Smoke deepening the romantic and religious undercurrents that elevate what some might otherwise view as a straightforward horror film.

With a largely African American cast and deep racial themes shaped by its 1930s American South setting, who portrays the white characters in a film like “Sinners” becomes just as important as who plays its leads. Hailee Steinfeld and Jack O’Connell, though not individually nominated, rise to that challenge by mirroring the intensity of each moment without pulling focus from the film’s emotional core.

Steinfeld, in particular, textures her performance carefully, especially in the way Mary’s romantic history with Stack subtly informs her present choices. That balance – paired with Coogler’s decision to cast Irish vampires as the film’s antagonists – pushes “Sinners” into heavier dramatic territory, as the filmmaker consistently chooses to say more beneath the surface than to spell out explicitly for the audience.

Much of “Sinners” is shot like a vintage Western, favoring wide panoramic landscapes and a deeply contrasting color palette that strikingly evokes the duality of good versus evil at the heart of the film’s horror-tinged drama.

Working closely with cinematographer Autumn Durald Arkapaw, Coogler allows each frame to feel both lived-in and subtly otherworldly, grounding the film in place while letting its supernatural elements seep in gradually.

The reliance on under-lighting and shadow may initially prove off-putting for some viewers, but the visual language becomes organically intertwined with the narrative, particularly during the film’s signature set piece – an ethereal, blues-heavy performance of “I Lied to You” that serves as the emotional and tonal catalyst for the back half of the film.

Music is deeply integrated into the core of “Sinners,” functioning as both narrative engine and tonal guide, pushing the film into musical territory without ever tipping into familiar genre tropes.

Ludwig Göransson’s score weaves seamlessly in and out of scenes, establishing mood in a way that organically connects to the blues performances explicitly staged within the film itself. As the story darkens, the music moves in lockstep, heightening tension in dramatic moments while providing fleeting moments of emotional release that feel earned rather than imposed.

As “Sinners” leans further into its darker thematic terrain, more of its horror influences begin to surface, though they’re metered carefully for wider audiences. Coogler never attempts to simply frighten for shock value, instead keeping viewers in a state of sustained tension – unsettled less by what is shown than by what might happen next. That careful balance of tone allows the film to move more smoothly toward its conclusion while layering additional depth into the screenplay itself.

Despite its record-setting 16 nominations, “Sinners” is unlikely to sweep the Academy Awards, particularly with frequent showdowns against Paul Thomas Anderson’s “One Battle After Another,” which remains a clear frontrunner. The film’s strongest chances for wins appear to be in Original Screenplay and Original Score, along with several technical categories. While it doesn’t currently lead in any acting races, “Sinners” appears well positioned for a second-place Best Picture finish behind the period drama “Hamnet.”

While “Sinners” may register as elevated horror genre fare for some audiences, its showing with the Academy confirms just how much more is operating beneath the surface of Coogler’s film. Now easily accessible on Amazon Prime Video and HBO Max, the film remains well worth seeking out.

Moviegoers who value high-quality filmmaking regardless of plot or style – or who are simply curious to see what all the conversation is about – should take the opportunity to experience this uniquely immersive work on the biggest screen possible, whether at home or otherwise.

January 19, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

How far one man is willing to go to prove his point and combat perceived inequity feels prescient for modern times, though the dangerous lengths some go to in making that point can reach far beyond moral and ethical boundaries.

Burdened by a mortgage company he believed had taken advantage of him, Tony Kiritsis took matters into his own hands, placing a metal wire around the neck of one of the company’s executives and connecting it to a shotgun that could kill him at any moment.

What ensued over the next two and a half days is a bizarre yet true story chronicled in director Gus Van Sant’s latest film, “Dead Man’s Wire,” which saw a limited festival run in 2025 before arriving in theaters this January.

“Dead Man’s Wire” is told largely from Tony’s perspective using modern digital cameras, while Van Sant and his team layer in additional viewpoints from law enforcement, news media, and average citizens following the unfolding standoff through period-appropriate cameras that subtly reflect how the event was experienced at the time.

Production designer Stefan Dechant and costume designer Peggy Schnitzer ground the film in a restrained 1970s color palette, using muted earth tones and lived-in textures to reinforce the ordinariness of the spaces where extraordinary choices unfold.

Bill Skarsgård, best known for playing Pennywise in the “It” films, does terrific work finding a balance between Tony’s underlying humanity and his emerging psychosis, keeping audiences guessing about what might happen next while still maintaining a degree of sympathy for the character as a whole.

There is no wide-eyed insanity bursting out of his performance; instead, he carefully blurs the lines between patriotic vigilante, wounded eccentric, and dangerous zealot.

There are clear homages to “Dog Day Afternoon” and “Taxi Driver” throughout, including moments that echo Travis Bickle’s weapon-practicing rituals, unmistakably recalling Robert De Niro’s iconic performance. These 1970s antihero and activist films provide crucial context not only for the cinematic world Van Sant is evoking, but also for the emotional psyche Skarsgård brings to Tony.

It also helps that “Dead Man’s Wire” avoids lingering too heavily on Tony’s life either before or after the hostage standoff, allowing ambiguity to elevate Skarsgård’s work rather than explain it away.

Dacre Montgomery is solidly stoic as Richard, the kidnapped executive, and while audiences are rightly drawn to Skarsgård’s erratic yet captivating lead turn, Montgomery offers a compelling balance of fear and composure that underscores Richard’s desire to survive without drifting into something resembling Stockholm syndrome.

The supporting cast further reinforces the film’s deliberate restraint, anchoring the unfolding crisis in institutional response rather than sensational escalation.

Colman Domingo brings measured authority to his role within law enforcement, grounding the procedural elements with quiet intensity, while Al Pacino appears as Richard’s father and the head of the mortgage company.

Pacino’s presence evokes unavoidable connections to “Dog Day Afternoon,” and while his limited scenes are not showcases for the actor, they function effectively within the larger framework Van Sant is constructing, reinforcing the film’s interest in consequence rather than catharsis.

In refusing to frame Tony’s actions as either righteous protest or monstrous inevitability, “Dead Man’s Wire” leaves viewers suspended in the uneasy space between conviction and consequence. Van Sant is less interested in adjudicating blame than in examining how easily moral certainty can curdle once it demands attention, control, and spectacle.

That lingering discomfort is precisely the point, and cinephiles interested in vintage character-driven dramas would be well served to seek the film out theatrically, where its restraint, tension, and moral unease are allowed to fully take hold.

January 12, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Humor is often born out of the darkest moments, and comedians frequently carry deeply tragic pasts.

What drives a person to step onstage and tell jokes for the very first time becomes a key plot device in co-writer/director Bradley Cooper’s latest dramedy, “Is This Thing On?,” even if the film ultimately only scratches the surface of what’s really going on beneath it all. T

he story follows Will Arnett as Alex, a man on the brink of divorce who turns to open-mic nights in New York City as a way to process his unraveling personal life. The blurring line between comedy and tragedy sends audiences down a path that might initially seem both heartbreaking and hysterical, yet the film ultimately trades side-splitting laughter for richer, more honest conversations.

At the core of the entire film, Arnett is surprisingly raw and understated as Alex, a man grieving the lost time of a marriage nearing its end while struggling to find the words to communicate what he’s feeling.

His ability to channel Alex’s inner turmoil into something that feels authentic and relatable helps audiences buy into the story as a whole, particularly as the film moves further and further away from its comedic premise.

Rather than weaponizing humor as a defense mechanism, Arnett allows silence, hesitation, and emotional misfires to linger, making Alex’s inability to articulate himself feel painfully familiar rather than theatrically sad.

How deeply viewers are able to feel for Alex’s plight is largely dependent on Arnett’s willingness to dig further into his character’s psyche than one might expect from an SNL funny man.

Laura Dern delivers a subtle, grounded turn as Tess that works in careful counterpoint to Arnett’s exposed performance, providing the emotional ballast the film quietly depends on. Where Alex struggles to articulate his inner life, Tess often communicates through restraint and measured reaction, allowing scenes to breathe rather than escalate.

Dern resists easy sentimentality, framing the dissolution of the relationship as something shaped by shared history and accumulated fatigue rather than singular betrayal. In doing so, she helps elevate Alex’s arc by giving his vulnerability context, grounding it in a relationship that feels lived in and mutually bruised rather than one-sided.

While the film stays tightly focused on Alex and Tess’s relationship, Cooper leads a solid supporting cast, stepping in front of the camera as their close friend Balls – a cheerful presence whose blissful ignorance of social norms ultimately crystallizes Alex’s personal growth.

Andra Day appears as Christine, Balls’s free-spirited partner, bringing a grounded warmth to the ensemble, while the stand-up comedy world around Alex is further populated by memorable turns from Sean Hayes, Christine Ebersole, and Ciarán Hinds, giving the film a lived-in sense of place and community.

Though framed around stand-up, “Is This Thing On?” is less interested in jokes than in what drives Alex to the stage in the first place – and what keeps pulling him back. Arnett and Cooper consistently sidestep the satisfactions of a traditional dramedy, giving space for moments to accumulate rather than rushing toward emotional release.

Stand-up becomes a tool Alex reaches for rather than a skill he masters, using the stage less as a place for joke-telling than as a form of self-therapy. As a result, “Is This Thing On?” treats comedy less as performance than as exposure, allowing it to become a patient, inward-looking study of emotional avoidance and delayed self-awareness.

Working with cinematographer Matthew Libatique, Cooper places the camera so firmly in Alex’s face that the raw emotions he’s feeling are laid bare, even in spite of himself. At times, Cooper takes the lens into his own hands, operating the camera himself and pushing his actors into greater vulnerability as he moves inside their personal space. That intimacy forges a direct emotional connection with the audience, making Alex’s vulnerability shared and deeply felt rather than merely observed.

“Is This Thing On?” follows the familiar awards-season trajectory, opening in limited release late December before expanding more widely in January in an effort to build Oscar momentum. Unfortunately, despite Cooper’s prestige track record and the film’s genuine emotional pull for sympathetic audiences, it ultimately sits too far on the fringes of contention to warrant serious nomination consideration for Arnett, Dern, or Cooper himself.

There has been a noticeable gap in recent cinema for well-considered adult dramas, something “Is This Thing On?” delivers in spades. While it may not be the most approachable film for all audiences, dedicated and engaged cinephiles should find a terrific time at the movies with this rich, funny, and surprisingly complex dramedy.

January 1, 2026 · Watch the official trailer

Nothing in “Marty Supreme” truly matters outside of Timothée Chalamet.

Directed by Josh Safdie from a screenplay he co-wrote with Ronald Bronstein, the film hinges almost entirely on its title character – an unflappable, relentless force in constant motion, driven by a belief in his own destiny and willing to achieve greatness at any cost.

Though there may be twists and turns along the way, “Marty Supreme” feels, from its opening moments through its two-and-a-half-hour runtime, like a roller coaster in perpetual descent – a constant free fall that never really levels out.

The film finds Marty, a 23-year-old perpetually unsatisfied and always in need of something more, attempting to make himself the face of competitive table tennis in the postwar era, a setting that clashes sharply with his singular, outsized machismo.

That imbalance is precisely what Chalamet leans into, playing Marty as a figure who refuses to change even as the world around him quietly resists him.

The transactional way Marty views the people around him – as means to an end rather than relationships to be respected or cultivated – extends directly into the performance work in “Marty Supreme.” Chalamet consistently overwhelms scenes with a machismo that far exceeds his physical frame, asserting control not just over the narrative but over the emotional temperature of each interaction.

Any chemistry he develops with the supporting cast mostly exists in service of Marty alone, with other characters feeling less like equals than instruments used to sharpen, validate, or absorb the force of his momentum.

Chalamet so fully embodies Marty’s self-assuredness and sense of inevitability that the performance begins to bleed into something almost meta. The cocky swagger Marty Mauser projects onscreen mirrors the persona Chalamet has leaned into throughout the film’s press tour, where the Oscar nominee has spoken openly about his desire to become one of the all-time greats in his profession.

Safdie does a terrific job assembling his supporting cast to fill out the world of “Marty Supreme,” balancing a mix of veterans and first-time actors who bring authentic vibrancy while still remaining clearly subservient to the singularity of Chalamet’s performance.

Gwyneth Paltrow is just radiant enough as a movie starlet nearing the twilight of her career, visibly bored by her husband and the life she has left behind, while there’s just enough smarm behind Kevin O’Leary’s first acting role as a tycoon to make him feel plausible – if instantly irritating – as a foil to Chalamet.

Smaller turns from Abel Ferrara’s mobster character to Tyler, the Creator’s work as a ping-pong hustler help color Marty’s orbit, but it’s Luke Manley as Dion, Marty’s closest friend, who most effectively grounds the film’s emotional texture.

Still, it’s Odessa A’zion as Rachel who finds a true kindred spirit to Chalamet’s performance, hinting at a more complex and emotionally rich relationship that another, equally strong film might have been more willing to explore.

The brilliance of Safdie’s work as both writer and director comes into clearer focus on a second viewing of “Marty Supreme,” once the film’s frenetic energy has a chance to settle. On a first pass, the pace can feel overwhelming, almost by design. What sits just beneath that surface are more nuanced bits of dialogue that begin to register on repeat, quietly reflecting Marty’s postwar idealization of the American dream and the provocative way he sees the world – ideas that tend to hide in plain sight beneath the noise.

There’s also a raw, unbridled kinetic energy to the filmmaking that mirrors Marty’s swagger and constant forward motion. Safdie is clearly drawing from the strain of films that explore male bravado and obsession, particularly the way ambition is framed as intoxicating and self-destructive.

But where those stories eventually force their protagonists to confront the damage they leave behind, “Marty Supreme” rarely pauses to take stock, choosing instead to stay locked in propulsion, driven by performance and attitude rather than reflection or consequence.

Amidst the chaos, “Marty Supreme” locks itself into its era with the help of cinematographer Darius Khondji, whose textured, film-based images make the 1950s feel lived-in and physical, giving the world more weight even while Marty careens through it.

What remains less clear is whether “Marty Supreme” ever truly wants to reckon with the consequences of Marty’s behavior, or if it’s content to race alongside him. Characters are bruised, displaced, or tossed aside along the way, yet Safdie rarely slows down long enough to sit with what that damage means. Marty keeps moving, and the movie largely moves with him, allowing that tension to linger rather than resolve.

Although it may not emerge as a clear front-runner in any single category, “Marty Supreme” still feels positioned to be a meaningful presence come Oscar season. The film plays as a Best Picture contender, with strength in Original Screenplay and, especially, the acting categories, where Chalamet’s performance could plausibly put him in line for his first Academy Award. Still, in a crowded year, it’s just as easy to imagine momentum consolidating elsewhere, leaving “Marty Supreme” as a formidable, if competitive, awards-season player.

While the brash bravado and confrontational tone of “Marty Supreme” may not immediately endear it to the widest possible audience, the film’s magnetic centerpiece more than compensates. Anchored by a commanding lead performance from Timothée Chalamet and an auteur operating firmly within his wheelhouse, “Marty Supreme” becomes the kind of challenging, performance-driven work that cinephiles should make an effort to see in theaters, ideally ahead of the noise of awards season.