The first and third acts cohere – they pulse with a dynamic, compelling rhythm. But the film goes wildly off course in its effort to perpetuate that rhythm, to no evident larger scheme or purpose. Tthe interminably digressive shaggy dog second act is a shambling mess. The emotional core of the film is vacant. That is to say, there is no ironic perspective on Marty or his fate. This is no sentimental education: it’s just one damned thing after another. And no way for the viewer to empathize with the plight of the protagonist. The “happy” ending feels like a cheat. An offkey valentine begging for the viewer’s embrace, Um – yeah, no.
Safdie’s approach is derivative in all the wrong ways. He’s taken the flash and dazzle from the other Marty – the real Marty Supreme – aping the style of “Mean Streets” and “Goodfellas” but with none of the spirit of those films. There is no moral reckoning, in other words. The protagonist merely flails about until, voila! He’s a new father. The miracle of birth cliché is a “uh, wot?” moment: a limp pseudo-resolution. How could anyone imagine this self-involved twerp being transformed by fatherhood?
Still, Chalamet, in his most rat boy performance yet, delivers a whirling dervish of a performance. Oscar bound for sure I would think, if they give Oscars to feverish, Paltrow gives her ususal measured performance: it's smart, sexy, subdued even if her romance with Marty is absurd and contrived. The show stealer is Odessa A’zion (what a fabulous name). She is real and powerful; almost she redeems the third act.
There are reversals and counter-reversals and counter-counter reversals and in the end none of it means a damned thing because Safdie is too busy showing off. In that sense, I guess it is like a ping-pong game.
