By Josh Safdie’s MARTY SUPREME sucks us into a world of extreme highs and lows. From moments of desperation to those of triumph, it’s the grit behind Marty Mauser that stops at nothing and leaves us hooked. But behind the filmmaking, what drives home those extremes is the score—it doesn’t merely accompany Marty’s journey, but interprets it, sharpening the emotional volatility and, at times, calling into question our trust in him.
Daniel Lopatin, known outside of the film world as Oneohtrix Point Never, crafts a score that feels less like background and more like interior expression. Rather than mirroring what is on screen, Lopatin approaches Mauser psychologically; in interviews, he has described feeling unusually close to this character, and that proximity manifests in the textures themselves. The hopeful opening on “The Call,” for example, immediately makes clear that it is reflecting the emotional complexity of the Mauser. The layering builds gradually, suggesting possibility rather than triumph. We are not hearing victory, we are hearing belief. Echoing his excitement for the sports that he has poured himself into and dreams for the future all established within minutes.The synth work here is not ornamental, but rather restless and searching—at times hovering just beneath the surface of a scene as though articulating feelings Marty himself holds back from.
Lopatin’s approach steps away from the work of his previous score for UNCUT GEMS, which is more of a direct auditory match to what is happening visually on screen. Despite being set in the 1950s, the music deliberately centers on futurism, with arpeggiations and electronic pulses set against the period at hand. These choices reinforce Mauser’s belief that he is ahead of his time. Those thematics at play suggest that his ambition exists outside the limitations of his environment. It stretches forward even when the world around him does not.
Carried home by modular synths, including the Moog One, Lopatin crafts fluid, expressive cues that push into abstraction rather than traditional orchestration. This more conceptual sonic approach diverts into the unseen moments that lie on the surface of Safdie’s film, be it the emotions hidden deep under a conversation or the feelings that never seem to quite bubble over. But despite being carried out into this untethered terrain, Lopatin is careful to remain grounded within the DNA behind the film. Sounds that would exist within the practical environment surrounding the film, notably table tennis, are used as a jumping off point into something more experimental.
MARTY SUPREME, and Lopatin, are unafraid to follow into obsession. The way that Mauser will pursue his dream at the cost of anyone or anything that he perceives as an obstacle on the journey to his next tournament. Tracks like “Endo’s Game,” “Shootout,” and “Endo’s Game (Reprise)” leave a daunting feeling behind. Locking your eyes in the moment at hand, as if you can grip your seat, bite your nails, or only wait helplessly for what might happen next as the baseline carries you forward—trapping you inside it. By leaning into cyclical song structures, Lopatin sonically mirrors obsession. The cues feel circular, as though forward motion is inseparable from Mauser’s deep fixation.
Moments of light offer a feeling of false security. Tracks that take your hand, guiding you through the fallout in between the intensity include moments like “The Apple,” “The Necklace,” and the soft final landing of the closing song “End Credits (I Still Love You, Tokyo).”
Despite his hard exterior and craven drive to stop at nothing short of success, somewhere deep underneath the self-driven focus of Marty Mauser is his love for the people that he cares about—albeit selectively, quietly, and deeply in his own way. This care, no matter how jagged it may present with bloodied faces and last minute appearances, is featured across these songs as well. Even in moments like “The Necklace” where Mauser’s endlessly looking for his own benefit, there is still an undeniable softness for the woman originally wearing it.
Lopatin’s score refuses to flatten Mauser into a villain or hero. It instead revels in this contradiction. Following an ambition that wounds and affection that persist through the thinning of textures and the slight lift in harmony reflecting the people he loves, however imperfectly. That complexity deepens the character rather than excuses him. The film is unafraid to present a main character that you aren’t sure that you should root for. Lopatin’s own psychological deep dive into the character provides another layer for viewers to peel back as dark textured since bringing you to the finish line.
The final scene of the film captures its biggest glimpse of humanity. Gone are all of the worries about table tennis, gone are the ups and downs that it took to travel across the country; instead there is a home built within a small hospital that once didn’t exist just days before. Lopatin’s score not only highlights that journey, but underscores it in a way that allows for an internal exploration into the world of the main protagonist. Able to stand on its own as a separate body from the visuals at hand, the album clearly follows beats that can take you on a separate emotional rollercoaster when isolating yourself into that sonic landscape.
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