Part of the beauty of art is its ability to circumvent the normal rules of society. Who would want to spend an evening with some of the most unpleasant people on the planet? In real life, the thought of such an expenditure would be preposterous. Marty Supreme certainly offers a compelling case for the contrary.

The narrative follows Marty Mauser (Timothée Chalamet), a talented but arrogant table tennis player, trying to make a name for himself in 1952, long before the sport achieved even a semblance of mainstream popularity (Table tennis wasn’t added to the Olympics until 1988). Unfilled with his job as a shoe salesman at his uncle’s store, he robs the safe to fund his travel to London for the British Open.

While in London, Marty lets his ego do most of the talking. He angers the head of the International Table Tennis Association (Pico Iyer) by complaining about the shabby player accommodations, choosing instead to stay in an extravagant suite at the Ritz Hotel. Rather than prepare for the tournament, Marty chases after Kay Stone (Gweneth Paltrow), a retired actress and wife of Milton Rockwell (Kevin O’Leary), a pen tycoon. Rockwell takes an interest in the sport after Marty loses the British Open to a Japanese phenom.

Marty Supreme is director Josh Safdie’s first film without his brother since 2008’s highly underrated The Pleasure of Being Robbed. Safdie’s command of pacing is quite exceptional, building up dramatic tension with the pizazz and precision of a high-octane ping pong match, aided greatly by a synth-heavy score from Daniel Lopatin. Few films that carry a hefty 150-minute runtime flow with such ease.

Safdie strikes gold again with his trademark casting of non-actors. Kevin O’Leary, best known for his appearances on Shark Tank and Fox News, puts forth a compelling effort as Rockwell. O’Leary doesn’t quite disappear his role in the same way as Kevin Garnett in Uncut Gems, but Mr. Wonderful exudes sleaze on just the right level, holding his own against Chalamet and Paltrow.

Chalamet delivers what could very end up being a career-defining performance. Marty is so transparently full of himself, but Chalamet’s charm offensive is quite contagious. The character is most sympathetic when looking out for Rachel (Odessa A’zion), his married childhood friend who became pregnant as a result of their affair, but Safdie never tries to get his audience to feel for Marty. There is nothing admirable about his antics, no reason to root for him beyond the pleasant aroma from the vapors of his charisma.

What’s so delightful about Safdie’s storytelling is the way he presents a man, so consumed by his own greatness, without expecting anyone to buy into his crap. No one took ping pong seriously in 1952. Even today, it’s hardly the kind of sport whose top stars sleep in presidential suites and sit down to dinner with Hollywood A-Listers.

Our world is full of billionaire men who think they can change the world with a snap of a finger. Last year, Elon Musk walked into the federal government with nothing more than a chainsaw. The world’s richest man came with no plan, and left Washington having accomplished nothing besides a colossal headache that will take years to correct.

Marty Mauser has a lot of raw talent. He is quite clever. Somewhere along the way, he became convinced that the Meidas Touch was all that mattered. Talent only takes you so far.

Safdie manages to craft a narrative that provides plenty of thrills, even if you’re not terribly invested in Marty’s fate. He doesn’t quite stick the landing, a bit of an unsatisfying come down after a two and a half hour high. Fans of Uncut Gems may be disappointed by the sheer amount of familiar notes within Marty Supreme’s rhythm.

Egomaniacs rarely contemplate the limits of their own genius. Men like Musk are not solely driven by their bank accounts, but also through the adulation of their admirers. Marty would be a lot better off if he’d spent more time honing his own talent instead of incessantly trying to convince the rest of the world that he’s “Hitler’s worst nightmare.”

He is a nightmare, yes. Safdie’s frantic film plays out a lot like an elite game of ping pong, impressive to those who otherwise couldn’t care less about the sport. That’s the thing about ego. When you’re completely high on yourself, you think you’re all that matters, even while the rest of the world laughs at you and your silly sport.