The whole theme is tidily there in the “Made in America” stamped on the ping pong ball bearing the title of Josh Safdie’s first feature in an age without his brother as a co-billed director. The saga of Martin Mauser (Timothée Chalamet), aspiring table tennis champion, is infused with the headlong bravado of the nation where it begins and ends. Marty Supreme is a racing pulse made into a movie, which simply means its inner tempo matches the sweaty hustle of its protagonist. Played with disarming intensity by Chalamet, Marty is certain he’s the greatest in his chosen sport, that he deserves the poshest accommodations and the most glamorous lovers, that nothing he wants should be denied to him. If his obnoxious behavior occasionally causes him problems, it’s nothing he can’t wriggle out of with his officious charms. Safdie makes all this into a plate-spinning tour de force, an excursion into mid-century mayhem that has its roots in New York City but sprawls across the globe. Marty Supreme is a pleasingly exhausting exercise in cinematic enormity.