Accurately dissects modern dating, but sacrifices character depth for theory.
Lucy is Dakota Johnson’s shrewd, ambitious, and cold take on your usual romcom heroine. As a successful matchmaker in New York City, she possesses a knack for selling romance by reducing it to a simple and pragmatic set of checkboxes on a list. Income bracket, political stance, fitness level, body type, height—to her, people are just a set of walking characteristics.
Then she meets the ultimate walking characteristic: Pedro Pascal—sorry, Harry. He’s handsome, rich, tall, caring, and a liberal. He picks up USD700 dinner tabs without blinking and lives in a USD12 million Manhattan apartment. He’s what the matchmaking industry refers to as a “unicorn”; a man who drives women’s expectations so high that the average man will never be able to meet them.
Then her old flame, John, reappears. Chris Evans plays the 37-year-old struggling theatre actor, who fails to tick many of Lucy’s boxes. John has much to do with how much Lucy values finding a rich partner, because financial instability was the dagger that drove them apart in the first place. A decade later, and he still drives the same beat-up car, still lives in the same run-down apartment.
Through John—and a darker turn involving one of her matchmaking clients—Lucy is forced to confront the deficiencies of her pragmatic dating system and decide for herself what love really means to her.
When I first saw the trailer for Materialists five months ago, the first thing that came to me was giddy excitement. As a fan and follower of Past Lives, I was eagerly looking forward to seeing how Celine Song would follow up on what I thought was the best film of 2023. My second thought? “Late ‘90s, early 2000s romcoms are so back, baby.”
Visually, the film nails that classic, comforting energy of a nostalgic romcom. It’s set in New York with a stylish lead, there’s the click of heels on pavements, warm colour grading, and plenty of oak trees lining the avenues.
Paired with the fresh, feathery cinematography of the film and what you get is a visual treat that enchants from the first glance to the last. It especially shines when the scenes slow, and voices soften. It’s during moments like these where glimpses of Past Lives permeate.
I thought the film might’ve been too slow for those not used to Song’s usual pace, if not for the film’s constant use of composition. Whenever Lucy is on a date with Harry, we get wide shots of the environment—they’re expansive and depict the potential this relationship has. But it also shows how Lucy is only focused on the material things Harry possesses, the big house, the fancy restaurants—sometimes she’s not even looking at him. When she is with John, however, it’s just them. When their eyes lock, the whole world fades. Close shots are used extensively to illustrate the intimacy and connection shared between them.
Then there’s the film’s score. Daniel Pemberton, the same man responsible for scoring both Spider-Verse films—composes a soundtrack that’s atmospheric, and at times, ominous. It doesn’t behave like your typical feel-good romcom, which might rub some people the wrong way, but I didn’t mind.
In fact, I thought the score embodied Lucy’s ambient mannerisms, behaviour, and cadence to a T. It’s structured and mellow—the songs that are supposed to be cheerful never allow themselves to glee. The sombre ones are clean and calculated, never overstepping in their rhythm. Sprinkle in some Japanese Breakfast, and you have the recipe for a soundtrack that enthrals when paired with soft visuals.
My favourite quality of Materialists, however, is how the film dissects the current state of dating with a thesis-like approach by calling out the commodification of love under capitalism. Much of the negative discourse surrounding the film is how it promotes “broke boy propaganda”, which I think is unfortunate because it’s a reductive take. Materialists isn’t about getting back with your poor ex; money is merely a metaphor used to represent all the other checkboxes people look for in a partner.
We could all find a unicorn like Harry, but his material assets will eventually fade. How would love be defined in this context? Does it lie in the search for a unicorn, or is it the euphoria you experience when you finally find one? In an age where dating has become a marketplace to buy and sell, it’s a reminder of what it means to love with your heart, and not your brain.
I wanted to love Materialists, I really did. I even came out of the theatre drafting counterarguments in my head, ready to defend Celine Song after hearing the negative reviews of the film prior. But once I had time to separate my bias from the objective truth, I was able to admit that the film failed to live up to its potential.
Remember when I talked about how much I loved the film’s premise and message? It’s Materialists most intriguing and valuable asset, but it’s also what creates the pitfall in which it falls into.
Throughout the latter part of the film, we hear this rhetoric drilled into our heads, over and over again. There are only so many ways to convey the same message without leaving the audience feeling like they’re in a lecture. I thought this was rather uncharacteristic of Song, as Past Lives was handled with so much care and subtlety that it left plenty of room to breathe with interpretation. Materialists, on the other hand, was too eager to underline its thesis.
Much of the repetition came from dialogue which tried to convince itself that it meant more than what the characters are, instead of letting them live. In this sense, the characters cease to become real, breathing people. Lucy’s only close friend is seemingly her ex, John, whom she confides in after learning of her client’s sexual assault. Harry departs Lucy’s love life as quickly as he entered, without contributing to any tension in the trio before saying goodbye without torque or resistance.
There is no emotional catharsis behind Lucy’s decision to leave Harry for John. It’s understood that she’s had a revelation in her head about viewing love as math, and people as traits. But there is a lack of emotional anchor to John that convinces the audience as to why her love for him is enough to overcome the financial hurdles that impeded them the first time.
That’s not to say that the writing was all bad—there are instances of what made Past Lives so great. Particularly one-liners that deliver that punch-in-your-gut level of romance and realisation—“You’re the only reason I know I’m capable of love,” and “When I see your face, I see wrinkles, and grey hair, and children who look like you.” It’s in those moments you glimpse the film could have been.
Your take on Materialists will hinge on whether you see yourselves in these characters. I don’t wake up looking like I just walked out of a GAP commercial, but I relate to John’s struggle with money in relationships. I see Lucy’s constantly doubting her own value by questioning why either Harry or John would want her as their partner, and it warms me to see both vulnerabilities intersect in a film.
Materialists is a flawed film with cracks and blemishes. It probably won’t be receiving much critical acclaim, nor will it be studied in film schools for years to come. But through it all, I found myself enjoying it regardless and leaving the theatre feeling softer and emotionally enriched.
If nothing else, I have a feeling people will return to Materialists just to see Chris Evans playing a 37-year-old, pizza-guzzling artist barely keeping it together.
Pay attention to how Song uses the film’s composition—object placements, lighting, and space—to illustrate Lucy’s dynamics with John and Harry.
Materialists is now out in theatres.
