‘Materialists’ Asks why you want to date, not who
The largest casualty of the superhero and pandemic eras were almost undoubtedly the midbudget romantic comedy and drama. Not only do films of these genres get sidelined at the box office, but studio interests and creative trends have moved away from them entirely in recent years. After 2023’s Past Lives, still one of the most memorable pieces of the decade so far, all eyes were on new indie darling Celine Song. Her new film, Materialists, once more about a love triangle, features an all-star cast, a trailer with a pop song, and the full force of A24’s marketing team. The branding was that of a high-concept mid-2000s Julia Roberts vehicle, drawing in a fairly successful $25 million in its first two weeks. However, mixed word of mouth has dulled its reception. Materialists is a puzzling yet engrossing study of modern courtship, drawing on works from Jane Austen to Mike Nichols.
The foremost complaint about the film seems to be that it isn’t quite a comedy; rather, it’s an emotional drama with a sincere kind of satire driving the plot. It follows professional matchmaker Lucy (Dakota Johnson) as she contends with the superficiality of her job and her personal life. She describes herself as akin to an insurance agent, weighing the assets (wealth, education, height) and liabilities (age, personality) of clients to find compatibility between ever-more demanding stipulations.
Lucy herself is eventually forced to decide between wealthy “unicorn” Harry (Pedro Pascal), who has tremendous worth in her industry, and her ex-boyfriend John (Chris Evans), a struggling actor and current cater-waiter. As she is first courted by Harry, the film creates an intriguing tone. She becomes increasingly jaded by this world, even while Harry sweeps her off her feet with fancy dates at elegant restaurants. The film satirizes Lucy’s clients even as she and Harry practice the same frivolities and settle into a relationship defined by compatibility, despite the honest communication between the two. In the last scene of this section, also the funniest sequence in the film, she discovers his Chekhov’s leg surgery to be just as superficial as the clients she judges with so much contempt. Their relationship is only about value. They confess their lack of love for each other, another fraught yet completely sincere moment of clarity.
In the last act of the film, Lucy is consoled by John and the two ruminate on the purpose of marriage and their relationship while crashing a wedding. Again, their conversation is candid and they are on the same page, but she is still conflicted. They broke up due to financial tensions; their relationship, due to lack of money, became defined by that want, by discomfort and struggle. None of this has changed. Unlike Elizabeth Bennet, however, Lucy doesn’t have any particularly powerful connection with either man. She holds all the agency of the film, but ultimately her choices are only to subvert or confirm audience expectations. The audience isn’t emotionally rooting for either ending, and not because both relationships are equally compelling. It’s partially because neither pair really have much chemistry due to Johnson’s rather flat performance, and partially because the film attempts to reach an emotional conclusion it hasn’t yet earned.
The resolution comes in the form of a phone call from one of Lucy’s clients, whose sexual assault on a date earlier in the film was the start of Lucy’s disillusionment with the business of matchmaking. This plotline was rather awkwardly handled, especially as Lucy is only able to decide to return to John after helping her client file a restraining order, making her choice feel forced. There are no real hard stakes in the film besides this, but there don’t necessarily need to be. The stakes of Past Lives are quite low, but the performances communicate an urgency that is missing here. The decision feels undeserved and the overall message of the film remains cloudy. There is a confession of love, but after satirizing modern romance and posing love as an easy, immature idea for two acts, this section falls a little flat.
Like Past Lives, Song imbues this film with a liveliness that keeps the viewer locked into the conversations while still considering the themes. Instead of memory, it is about how we think of the future and our goals for it. Long, thoughtful takes in the first two acts are swapped in for poignant montages, while little moments with our characters still betray their motivations: drink orders, pick-up lines, and roommate problems create the scaffolding for these people. The worlds around these characters are obviously populated with objects that tell stories by themselves. Lucy could never realistically afford that dream one-bed in the West Village; John’s disgusting apartment and flashbacks with Lucy are made even more jarring with harsh, bright lighting; Harry’s luxurious penthouse and the subterranean bistros of their dates are soothing and beautiful. Despite its thematic speed bumps, the film remains thought-provoking, and Song is able to tap into ubiquitous human desires with specificity. Song portrays life as a collection of decisions, which, whether fraught or passionate or noble, are only useful if they are true to oneself. The honesty of her writing and precision of her direction continue to interrogate modern love and social conventions, and while this venture was not quite as satisfactory, it will leave audiences interrogating their own preconceptions of romance.