If you judged Celine Song’s second feature by its trailer, you might expect a frothy romcom with a glossy love triangle—Dakota Johnson caught between Chris Evans and Pedro Pascal sounds like an OTT platform algorithm’s dream. But as with Past Lives, her Oscar-nominated debut, Celine is not afraid to steer the ship into deeper, stormier waters. Materialists may sparkle with the trappings of romantic comedy, but it’s really a sophisticated examination of how money complicates intimacy—and whether love without financial stability can survive in today’s world.
Lucy (Dakota Johnson) is a high-end matchmaker in New York City, pairing affluent clients with partners who tick every curated box—from height and hair density to income brackets and gym routines. She believes love is a transaction like any other, a philosophy reinforced by a past breakup with John (Chris Evans), a struggling actor whose anniversary dinner plan involved a food cart. At a ritzy wedding, Lucy meets Henry (Pedro Pascal), the groom’s impossibly wealthy brother, and also crosses paths with John again, now working the party as a waiter. Caught between old affection and newfound luxury, Lucy faces a modern dilemma: is it possible to have both love and a 12-million-dollar apartment?
The good
Celine Song’s writing brims with nuance, wit, and surgical insight. Like in Past Lives, conversations in Materialists crackle with unspoken longing, contradictions, and societal tension. The film zeroes in on how the search for love has been shaped—and warped—by capitalism, especially in a city like New York, where net worth is often just as important as emotional compatibility.
Dakota Johnson sheds her usual airy charm for something sharper, more commanding. Her Lucy is both savvy and vulnerable, a woman aware of her own contradictions and willing to live with them. Chris Evans gives one of his most grounded performances in years, playing a man whose earnestness isn’t enough in a world where passion doesn’t pay rent. Pedro Pascal’s Henry is smooth and magnetic, but Song is careful not to present him as a one-dimensional “Mr. Big” caricature—his appeal is just as much about emotional attentiveness as it is about wealth.
The film is peppered with satirical flourishes. Lucy’s clients, with their absurd romantic expectations, provide sly commentary on the commodification of dating. There’s even a moment of dark reality when one of her matches turns violent—jarring, but intentionally so, grounding the movie in a world that isn’t entirely aspirational.
The bad
For all its ambition, Materialists occasionally falters under the weight of its own realism. By deliberately undercutting the fizzy momentum of traditional romcoms, it sometimes feels like it’s holding back emotional payoff. You sense where Lucy’s heart truly lies, but the journey to that realization lacks the climactic exhilaration such a setup seems to promise.
There’s also a narrative corner the film paints itself into: it wants to critique the importance of money in relationships while acknowledging its undeniable influence. That leads to a slight cheat in the final act, where financial stakes are softened to make room for romance. The compromise may be intentional, but it also deflates some of the tension that’s been building all along.
The verdict
Materialists isn’t trying to give audiences a grand cinematic kiss in the rain. Smart, stylish, and at times uncomfortably honest, it’s a film that dares to ask whether we fall in love with people—or with the lives they offer. It wants to leave you thinking about whether love can thrive without a healthy bank balance—or if, in today’s hyper-capitalist world, romance has become just another luxury item.
If this film doesn’t sweep you off your feet, it stays with you like a tough but necessary conversation.
