by Hudson Moura
In Materialists, Canado-Korean playwright-turned-filmmaker Celine Song (Past Lives) returns with a romantic dramedy that cleverly interrogates the tensions between love and money, intimacy and security, sincerity and performance. Written, produced, and directed by Song, the film is steeped in philosophical musings yet never loses sight of its human core. With charismatic performances by Dakota Johnson and Pedro Pascal, Materialists is charming, witty, and melancholic—if not entirely consistent in tone.
At its center is Lucy (Dakota Johnson, in perhaps her most effortlessly charming role to date), a sharp, self-assured Manhattan matchmaker who celebrates her ninth successful marriage pairing in the opening scenes. Her agency, Adore, staffed by a brigade of impeccably styled young women, feels more like a modeling firm than a traditional dating service. The premise may appear light-hearted, but the screenplay probes deeply into transactional relationships, exploring how romance is filtered through wealth, desirability, and calculated risk.
Lucy is unapologetically pragmatic—she has a well-defined checklist for her clients, but when it comes to her own relationships, one criterion is non-negotiable: financial stability. Her suitor Harry (Pedro Pascal), a refined, emotionally astute billionaire, seems to offer everything she would need. Their encounters are laced with sharp wit and emotional candor. Johnson and Pascal share a chemistry that balances elegance with longing, particularly in the film’s first act, which unfolds like a tête-à-tête between two clever cynics dancing around their own vulnerabilities.
The film is most effective when exploring Lucy’s internal contradictions and her pragmatically skeptical, at times even cynically realistic, view of marriage. She sells ‘love’ but struggles to believe in it. She demands security, yet recoils when comfort reveals its own kind of emptiness. As her confidence falters, so does her emotional armor. In her most vulnerable moments, she cannot love without material assurance—just as she doubts she is worthy of love without it. So when a character quietly tells her, ‘Loving you is the easiest thing,’ it lands not as resolution, but as a soft ache.
However, Materialists falters with a jarring tonal shift when John (Chris Evans), Lucy’s ex-boyfriend and a struggling actor, reenters her life. Though written as sincere, the character is thinly drawn, and Evans’ stiff, uninspired performance undercuts the emotional tension of the love triangle. In his presence, Lucy’s wit and confidence noticeably dim, and their scenes lack the vitality seen elsewhere in the film. At times, it even feels as though the film is quietly passing judgment on Lucy for embracing the very pragmatism that makes her feel most secure.
Song’s direction is elegant and restrained. While the second act occasionally loses momentum and coherence, this seems a result of the film’s ambitious attempt to balance satire, romantic dramedy, and social critique. Nevertheless, Materialists delivers an incisive exploration of what makes relationships ‘work’ in a world where value is often mistaken for worth. Rather than simply asking whether love can be bought, The Materialists subtly suggests that, often without realizing it, we become both appraisers and commodities—measuring others while being measured ourselves in the marketplace of relationships. After all, how much do you think you’re worth—and who’s doing the math?
3.5/5