If the Korean concept of in-yun—or the invisible strings of fate that connect people across timelines—is the romantic allegory central to Past Lives, playwright-turned-filmmaker Celine Song’s 2023 feature debut, then financial lingo is, aptly, the love language of Materialists. New Yorkers approach romance as a “business deal” and discuss the “material assets” and “value” of potential partners ad nauseam, highlighting the shrewd, quasi-capitalistic approach that desperate singles bring to the dating game.
While buzz for Song’s sophomore feature has been positioning it as a much-needed comeback for the rom-com genre, the film lacks the finesse for character and chemistry that the filmmaker showcased in her inaugural effort. Drifting away from Song’s personal life may have proved somewhat less inspiring for her as a writer, but even less convincing here are central performances from Dakoka Johnson and Pedro Pascal, whose lack of mutual magnetism slacken the tension inherent to a convincing love triangle.
Johnson plays Lucy, a modern-day matchmaker based in New York City who must cater to the superficial “non-negotiables” that her wealthy clients demand in a future spouse. Women are judgmental about height and hairlines, while men shudder at the thought of dating anyone born before the year 2000 or with a BMI over 20. Instead of cheekily probing at the way elitist beauty standards contribute to a dual dearth of romantic prospects across gender lines, these observations are mostly used as fodder for cheap, easy laughs. Ironically, Lucy—a 35-year-old “eternal” bachelorette—is herself single-mindedly obsessed with finding an affluent man. “I’m going to die alone or get a rich husband,” she vows to her co-worker Daisy (a confoundingly cast Dasha Nekrasova). “Same thing,” Daisy quips.
While attending the wedding of a former client, it would appear that Lucy’s dream man might finally manifest in Harry (Pedro Pascal), the groom’s equally wealthy and handsome brother. He is immediately drawn to the beautiful brunette (granted, even her cerulean strapless gown and silver statement jewelry are easy to gawk at), though at first she tries to recruit him as a client. Despite him only showing interest in dating her, Lucy is convinced that a “unicorn” of a man like him could do much better than a 30-something smoker whose years of scrounging for income left her saddled with debt. On paper, she would be a much better match with, say, her struggling actor ex-boyfriend John (Chris Evans), who Lucy happens to cross paths with at the same wedding. An employee at a high-end catering company, John re-enters her life by appearing out of thin air with her bizarre signature drink (“beer and coke”), instantly inserting himself between Lucy and Harry before their romance has properly begun.
Much like Past Lives, a love triangle serves as the narrative backbone of Materialists, as Lucy grapples with pursuing a cool aspirational love affair with Harry or settling back into a life of impassioned financial precarity with John. Truthfully, the stakes of committing to either relationship are never properly outlined, with Lucy’s fixation on marrying rich seeming to only stem from herself having a low-income upbringing. Indeed, as a matchmaker, her success rate mostly stems from setting people up who come from similar backgrounds.
In this sense, she agrees that John would be her soulmate on the sheer basis of their shared qualities (“poor, voted for Bernie, shitty family”). There is no dissection of how a “perfect match” can transcend surface-level criteria—often influenced by vain societal valuations—which leaves the story feeling as shallow as the entitled, lovelorn clients that Lucy becomes increasingly frustrated by. There is then a sudden thematic shift toward a “known risk” in the matchmaking industry that decidedly deflates Materialists‘ would-be “rom-com” label, starkly positioning it as a drama attempting to tackle a hot-button social issue.
Oddly, Lucy and Harry’s characters are hardly provided interiority, even when their relationship escalates to the point of exchanging apartment keys and planning international trips. It would make sense for Harry to singularly possess a vacant quality—to cement the idea that he is all appearances, with no personal appeal—but Lucy isn’t exactly the most engaging protagonist to follow, either. Her motivations are overwhelmingly unclear, which makes it difficult to fully invest in her dating dilemma (Johnson’s unwaveringly flat affect doesn’t help). Romantic, sexual, and even conversational chemistry evades Johnson and Pascal, while Evans manages to suffuse John with an imperfect scrappiness that makes him endearing in spite of the shortcomings of Song’s character development. This might partially have to do with viewers actually spending a decent amount of time in his hilariously ramshackle Manhattan apartment, which he shares with two caricatures of grody roommates.
Contrarily, Lucy and Harry’s comparatively stylish abodes feel less authentic. Cinematographer Shabier Kirchner, who lushly lensed Past Lives, returns with diminishing results. His knack for 35mm photography is stymied here, perhaps because New York City is also underdeveloped as a crucial character itself. The problem with centering Materialists on this eponymous class of Manhattanites is that their tastes are drab and conformist (Harry’s $12 million penthouse feels like a boring segment of Open House), and thus lack visual intrigue. John’s apartment has the texture of actually feeling lived-in, from its grimy countertops to busted medicine cabinets, which intrinsically injects personality into the character by way of truly surveying how he lives. Of course, many more of us will relate to sloppy roommates and cramped quarters than silk sheets and Italian marble countertops. To his credit, however, Kirchner captures Johnson’s chic visage with a longing gaze, and her stylish wardrobe is a pleasure to soak up.
Again, the personal inspiration behind Past Lives may have allowed for Song to more intentionally portray the personalities of the central trio, which in turn aided in forging a genuine intimacy between the characters. Materialists, however, does feel like an attempt to emulate another NYC-set romance about a woman deciding between two men symbolizing the conflict between elevating one’s social status versus hewing close to one’s roots: Joan Micklin Silver’s 1988 masterpiece Crossing Delancey. That film, intriguingly, had its origins in theater (Song’s own creative background), as Susan Sandler adapted the screenplay from her play of the same name. But in every conceivable way, Materialists pales in comparison, from its depiction of listless New York daters to the internal conflict felt by its protagonist, whose desire to be a thoroughly modern woman unwittingly closes her off to the love of her life.
The rom-com has not been resurrected with Materialists. Though Song showed much promise with her Oscar-nominated foray into filmmaking, this screenplay feels less intentional in nearly every respect, and the performances from central cast members, save for Evans, don’t adequately enhance the narrative. The ham-fisted insistence that relationships are largely transactional—no matter the amount of money a couple may earn—is void of any meaningful insight, resulting in a story that simply doesn’t pay off.
Director: Celine Song
Writer: Celine Song
Starring: Dakota Johnson, Chris Evans, Pedro Pascal
Release Date: June 13, 2025
