Korean Canadian filmmaker Celine Song brings her pensive touch to the classic rom-com in Materialists, her follow-up to 2023’s Past Lives, attempting to subvert the genre and deconstruct it to its finest thread. Unlike in the romps from the ’90s with Sandra Bullock or Hugh Grant, Song contextualizes the pitfalls of dating as a more serious enterprise than you’d expect — nobody face-plants or acts like a clown to engender laughs. If anything, Song tests the genre’s durability and authenticity to see if it still fits with our current climate of ambition and commerce. Starring a trifecta of major stars, it’s an engrossing portrait of a young woman, Lucy (Dakota Johnson), and her attempts to choose between a wealthy bachelor, Harry (Pedro Pascal), “a unicorn,” as she refers to him, and a financially struggling ex, John (Chris Evans), who understands her implicitly. From Sturgess to Ephron, it’s a tale as old as the rom-com itself, but it’s never been portrayed like this. And although it misses being great by a sliver, it’s still an honest and refreshing depiction of loneliness, and how finding “the one” only leads back to you.
Although Song’s sophomore effort looks like a significant departure from Past Lives, a diasporic drama about two childhood friends from Korea, it has a similar composition: a simple premise, fully realized characters, and intricate dialogue that pulls us into a philosophical interplay. This isn’t necessarily a comedy, although it’s been marketed as such. And unlike most love stories, which cull their tropes from the same fairytale, Song is more interested in posing questions than providing answers. Avoiding cliché as if it were the plague, this is a cynical, character-driven take (or takedown) of our search for meaning in a society that values coupledom and commodities over “love.” Although Song’s interrogation methods aren’t consistent or completely successful, her intelligence and curiosity are always exciting.
The movie opens, curiously, with two cavepeople in love. As the male brings back supplies, his paramour kisses him tenderly. The caveman then creates a ring out of a flower, placing it on her finger. It’s an image we’ll see later in the film with two different characters. For Song, the flower is an organic symbol of love, free of monetary value or societal judgment. It’s a meditative, innocent image that sets the tone for a story that’s both breezy and dense at the same time.
Fast forward to our digitally conditioned era, where we meet Lucy, a professional matchmaker in New York City who works for a prominent company. Each day, she helps affluent clients sift through a litany of criteria to find ideal partners. It’s not a job for the weak. Somehow, she retains a calm demeanor as 50-year-old male tycoons say that they refuse to date women over 30 (or, as one potential client says, “Nothing over 20 BMI”), and middle-aged women who insist they won’t meet someone who makes under six figures. Lucy’s goal is to expand their unrealistic conditions while making it seem as if they’re meeting them. She might be the toast of her office (nine of her clients got married), but it’s a highwire act that’s slowly eating away at her.
As she thrives in her job, Lucy seems to be drinking the same lifeless, metrical Kool-Aid she peddles. She moves through the world like a lightning rod, repeating data and statistics on what it takes to find the perfect match. Everyone she meets is just a portfolio, from their height and income to their education. Johnson fits into her role effortlessly, exuding supreme confidence while suppressing fears of being alone. That is, until she attends a wedding and meets Harry (Pascal), an impossibly rich magnate who takes a shine to her. As they talk, her ex-boyfriend, John (Evans), who’s working the event as a waiter, brings her favorite drink to the table, and Lucy finds herself torn between two prospects.
Lucy and John share a chemistry that hasn’t died with the passage of time. In a flashback, they’re a couple, driving in Times Square as John complains about the price of parking and other monetary snares. After going a few rounds, Lucy jumps out of the car and wails, “I don’t want to hate you because you’re poor!” An aspiring actor (hence, the waiter gig), John hasn’t made any financial headway since that fateful day, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped loving her. That’s inconvenient. Especially when a suave millionaire is sweeping her off her feet.
Channeling Richard Linklater’s ear for witty banter and Hong Kong director Wong Kar-Wai’s attention to nuance, the best parts of the film are conversational. Initially a playwright, Song’s dialogue unearths emotional barriers that exist under the surface. Her characters are highly intelligent, aware of their stations, and quick on their feet, even when they struggle. Lucy doesn’t buy anything on looks alone; she’s a businesswoman. “The math doesn’t add up,” she says to Harry. Why would he want a college dropout who’s making 80 grand a year when he can have a 20-something starlet? Harry simply responds that he wants her for her “intangible assets.” When he brings her to his 12-million-dollar penthouse, she’s more taken with the amber walls and interior decorating than with his ravenous kiss. That doesn’t seem to bother him, though — he thinks they’re perfect for each other, at least on paper. Pascal is fantastic as a lothario who buries his secrets, as is Evans, who brings a quiet sadness and grit to his role. Anyone who’s been broke, especially when facing someone from their past, knows that hangdog look.
Materialists exists in a ponderous space between commerce and love, which isn’t unusual for a romance but has never been portrayed with such a meditative style and nuance. The first three quarters are brilliant. There aren’t any villains or big reveals that tip the scales and appease an audience; it’s more of a game of poker, where each player is guessing what kind of cards the other has before laying down their bets. The third act contains an unexpected twist, which forces Lucy to question the worth of her expertise as a matchmaker. This change in focus darkens the tone, and takes us right out of the playfulness of their game.
Unfortunately, Song is much better at creating the groundwork between her characters than at portraying an individual’s internal struggle. Lucy’s fall from grace and swift redemption is not only slight, but rushed to the finish line. I simply had a tough time accepting her trajectory. One of the problems is that Song tries so hard to upend the rom-com that the narrative suffers when the movie stumbles into convention. Perhaps if she had embraced some of the cliches and classic tropes in the first half of the movie, it wouldn’t feel so unconvincing when they finally appear. But you can’t really blame her; she underestimated the monster that is every movie genre. Even if your version is a languid and studious reevaluation, you still can’t overcome the rules of the game. That said, Song’s willingness to test the limits of a traditional genre is entertaining and smart, even when it splinters. Her characters shine. Her dialogue is silken and alive. But sometimes you can’t completely deconstruct a good thing.
“Materialists” is playing at AMC Metreon 16, 135 Fourth Street.
