Since its release, Materialists has stirred a fair amount of conversation, inviting diverse interpretations of its theme, tone and treatment. A recent article in Indiewire goes as far as to state that the film not only subverts the conventional romance genre but is also director Celine Song’s takedown of the transactional nature of Hollywood itself, a ‘business’ where commerce weighs heavy on art; one in which cinema has largely been reduced to an assembly-line product that needs to ‘check boxes’. Where films are no longer films, but generically referred to as content. It is an interesting way to read the film, like many of the other exegesis of Materialists that have sprung up over the last week.
At its core, Materialists poses the age-old question of what makes two people come together in a marriage — love or security. Song uses an unexpected and clever sequence set in prehistoric times to frame her film’s central theme, that of romantic relationships being either transactional or emotional, or often both.
“Why do people marry?” someone asks in the latter half of Materialists. Another answers: “Because society says they should. Because they don’t want to die lonely. Because they want to be in love. And because they are hopeful.”
It is a fairly accurate summation of most modern relationships, and by extension, of marriages. Sustaining a relationship is tough, says the film; forging one even more so.
The central focus of Materialists is Lucy, played by Dakota Johnson, who gets top billing in the film’s credits, above her more senior co-stars. Rightly so, because Song plays out the film wholly from Lucy’s point of view. Lucy is a matchmaker, catering to an elite bunch of singles in New York. She is very good at her job (no Sima Taparia, this), with her boss, at one point, describing her as: “One hell of a matchmaker with razor-sharp instincts and a keen eye for chemistry.” Song was once a matchmaker in New York City and that experience makes its way into Materialists, contributing richly to it. But the film, unlike Song’s much-lauded, Oscar-nominated debut Past Lives, stops being semi-autobiographical beyond this detail. Or so it seems on the surface.
Past Lives, released two years ago, upended the conventional dramatic structure of the love triangle to tell a complex story about migration, ambition and a lingering sadness for what could have been, through the story of a cosmopolitan playwright, her American husband and the childhood crush she left behind in Korea years ago. Like that film, Materialists is a look at choice and chance, but is more mathematical in its approach.
‘Math’, after all, plays an important role in Lucy’s line of work. She sees the world of dating as math and measurement, fixing people up via the best algorithms modern technology affords her. Lucy refers to dating as a “risk”, and works hard on her clients to minimise it. For her, love and marriage is more calculator and balance sheet than roses and romance. She offers love, but doesn’t promise it. What she does propose to her clients is the prospect of a “hospital mate” and a “grave buddy” — a partner you can grow old with, one you can die with.
The shadow of Past Lives rears its head in Materialists when Lucy bumps into a new suitor and an old flame on the same night. The former is Harry (Pedro Pascal), the groom’s brother, at the wedding of Lucy’s client. Harry is rich, suave, a great conversationalist, a man of the world. The latter is John (Chris Evans), a part-time struggling actor and part-time cater waiter who is full-time broke. Lucy ended her relationship with him because she couldn’t see a future with a man who cribbed about paying $20 as parking fees on their five-year relationship anniversary.
Lucy looks at Harry as her next client, but he wants to date her. Her matchmaking brain looks at him as a “unicorn” and an “impossible fantasy”, but she allows him to sweep her off her feet and into his $12 million Tribeca penthouse. But even though the hedge-funder in him “checks all the boxes” of materialism that she always wanted, “love is not on the table” for the two. On the other hand, John — vulnerable, broke, emotional — stirs old feelings in Lucy again. He tells her things like: “When I see you, I see wrinkles and children that look like you.” Harry, in his ‘pitch’ to win Lucy over when she describes herself as “negative dowry”, says that he wants someone “who understands the game” and possesses “intangible assets” that are “good investments”.
In the end, Lucy opts for one over the other, but Materialists works on a far deeper level than a conventional love triangle (though its promotional campaigns have consistently positioned it as such). Not all of it lands as well as it should, but the film does give us a lot to bite into and ruminate on much longer after the screen goes blank.
For one, it examines how everything from relationship podcasts to dating shows to simply life itself have increasingly made single people — specifically women — think that they must reconcile their progressive values with the demands of a capitalist society. The pressure to land a partner for financial security and to produce children remains, much from the time of Jane Austen itself. It also poses a vital question — should someone have to radically change everything about themselves to fit neatly into a checklist? Or can care and love supersede all?
For a film this conversational, it helps that Materialists has pointed, wickedly funny and even stinging dialogue, with Song using humour to talk about modern dating and how today’s singles, for the most part, are overly entitled, myopic and unrealistic in their demands. The commodification of age, income and physical assets is par for the course in today’s shrinking dating pool.
For all its emphasis on math, Materialists doesn’t follow a formula. It asks many questions about love and marriage, but doesn’t take it upon itself to answer them all. That may not sit well for those who expect a neat conclusion to this film. This is a story that is both breezy and dense at the same time, with Song attempting to subvert the genre and deconstruct it to its finest point. For that alone — and for the pitch-perfect performances at its centre — Materialists is a standout.