MOVIE SCENE CANADA
MATERIALISTS
​I VVS Films I June 13, 2025 I 116 mins. I
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87%
* As of 6/14/25
CAST:
Dakota Johnson, Chris Evans, Pedro Pascal
DIRECTOR(S):
Celine Song
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A young, ambitious New York City matchmaker finds herself torn between the perfect match and her imperfect ex.
REVIEW BY: Eden Prosser - 6/11/25
RATING 4 out of 5
‘What,’ it has been asked, ‘is love?’ A much-desired conquest, aspired to by most: it is the stuff of legends. An impossibility. The first line, perhaps, of an ‘90s dance ballad, still echoing throughout cavernous halls. In the cultural consciousness, love remains a sacred force, capable of transforming a life, fulfilling a legacy. Such a sentiment seems apt to be deigned, well, priceless. It stands to reason, then, that such a value might be anything but abstract.
Meet Lucy (Dakota Johnson): the assuring protagonist of Celine Song’s sophomore success. As New York’s most bankable matchmaker, she views love not as an abstract value, nor a sacred force, but a mathematically-derived comparison of compatibility. A familiar upbringing, a shared moral stance: checked boxes on a questionnaire are not simply predictive of a spark, but instead, propulsive. A roster of clients exude satisfaction; with her now-ninth inspired engagement just around the corner, it seems she may, perhaps, have cracked the code to everlasting love—and distilled it to a basic formula.
It seems the perfect set-up for a modern reconstruction—or, perhaps, deconstruction—of the quintessential rom-com. Throughout the film’s indiscernible two hours, Song expertly dissects the many facets of a long-trope-laden genre, examining the very foundations of humanity’s most primal instinct.
Take, for one, the triangulation of interest that blossoms between the film’s primary trio. Lucy—long a bachelor herself—finds herself torn between two love interests, fascinatingly distinct in their unique juxtaposition. What better place to find a suitor than at her clients’ wedding, brushing shoulders with finance tycoon Harry (Pedro Pascal), what is deemed, in matchmaker vernacular, to be a “unicorn”: tall, dark, handsome; gentle, loving, lucrative; a too-good-to-be-true hero wrenched directly from the pages of one’s fantasy. Pascal imbues each frame with charm, a subtle confidence that, with the twinkle in his eye, the warmth of his smile, seldom fails to draw both Lucy—and the audience. It would be the perfect meet-cute, if not for the sudden appearance of old flame John (Chris Evans): the yin to Harry’s yang. Brash, he is a simultaneous optimist and cynic, still in pursuit of a long-held dream, despite a lifetime struggling to make ends meet… and, once, he was the love of Lucy’s life.
Wherein the prototypical romantic comedy of yesteryear might fixate solely on the alternate romantic tugs, Song uses one’s search for love as a foil to the desires that may lie underneath. On its surface, Lucy et al. may be exploring the ups and downs of modern romance—and yet, when it truly comes down to it, the facet of humanity that Song is exploring is not ‘compatibility,’ nor ‘adoration,’ but the long-buried indecisions that simmer underneath.
What Song’s latest script revolves around, above all else, is one’s perception of value. It is an exploration of potential: the ways in which an individual can be assessed. Distilled, from a complex being to little more than a series of checked boxes. Such trivial criteria—many, reliant on the genetic lottery: height, hairline; cosmetic fascination superseding profundity—are assessed with as much, if not more weight than one’s values, aspirations. It is a fascinating scrutiny, expounded to comedic effect throughout the flick; the sheer absurdity of each client’s burgeoning demands can only elevate, levity injected via incredulity. Still, it is a curious paradox: if these are the manners in which ‘value’ is ascribed, then where, precisely, is the line?
It is here in which Materialists reveals the truth of its intentions. Early in the film, one of Lucy’s clients expresses a condolence. The eve of her marriage, and where, she wonders, is the joy? It is an excellent character moment, anchored by a never-better Johnson. “Why,” asks Lucy, “do you want to get married?” The answer, as it is revealed, begins to dissolve the illusion of rom-com simplicity, replaced, instead, by a deep dive into the human psyche. It is, the bride-to-be responds, a longing to feel desired. Value, ascribed to the self, brought upon by the gaze, the adoration, of another. Is that, Song asks, what ‘love’ is, deep within its core? Is it, perhaps, the most selfish truth of humanity—concealed in the purest, most selfless ray of light? Is it a mirror to our own impulses, our own insecurities—as women, as humans—through the gaze of a society in which we all are, have always, been told that desirability, above all, is the most compelling quality? Love, it seems, might simply be one such manifestation.
While Past Lives cemented Celine Song as one of the most thoughtful, nuanced voices in contemporary cinema, Materialists certainly expands upon the laud. There’s a raw honesty, in the way in which she sees, presents, the world; a simplicity to her characters, their actions, and yet, such depth resides within. She understands, it seems, not simply the narrative she’s woven, but the underlying human condition, that she has now not once, but twice been able to isolate, distill. In Materialists—as in her debut—it is the character work which truly shines; three leads, each grappling with their own self-concept. This produces two simultaneous desires: the anticipation as to whom, of her two options, our romantic lead will ultimately pursue—and the cathartic nuance, the satisfying lessons, gleaned as these complex, real beings gradually recognize their own self-worth—their value. Lucy, bachelorette eternal, fears the heft of her own standards. Harry, traipses through a city that near-bends to his will, exuding the confidence—or lack thereof—of a man who has (seemingly) always had it all. John, pursuing dreams thought to be impossible, well-aware of the limits of his stature. Three distinct touchpoints, in the hierarchy of perceived value; three lines that, on paper, perhaps should never have intersected. Yet intersect they do, and in these moments, the strokes of Song’s pen—combined, of course, with three truly-electric performances—transform to modern cinematic magic.
Despite the trailer’s mainstream sensibilities, Materialists certainly contains that much-revered complexity expected of an A24 venture. Less a fleeting portrait of 90s rom-com cheese; more a thoughtful inquiry into desirability, confidence, worth: it dips into directions deeper than what would be anticipated of the prototypical romantic comedy, flirting, instead, with the promise of drama, tonal fascinations that linger far beyond the final shot. Yes, there are moments of levity. Pockets, in which revelations cast our leads in a perhaps-unfavourable—and, yet, unquestionably-human—light, the titular ‘materialism’ materializing as shallow, indistinct. It’s an interesting juxtaposition: an attempt, perhaps, at critiquing the romance genre—or abiding by its conventionalities. Regardless, the depths at which the script deigns to explore cements it as another Song effort worthy of cultural canonization—and a genre-bending glimpse into the very folds of humanity.