Dating is hard. Love is easy.
But in a world obsessed with appearances, wealth, and success, even the simplest connection can feel impossible.
I’ve always been your typical romantic comedies girl—I’ve seen them all, and rewatched my favourites over and over. I just can’t get enough of them; it’s probably one of my favourite genres. When Materialists was announced, I was genuinely excited. I knew I would like the film, but I didn’t expect to love it as much as I did or to be moved by it so deeply. Following her impeccable debut, Past Lives (2023), Celine Song returns with her second outstanding feature.
Materialistic (adjective): overly concerned or preoccupied with material possessions rather than with intellectual or spiritual things.
We’ve always been told to want more—better education, better looks, more money. Why settle for less? Don’t we deserve the best?
But what does “the best” even mean? Is it a tall finance guy with a platinum card? A perfect apartment in Tribeca? A partner who takes you to all the best restaurants? Or is it something else—something you can’t quite put your finger on? What makes someone desirable—the way they look at you, or the way they look on paper? Is it the apartment, the wardrobe, the family name? Or is it something deeper—something intangible?
With Materialists, Celine Song doesn’t shy away from the truth about love and dating in today’s world. The film explores how our desires are influenced by status, how attraction becomes entangled with ambition, and how self-worth is too often measured against someone else’s idea of value. On the surface, it seems like everything is about material assets and money—but is that really what it’s all about?
Love—and the way we perceive it—is endlessly complex and mysterious. It’s shaped by so many invisible forces: our past, our fears, our desires, and the world around us. We grow up with certain ideas about what love should look like, how it should feel, who we should fall for—but rarely does reality match those expectations. Sometimes it’s loud and cinematic, while at other times it’s quiet and tender. And often, it challenges us in ways we’re not prepared for. Love can feel simple in one moment and impossible in the next. It’s not always logical, not always fair, and certainly not always easy. And yet, despite all of that—or maybe because of it—we keep searching for it, trying to understand it, define it, hold onto it. There’s something deeply human about that mystery, something that reminds us that to love is to be vulnerable, to risk, to hope.
“I believe that love is the greatest mystery in everyone’s lives, and therefore it is one of the most important themes in cinema.” - Celine Song, Los Angeles Times
You might think Materialists is "just another romantic comedy," but it’s actually so much more than that—it’s real, thoughtful, and quietly moving. It captures the messiness of love and dating today with honesty and nuance, digging deeper than most films of the genre have ever dared to.
Materialists follows Lucy (Dakota Johnson), a successful matchmaker in New York who finds herself caught between the perfect man—a so-called unicorn named Harry (Pedro Pascal)—and her imperfect ex-boyfriend, John (Chris Evans).
The film opens with an unexpected scene before shifting to Lucy getting ready for work. While it might seem random at first, that opening quietly sets the tone for everything that follows, and ultimately makes a lot of sense.
We then see Lucy heading to a work meeting with Sophie (Zoë Winters), her top client at the moment. Sophie is determined to find her perfect match and eventually “marry the love of her life.” But how do you even find someone’s perfect match? Is it just someone who looks good on paper and checks all (or most of) the boxes? Is it really that simple—just probabilities and statistics? Just math? That’s what we’re led to believe, especially since Lucy is celebrating her ninth wedding that very weekend—eighteen people paired with “the loves of their lives.” And that’s just counting the weddings. Who knows how many people found each other thanks to her incredible matchmaking flair?
At her client's wedding, Lucy meets Harry, the groom’s brother. From the moment they start speaking, Lucy seems to be sizing him up for her client list. He’s good-looking, charming, and wealthy—an ideal match. But Harry has other plans—he isn’t interested in being matchmade. He’s already made up his mind. While they’re talking, Lucy realizes her ex boyfriend is working at the wedding reception as a waiter (it's the Stand and Deliver reference here for me)—he’s an aspiring actor picking up side gigs to get by—and unlike Harry, he has nothing to offer Lucy on paper (a flashback later reveals that their breakup was, in fact, because he couldn’t provide the kind of life she was told to want).
This sequence is easily one of my favourites in the film. As Lucy begins questioning why Harry would want to date her, saying she has nothing to offer, that she grew up poor, has no assets, nothing material, he gently interrupts her: “I don’t want to date you for your material assets.” He’s looking for intangible qualities—the kind that are truly worth investing in, the ones that don’t lose value over time. With Harry, Lucy feels valuable. And he reminds her that, in fact, she is.
The scene delicately unpacks Lucy’s struggle with self-worth. When you don’t believe you’re worthy of love, when you convince yourself you have nothing to give, it’s hard to imagine why someone (especially someone like Harry) would choose you and would love you for who you are. It felt like a punch in the gut, in the best and most honest way (and it made me feel seen). It pushed me to reflect on my own sense of worth—how I view myself, and how often I ask the same questions Lucy does. Why would anyone choose me over someone else? What do I have to offer that others don’t? Why me?
It can be incredibly painful to live with those thoughts, and I know I’m not alone. That’s what makes this moment so powerful—it touches something real, something raw, something many of us carry quietly but deeply. Struggling with self-worth isn’t something most people show—and that’s true for Lucy as well. For the way she carries herself, the way she handles her clients and their relationships, you’d never guess what she’s dealing with beneath the surface.
When something unexpected (and unsettling) happens with a client, Lucy is forced to confront the beliefs she’s always held about relationships and compatibility. Does checking all the boxes really make someone a good match—or even a good person? Does it guarantee the kind of love you deserve? Or is it something deeper, something that can’t be measured on paper? As things begin to unravel, Lucy starts questioning herself, her desires, and what she truly wants from a relationship. She even begins to question her work and what it really means to be a matchmaker. Is it something real? Can love be engineered, or even predicted?
As I said, most of us are taught to always strive for more—to never settle, to want everything bigger, better, more impressive. That’s what Lucy was taught to believe, too. It’s all about appearances. But is that really what it’s about? Love and dating aren’t just some “girl shit.” They’re far more complex. They require effort, vulnerability, risk-taking, and, above all, self-love. When you recognize your own worth and let love happen, it becomes one of life’s most beautiful gifts. Love isn’t material—it’s nuanced, layered, and so much more than that.
Celine Song is a remarkable writer (probably one of the best working in the industry right now) and with Materialists, she offers an honest, emotionally rich take on love and self-worth—one that feels far more resonant than the glossy narratives we’ve grown used to. Materialists lingers, challenges, and ultimately comforts—not with fantasy, but with truth. It’s in every line of dialogue, every moment, every silence, and every subtle shift of tone that speaks as loudly as the words. Her screenplay is sharp yet tender, filled with moments that are both deeply specific and universally relatable.
What sets her apart is also the way she writes and develops her characters—not as tropes or archetypes, but as fully formed people with contradictions, insecurities, and quiet longings. Lucy isn’t just a successful matchmaker torn between two men; she’s someone searching for her own sense of value in a world that constantly tells her she might not be enough. And John and Harry are both far more complex than they initially appear—both perfectly imperfect men.
Song doesn't romanticize love in the conventional sense—she dissects it with empathy. She understands that dating is messy, that self-worth is fragile, and that love is never just about what someone has to offer on paper. It’s about presence, connection, and being truly seen, and that’s what makes Materialists so moving. It leans into reality, and somehow, that makes it even more beautiful.
Near the end, there’s a scene where Lucy and John attend a wedding, and it broke me (I cried a lot). As they watch the couple exchange vows, a quiet contradiction rises to the surface. Lucy, calm and cynical, reflects on how this marriage will eventually end, even as she sits through what’s supposed to be one of the happiest days in someone’s life. It’s heartbreaking in its honesty, revealing so much about her fears and beliefs around love. Beside her, John sees things differently, and the silent divide between them speaks volumes.
Then comes a moment between Lucy and John that completely wrecked me. Two people at their most vulnerable, finally seeing each other clearly—maybe for the first time. It’s one of the most honest and quietly devastating scenes I’ve seen in a long time. That moment holds everything: shame, self-worth, the fear that we’re too flawed to be loved. Lucy lays herself bare—convinced she’s unworthy, selfish, broken—and John, knowing he may never be enough by the world’s standards, simply chooses her anyway: “How can you love someone like me?” “I just do. It’s the easiest thing.” There’s something deeply moving about being met with unwavering love exactly where you feel most unlovable. But is it enough?
“When I look at you, I see wrinkles, grey hair, and kids that look like you.”
Chris Evans delivers a truly brilliant performance here (and throughout the whole film). I’m genuinely so glad he returned to the romance genre—it's something I didn’t even realize I needed until now. But honestly, it’s not just him; the entire cast shines. Each actor brings depth and authenticity to their roles, adding layers that make their characters feel fully realized and deeply compelling. Their chemistry and commitment elevate the story, making every moment resonate with the viewers.
Materialists is an achingly beautiful film. It broke my heart and somehow made it feel full. I felt seen, understood—suddenly, so many things made sense. It reminds you that connection, desire, and the need for love have always been there. It’s primal, timeless, simple, and deeply human (hence the opening scene). But it also speaks to self-worth—the belief that we deserve to be loved, even in our most fractured, unlovable moments.
It’s one of my favourite films of the year, and I couldn’t recommend it enough. Watch it with friends, on a date, or alone—it’s perfect for any occasion.
Materialists opens in theatres this Friday, and you won’t want to miss the chance to experience it on the big screen.
Photos: A24, VVS Films
Wow what a beautiful review!
ReplyDeleteThank you so much!
DeleteMakes me want to watch it
ReplyDeleteAh, that makes me happy! I hope you'll like it!
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