Celine Song’s “Materialists” Talks Love Like Never Before
So, I just saw Materialists , the newest film from Celine Song—you know, the director who gave us Past Lives . And let me tell you, this isn’t just another romantic movie. It’s a razor-sharp, whip-smart take on love, work, and identity, wrapped in dialogue that snaps, sparkles, and sometimes sits in eerie silence. You’ve got Dakota Johnson as Lucy, a high-end Manhattan matchmaker who knows exactly what she’s selling—and maybe even believes in it. Then there’s Pedro Pascal, playing Harry, a polished, wealthy private equity guy who unexpectedly becomes her client... and then her romantic interest. And of course, there’s Chris Evans, the wild card ex-boyfriend John, a broke actor moonlighting as a cater-waiter, who comes crashing back into her life like a memory you can’t quite let go of.
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From the moment Lucy opens her mouth at a wedding and Harry quietly eavesdrops, you can feel it: words matter in this film. Dialogue isn’t just filler—it’s performance, it’s seduction, it’s control. Song treats conversations like choreography. Every glance, every beat of silence feels like it’s been rehearsed with the precision of a ballet. The first half of the movie is just electric. It hums with tension. There’s this moment when Harry slides into the seat next to Lucy at the singles table, and they spark immediately—without even touching. The way they talk is the dance.
But what’s truly fascinating is how Song uses Lucy’s job—matchmaking—as a metaphor for emotional transaction. Lucy literally sells love, and she’s good at it. She spins romantic ideals into bullet points and package deals, balancing business with intimacy in a way that feels both admirable and unsettling. And because Song herself once worked as a matchmaker, you can feel that inside knowledge. It’s baked into every scene where Lucy coolly assesses clients’ demands and repackages human vulnerability like a product.
Yet, for all her skill, Lucy’s inner life is a mystery. What does she want? Her past with John offers hints—shared memories, lingering chemistry, unresolved wounds. But even when she’s with Harry, soaking up the luxury of his Tribeca penthouse, you can tell she’s still performing, even for herself. There's this mesmerizing stillness in how the scenes play out, almost like time is holding its breath just to watch her. That’s Song’s magic: she lets the images do just as much talking as the script.
Now here’s the twist—after that intoxicating first half, the film hits a sudden snag. A subplot about workplace misconduct pops in, and it feels… out of place. Not because the issue isn’t serious—it absolutely is—but because the story doesn’t dig deep into it. It’s like a placeholder, pulling us away from Lucy’s core conflict just when we’re ready to truly understand her. The movie flirts with deeper character revelations but never fully commits. We still don’t know what music she loves, what art she feels drawn to, what joy looks like for her. And for a story that’s all about emotional compatibility, that feels like a strange omission.
Still, Materialists is a triumph in many ways. It dares to take romantic dialogue seriously. It’s got the vibe of classic screwball comedies—just sharper, quieter, more 2025. And even if the last act fumbles, the first half is unforgettable. Song proves she can take words—ordinary words about love, business, memory—and sculpt them into something theatrical, cerebral, and beautiful. If you’re into smart, layered, modern cinema that doesn’t underestimate your intelligence, Materialists is a must-watch. Just don’t expect it to hold your hand all the way through—like Lucy, it leaves a few things unsaid.
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