Celine Song’s second film Materialists has been heralded (perhaps mistakenly, some might argue) as a return to “classic” romantic comedies. From the cheeky early-aughts voiceover in the trailer to the main character’s romantic but unlikely career as a matchmaker (based on Song’s real, if brief, work experience, as she told Entertainment Weekly), the movie and its marketing evinces a charmingly old-school vibe despite being set in the present day. Though Song’s version of a rom-com unfolds in her distinct, understated style, she consciously positions Materialists in conversation with the classics of the genre. By building within a familiar framework, Song makes her story about modern dating feel timeless.
Anyone who’s been single in the 2020s will recognize the relationship landscape of Materialists. There are references to old acquaintances who are now married to influencers and conversations about surgeries that could make people more physically appealing. One of the more serious plotlines about the genuine dangers of dating reflects how far the conversation around sexual assault has come over the last few years, a topic that has rarely entered the fantasy realm of rom-coms. But the most obvious example of Materialists’ modernity is an obsession with numbers. Lucy (Dakota Johnson) is adept at “dating math,” putting together the right data—age, height, salary—to make a successful (typically heterosexual) couple. Her clients’ pickiness reflects popular preferences on dating apps: Women want a tall man, men want a young woman.
Lucy’s calculating cynicism is unmistakably a reflection of modern romance. The obsession with dating math has reached new heights in the era of online dating, when people can sort through potential matches based on characteristic preferences rather than personality. Song cleverly subverts the ability of singles to do all this on their phones by filtering this perspective through a human matchmaker, but modern dating is still an industry disrupted by big tech and its algorithms. Different platforms further silo the dating pool into even more particular categories, by religion, sexuality, income, status, and more, then hide the best matches behind paywalls. Meanwhile, dating’s data obsession trickles down into popular culture, like John Mulaney doing a PSA for men to “Know Your Height” on his Netflix show Everybody’s Live, or the 2024 viral TikTok jingle “Looking For A Man In Finance” that was remixed by the likes of David Guetta and Alesso.
Yet Song, clearly well-versed in matters of love and genre, knows that what feels particular to present-day dating has precedent throughout history. That’s why the opening sequence of Materialists isn’t modern at all; it’s a fable about two cavepeople who fall in love, a fantasy of what could have been the first marriage in history. “To me, the whole movie is in those pieces,” Song told the Los Angeles Times. “Because all of what we are living through is also going to be ancient too.” This is the true message of Materialists underneath the surface-level love story, which Song communicates through winking references to the romantic canon.
After all, numbers have always been part of the conversation in romance. Pride And Prejudice, still held up as a gold standard romance (as evidenced by the multiple adaptations and spin-offs still being made 200 years later), includes many of the antecedents to Materialists‘ plot. The busybody Mrs. Bennet hoping to match one of her daughters with whatever rich bachelor rented Netherfield is not so different from Lucy quickly sizing up a businessman in the park as a potential suitor for her clients. Charlotte Lucas’ concerns about being a burden to her family as a single woman at 27 are echoed in Lucy’s client Sophie (Zoë Winters), who weeps about the difficulties of being a single woman in her late 30s. The numbers may have shifted over time, but the fantasy that a woman’s soulmate just so happens to be a wealthy man who can meet (or exceed) all of a woman’s material needs endures.
But what if your soulmate and the perfect rich man are two different guys? That’s the crux of Materialists. One fantasy is represented by Harry (Pedro Pascal), an extremely wealthy dude who also happens to be handsome, smart, and kind. And like in many classic romances, Harry’s foil is the archetypal pauper as represented by John (Chris Evans), Lucy’s struggling actor ex-boyfriend. If you know anything about the genre, you know the soulful pauper usually has the romantic upper hand (See: Titanic, The Notebook, Moulin Rouge). But even more than his lack of wealth, John’s romantic position is strengthened by his history with Lucy. In the great romantic comedies where an ex walks back into the picture (See: The Awful Truth, His Girl Friday), he usually manages to win back the girl. Materialists‘ spiritual predecessor love triangle is The Philadelphia Story, in which both of Tracy’s (Katharine Hepburn) love interests are charming and intelligent options with whom she has real chemistry. But it’s her ex-husband C.K. Dexter Haven (Cary Grant) who ultimately claims her heart.
In keeping with these love triangle conventions, Materialists doesn’t hide its foregone conclusion. In fact, the film foreshadows it within minutes of John’s introduction, when Lucy agrees that he’s probably her soulmate. Nevertheless she still pursues a relationship with Harry because he aligns with all of her values. By contrasting these two archetypal love interests, Song crafts a modern romantic fable not unlike that of the cavepeople, where the characters are less important than the ideas they represent. At the center is Lucy, a realist in the vein of Mrs. Bennet and Charlotte Lucas. She is practical and honest about wanting the comfort of wealth; perhaps Materialists‘ most modern element of all is the frankness with which Lucy observes that poverty is a strain on relationships. Predecessors like Lorelei (Marilyn Monroe) in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes or Holly Golightly (Audrey Hepburn) in Breakfast At Tiffany’s made an argument for prioritizing wealth in romance because of the glamor, sophistication, and comfort it can bring. Lucy makes the same argument from the other side, showing through her experiences with John and her parents (whom Lucy remembers constantly fighting about money) how a lack of money brings ugliness, pain, and dysfunction to relationships. It’s a subtle difference, but it’s one of the small ways Song transforms an old story into something new, something that feels more grounded in our present reality.
Ultimately, Lucy learns the hard but inevitable lesson that what makes sense on paper doesn’t necessarily translate to matters of the heart: An idealized fantasy can’t live up to your real-life soulmate. The inevitability of this conclusion doesn’t detract from Materialists‘ charms, because Song knows that in romance the journey matters far more than the destination. Romance fans enjoy the familiarity of the genre’s typical tropes and archetypes, and if executed well a storyteller can make the familiar feel fresh. Song achieves success through great performances, excellent craftsmanship, and a deep understanding of the romantic tradition. The entanglement of these characters is a way to explore our values in relationships, to once again put love to the test and see if it comes out on top, and to cheer when it does. It’s why we keep coming back to the same stories, the same symbols, the same emotions again and again, from the very first caveperson who picked a flower to give to their lover.
“We know that certain stone tools were passed over to the other, but we do not know about the flowers that were exchanged. Because there are some things like sentiment and feeling and love that are intangible and ephemeral,” Song said to the L.A. Times. “There’s a very real and tangible and material record of stone tools and things being traded. But what passed between them in their heart is not. It’s not on record.” There is a record, though, found in the poems, songs, books, plays, and movies to which Song pays such heartfelt homage. Materialists slips comfortably and unobtrusively into the romantic canon, between the louder more frenetic screwball comedies of classic Hollywood and the dialogue-driven romances of auteurs like Nora Ephron and Woody Allen. From the New York City setting to the love triangle, Lucy’s matchmaker job to the film’s frequent weddings, these are recognizable signifiers on a familiar road map. The question remains the same: Will love come out on top again? The pleasure is getting the same answer: It does, it does, it does.
