Director: Celine Song
Writer: Celine Song
Stars: Dakota Johnson, Chris Evans, Pedro Pascal
Synopsis: A young, ambitious New York City matchmaker finds herself torn between the perfect match and her imperfect ex.
Celine Song’s masterful, heartbreaking debut feature, Past Lives, didn’t have a tagline because it didn’t need one to sell itself. The romantic drama about two once-intertwined souls who reconnect after losing touch for decades was as straightforward as they come, yet what made it one of 2023’s strongest films was the meticulous manner in which it handled its reasonably basic narrative. Intelligent, wistful, and endlessly painful in the ways that make you long for the feelings it stirs within you regardless of the accompanying ache, it’s a film that is wholly in touch with the sort of emotions only art can inspire. At least, that’s what you believe until you meet someone who causes similar, deep sensations so deep that they feel right, wrong, and entirely foreign, all at the same time. Past Lives is a terrifying movie because of how recognizable it is: It imagines a reality that you’ve probably lived, even if you didn’t realize it at the time.
Song’s sophomore effort, Materialists (in theaters on June 13 from A24), has a tagline – “Some people just want more” – but it similarly doesn’t require one, though the reasons are different this time. For one, it’s a modern romantic dramedy being released during a time when filmgoing audiences seem starved for thoughtful fare of the sort; Anyone But You and Babygirl were mere starters, just hearty enough to whet one’s appetite without spoiling dinner. But it also could have been released on its own promise, given the fact(s) that its director is hot off the heels of a hit that garnered two Oscar nominations (Best Picture and Best Original Screenplay, Song’s own), and that its stars, with no shade to the likes of Greta Lee, John Magaro, and Teo Yoo, are among Hollywood’s brightest in terms of marketability and feasibly-photoshopped physical features.
The lead here, Dakota Johnson, plays Lucy, a Manhattan-based matchmaker who is responsible for nine marriages but is referred to by her pals as “the eternal bachelorette;” a notable nepo baby, Johnson has paved a path independent of her parents’ dating back to the Fifty Shades franchise in the early 2010s and including everything from A Bigger Splash and Suspiria to Madame freaking Web. Opposite our favorite neighborhood (clairvoyant) spider-woman is Chris Evans as John, a struggling actor who works catering jobs to make rent and lives with a tandem of shitty roommates; you might remember Evans from his time as Captain America. Rounding out Materialists’ dynamic trio is Pedro Pascal, playing this romance’s resident macho millionaire, Harry; Pascal has starred or appeared in everything short of a NEON movie (though I’m sure it’s coming) and makes his Marvel foray next month as Reed “Mister Fantastic” Richards in The Fantastic Four: First Steps. This film, the one starring all three and in which not one dons a latex-based costume, has next to no reporting on its budget, but one has to assume that 75-percent of that imaginary number went straight into their pockets.
Jokes aside, it’s safe to say that Materialists, cute catchphrase and all, needed no introduction. Yet what I hope people are willing to do is consider its excellence beyond its inherent external sheen, with glimmers bouncing off of its top-billed stars’ trophy cases and Song’s unofficial first-look deal with the studio behind its domestic release. For while Materialists is certainly a showier (and shinier) production than Past Lives ever was – even after the critical acclaim and awards nominations – it remains just as incisive an examination of the human heart as its filmographic predecessor. The apartments here, for the most part, are much larger and nicer than anyone’s homes in Past Lives, as are the clothes, the car services, the date nights, and the accessories, scrupulously selected to tie every perfect outfit together. But its core tenant is the same blend of smart, earnest, humanistic, and, above all, authentic that made Past Lives such a phenomenon for an unknown director whose claim to fame was that her first film’s love triangle was loosely autobiographical.
We still lack (and clamor for) the details regarding what went down during Song and Challengers/Queer scribe Justin Kuritzkes’ courtship, but as long as they keep writing such devourable screenplays that chart the maps for such luscious, delectable films, who’s to say they owe us anything? What Materialists argues at first, on the other hand, is that we owe ourselves everything when it comes to love; that we should play the field until we find the perfect partner, the one who dots every “i” and crosses every “t.” Lucy’s job is to help the singles of New York find the ideal match – it is called matchmaking, after all – but her approach is comprehensive and considers every variable. A number of cleverly-edited montages (kudos to Keith Fraase, Song’s editor on Past Lives and a frequent collaborator of Terrence Malick’s) are peppered throughout the film and show us precisely what Lucy has to keep in mind when setting up dates for prospective paramours. “Nothing over 20 BMI,” one client notes sternly. “I get along a lot better with girls in their 20s,” another offers, pushing 50 himself. “I deserve someone who fulfills all of my criteria,” says the customer with a list of musts longer than the restaurant menu she and Lucy are sitting in. It’s a dirty job, but someone’s gotta do it.
And Lucy is incredibly good at it. She finds a way to twist an anxious bride’s words from “I’m marrying him to make my sister jealous” to “I’m marrying him because he makes me feel valued.” She also pitches marriage as a business deal, a has-to-end-sometime search for a “grave buddy.” As for Lucy’s love life, she’s happy on her own, for now. Her apartment is well-kept, as is her routine. Until she is approached by a handsome private equity tycoon (Pascal’s Harry) at the aforementioned success story’s wedding. Harry is the groom’s brother, and with his equally-rich sibling matched off, he happens to be next on the ring-shopping block. Naturally, as this is a movie starring movie stars, he takes a liking to Lucy, and though she initially balks at the proposition, she entertains a drink and a dance in hopes that she can win his business by night’s end. Only the evening doesn’t conclude on Harry’s arm, but in John’s car. Yes, Evans’ ruggedly-sexy Broadway dreamster snagged a busboy gig at Harry’s brother’s nuptials, and goes so far as to deliver Lucy’s drink of choice before she can have Harry fetch it for her – “Coke and beer,” she says, marking the first time anyone has ever ordered such a combination. She and John have a history, you see, a complicated one that fizzled due to conflicting dreams and financial insecurity, not due to a lack of love for one another.
“I don’t want to hate you for being poor,” Lucy tells John in a flashback, “But it’s very hard.” It’s a cutting barb to hear from a partner, but Song isn’t afraid to shy away from writing and depicting exchanges that couples have perhaps always wanted to share and never felt comfortable enough to commit to. “I’m trying so hard to make you happy,” John replies, with Lucy delivering a final blow in response. “I know. And it’s almost enough to make me happy.” These are the sorts of concerns that Harry doesn’t arouse, and if there were any real concerns, his $12 million penthouse would dispel them in perpetuity. Much of Materialists is made up of conversations between a woman and a man in which one seems to be pitching themselves to the other, as though a relationship is a business proposition. And for Lucy, that makes sense: She views everything through the lens of mathematics and sensible decision making, which leads her down the Harry road even if the John road is more familiar and enticing, despite its plethora of potholes and construction-related delays. This serves Song’s “will they/won’t they” framework quite well on a basic level, with the practical dialogue she has her characters engage in only aiding the concoction, like decorative frosting atop an already decadent wedding cake.
There are layers to the cake, too, like Harry’s own insecurities – including one particular reveal that is too good to spoil and too hilarious to bother explaining – John’s emotional baggage, and Lucy’s self-deprecative streak. That the film is never too keen to hitch its wagon to one thread alone allows for plenty of back-and-forth between Lucy’s connection with both men, as well as a side plot featuring Zoë Winters’ Sophie (Lucy’s most demanding and hopeless case) that initially feels out of place but finds a footing of its own and ends up factoring intimately in with the ongoings of our main characters’ journeys, both together and individually. It’s Johnson’s movie for the most part, with her wealth of lines and significance to the film’s principal dramatic arc(s) making certain that she is never off-screen for very long, if at all. The whole picture basically boils down to being a chapter in Lucy’s exploration of personal growth, and Pascal’s Harry plays a significant part, putting on the charm offensive and looking devilishly grand while doing so. But Evans is the true standout, providing yet another slab of evidence that the Marvel portion of his career was a loss for us all. His John has all the makings of a classic romantic dramedy character – the flailing ex who still loves our lead because of her flaws, not in spite of them – and Evans’ knack for embodying deep emotion in every line and shift in body language will only make you wish he’d squirmed out of Disney’s clutches sooner.
Of course, it’s a credit to Song’s raw filmmaking abilities that got each of these three stars attached, and a more extravagant hat-tip should be directed her way due to how successful the writer-director is in ensuring that none of them are ever backed into one of the film’s many potential corners, no matter who’s commanding the frame at any given point. Lucy runs the show; Harry has his moments, but also has his millions, and the two are often inextricable; John is somehow the most complex and most relatable character, but only because Song allows him to be both at the same time. A lesser filmmaker would have made Evans play the bumbling boy bestie whose employment is constantly on the fritz and whose rent is perpetually six months behind; in the early 2000s, he probably would have been gay or rejected. Both the occupational and financial concerns are true of John here, but he’s also an emotional figure worth investing in for the long haul, and not just because he gets the movie’s most indelible line down the home stretch.
It’s clear that Song has a love for the genre in which she’s now crafted to undeniable triumphs, and while Past Lives is this critic’s preferred entry, there’s something thrilling about watching the burgeoning auteur level up in a mainstream way that doesn’t involve superheroes or Mattel. And when you think about it, the only thing differentiating the “accessibility,” for lack of a better word, of Song’s debut effort from her sophomore is the inclusion of subtitles. That’s a conversation for another day – though it’s not one we should still have to have – because it’s worth reiterating that Materialists exists on its own merits, not those set by the success of the movie its director made two years prior. Far too often do we compare one’s past work (or lives) to their new offerings in hopes that a hole might be worth poking through when we should instead be appreciating the fact that a filmmaker has done more than one thing in their careers, no matter how long they’ve been working. In Song’s case, the career is but two features in, and Materialists serves as an indication that her well of stories worth telling shan’t run dry anytime soon. And thank goodness for that: In terms of films by Celine Song, love stories or not, some people just want more.
