I finally watched Celine Song’s Materialists (2025) last week. Originally, my little thoughts on it were going to be part of a broader recap newsletter, but then I realized that, once more, Song had given me more to think about than I’d bargained for. Which, frankly, I resent. One of these days, I’d like to get exactly what I asked for.
It’s a bit late for this one, I realize—everyone published their Materialists thinkpieces a couple of months ago, back when the film was released and people still hadn’t experienced August’s horrors. Well. I was busy.1 Like, I only just got around to reading Emily Henry’s Great Big Beautiful Life last week (it pains me to say that I didn’t love it, but more on that later).
A couple of Wednesdays ago, I took it upon myself to go to a 4pm showing of this film, because I like having opinions and I wanted, ideally, to have an informed one. I love a little instance of delayed discourse. It’s freeing. At approximately 6pm, I emerged from the dark theater like hmm … that sure was something. It’s taken me a few days to figure out if that was something bad (Wicked reference) or something good (Sound of Music reference) (in a perfect world, there is no fascism and everything is a musical theater reference … alas … one out of two ain’t nothing).
Full disclosure: my instinct tells me to trust Celine Song, mostly because Past Lives is one of my favorite films of the last few years, as I wrote back in 2023.2 And even though Dakota Johnson, here playing professional matchmaker Lucy, is still too much of a hot cool nonchalant girl to properly convince anyone of her romantic misfortunes3; and even though the chemistry between her and Pedro Pascal and Chris Evans was seemingly incinerated in the cutting room floor; and even though I had to sit through at least two scenes featuring dead-behind-the-eyes Dasha N*krasova … I couldn’t help but find myself somewhat charmed by Materialists.4
Maybe it’s just that all three leads are hot. Call me superficial, but that sure does tend to help. I like seeing attractive people on the big screen. In real life, too, why not. Sans chemistry, though, hotness feels almost … tragic. Bit of a waste, if I’m honest.
Because it might be charming, yes, but this is not, to be clear, a film that will stand the test of time. It just isn’t. What is clear is that Song (1) understands the visual attraction of two people standing in front of a New York City stoop and (2) is slowly chronicling her seeming obsession with the concept of soulmates.
Let’s discuss (below the paywall, because I’ve grown a bit tired of being vulnerable on main).
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