Materialists: Not another love triangle (except it is – and isn’t)

We’ve all witnessed this love triangle before: a girl torn between the brooding, chaotic ex and the wealthy, charming new suitor. It’s one of cinema’s age-old tropes, and its endings aren’t becoming less predictable anytime soon. But, in Materialists, Celine Song carefully toys with the traditional love triangle to reveal a deeper geometry beneath: one which has anxiety, comfort, capitalism and ambition. It’s as if the movie is a satire on the trope itself, playing along with its traditional blueprint, but critiquing it in real-time as well.

Yet beneath all this meet-cute framing, Materialists craves for something far more cynical

At first glance, it’s rom-com 101: Lucy (Dakota Johnson) is a stylish, modern-day matchmaker whose job enlists finding you your ideal soulmate—tall, fit, very fit, male, female, rich, very rich. Her salary is 80,000 dollars before taxes and her apartment is modest, yet she shows up in chic, yet grounded clothing every day at work. She’s faced with the eternal dilemma: choosing either John (Chris Evans), her blast from the past with an unstable income, or Harry (Pedro Pascal) a wealthy, seemingly perfect, older guy who works in private equity. Yet beneath all this meet-cute framing, Materialists craves for something far more cynical. A world where love isn’t about connection, but about compromise and calculation. And that is where the hook starts.

The film poses one poignant question: What are we really looking for in a partner? For Lucy, the notion that there’s a missing puzzle piece out there to complete your set is strictly business. She’s been responsible for nine marriages and is well versed in the dating scene in the upper class of New York City. Every step she takes, every glance at another passerby, is a business transaction waiting to happen, a match for one of her clients, be it on the street, a café, or even a wedding reception.

In fact, that is where she meets Harry. His brother is getting married to one of Lucy’s clients, and he’s been nagged to find his perfect person by his mother not soon after. Lucy grades him as a “unicorn,” the ideal candidate. What that means is he’s smart, well-dressed, well-educated, and one of the few rich guys that Lucy can stand. She sees him as a success story. He wants to date her. And Lucy is intrigued enough to stick around, provided there’s beer and coke (cut to John immediately placing her go-to on the table). He presents himself as a catering waiter for the reception. He also holds the title of being Lucy’s ex in a passionate love that ensued back in the day when both were struggling actors. It seems that John is still stuck in that bubble, while Lucy has moved on. Neither of them have forgotten their arguments about being broke or missed reservations, but it’s obvious they miss each other. Maybe because that was a time when they actually felt something while looking into their lover’s eye – a spark – but it’s also evident that there’s something brewing between Harry and Lucy as well. Ah, here goes the love triangle.

The love triangle in Materialists was never about choosing which man was hotter or who she loved more. It was about which life she wanted to sign up for

However, this is where the movie deviates from glossy rom-coms. The love triangle in Materialists was never about choosing which man was hotter or who she loved more. It was about which life she wanted to sign up for. On the one hand, there’s John, with whom she shares fierce passion and instability. He is the kind of guy who can imagine you with grey hairs and children running around in the garden while the two of you sit on the porch in your suburban home. You’re not rich, but you’re happy. With Harry, there’s comfort and stability, and your every need is fulfilled: a posh home, sophisticated social circles and a man who gets you the world in a click of his fingers. But it still feels like something is missing. And that is the missing piece that this film oh so beautifully captures.

Lucy, unlike her clients, is just a part of their world. She’s an outsider, seeing things from the outside looking in. From a flashback scene where John and Lucy have a heated argument in the middle of the street about them being broke (which is mostly Lucy criticising John for not being able to afford 25-dollar parking), we see that Lucy wants a life different from the one she is stuck in. She loves John, but for her a future is one where you can go to fancy places on your anniversary without having to bite each other’s heads off about how expensive it is. While in the present, cutscenes see how Lucy has moved on from the life she used to have with Evans’ character. You can see the subtle insecurities bubbling out of her that show she still feels that she doesn’t belong here. One of the best scenes in the movie is one where Harry takes her out for dinner – one of those sleek, low-lit places where the cutlery is too polished and the silence between courses feels way too rehearsed. Harry fits right in, while Lucy shifts in her seat. She smiles and nods, but you can see she isn’t at ease. There’s a moment, almost too subtle to catch, where she glances around the room like she’s not supposed to be there. It’s not just imposter syndrome. It’s grief, maybe, for a version that believed that love doesn’t come with a price tag. Or for the messier, freer days with John, when life was uncertain but at least it was there.

With Materialists, Celine Song shifts away from the hushed melancholy of Past Lives and leans into something more playful at the surface, yet equally precise beneath it. The setup almost feels nostalgic, a classic screwball comedy, with a hint of Jane Austen’s class-aware courtships, and city dates wrapped in good lighting. There’s a version of this movie that could’ve starred Sarah Jessica Parker in Sex and the City mode – cocktails, couture and complicated men.

Behind all the luxury and intense eye-contact lies something more sobering, a quiet recognition that modern relationships, especially those entangled with class and status, are more transactional than tender

But that’s not the movie we’re watching. Instead, Materialists sharpens the edges of that fantasy. It borrows the aesthetic appeal of rom-com classics, only to gently dismantle their promises. Behind all the luxury and intense eye-contact lies something more sobering, a quiet recognition that modern relationships, especially those entangled with class and status, are more transactional than tender. It sparkles yet stings. And that is what makes Materialists hit harder than expected, like ordering prosecco and getting poured a double scotch instead.

Materialists ventures into something much darker and sobering as we go further into the film. The tone momentarily shifts, revealing the fragility at which Lucy’s world of curated matches and perfect weddings lies. It’s a detour that could’ve easily derailed a less tightly written film, but Song’s impeccable screenplay holds it steady. It, instead, strengthens the film’s core, grounding it into something vulnerable and real. It forces us to address the question pulsing underneath: What does the heart actually want?

The film probes us to understand how different it is to be loved and to be seen, between choosing a life that seems right and one that feels right

It tempts you to address whether you want a life that looks perfect on paper, one where you feel at ease. You’re kept on a pedestal, curated for admiration. You’re adored. As we see Lucy become a part of Harry’s seemingly perfect world, we can see that there’s tension lingering beneath the surface. This is evident even when she sits in elegant restaurants and has effortless conversations, smiling and nodding. We see that is not her, but a contorted version of something she thinks is right, something that is considered ideal. It’s not that there’s something wrong with Harry, he isn’t unkind neither is he boring, rather, he’s ideal. But there was something missing.

The film probes us to understand how different it is to be loved and to be seen, between choosing a life that seems right and one that feels right. Because at the end of the day, isn’t love laughing while dancing in the rain or eating takeaway pizza on a Friday evening? Shouldn’t we choose someone who feels like home, someone who doesn’t judge us when we cut ourselves open? Something that feels raw. What if the heart wants someone who understands us best rather than someone who looks best?

In the end, Lucy chooses John. While this feels like a typical will they/won’t they ending, Materialists doesn’t pair it up with a dramatic declaration, but with a quiet understanding. Harry and Lucy simply don’t work out, as they realise compatibility doesn’t equal love (not even when someone undergoes height-lengthening surgery to become the quintessential six-foot man, Harry.) For Johnson’s character, this only emphasises why they don’t work out. Finally, she realises the true meaning of something she overheard once at a wedding, although this time it sits with more weight: Go where love goes. And so she does.