Materialists Parent Guide

As far as Lucy (Dakota Johnson) is concerned, marriage is math. The professional matchmaker succeeds by valuing the assets – physical, financial, educational – of her clients and then finding partners with equivalent scores. Her cynical approach to marriage contrasts with her view of love, which she sees as something that can’t be planned or forced; just experienced.

Her laissez faire approach to love is soon tested by experience. At the wedding of a client, Lucy bumps into John (Chris Evans), her impecunious ex-boyfriend who happens to be serving tables, right after she meets Harry (Pedro Pascal), the handsome, wealthy brother of the groom. Lucy broke up with John years ago because the wannabe actor was chronically broke. Harry, on the other hand, is what Lucy describes as a unicorn – good-looking, intelligent, confident, and devastatingly rich. Lucy can’t understand why Harry is pursuing her, Harry can’t understand why Lucy is holding back, and John can’t forget Lucy. It’s a tale as old as time – a romantic triangle.

However much Materialists resembles a simple old-fashioned romance, this is actually two stories in one. On the surface, it’s the story of a woman choosing between two men, in a social context that prizes material wealth. But underneath, it’s a tongue-in-cheek depiction of the economic forces that reduce class mobility, entrench upper class wealth, and stifle marriage and family formation. In her work as a matchmaker, Lucy mediates the demands of her clients, all of whom want to marry people with equivalent or higher income, thus perpetuating upper class wealth and restricting marriage as a means of social mobility. In her personal life, she’s tangled up with John, a man who desperately wants to get married, but whose income from part-time acting gigs and catering jobs is too meagre to provide adequate housing. There’s such a heavy emphasis on the issues of class and privilege in the script that it feels like a British production, albeit with less dark, sardonic wit.

The economic subtext of the film might sound heavy, but if you want to ignore it, you can simply watch the love story, laugh at the wry humor, roll your eyes at the entitlement of the rich, and enjoy the chemistry of the good-looking cast. There’s a decent story here, with thoughtful dialogue and finely drawn characters. Lucy is particularly interesting, her world-weary cynicism tempered by her empathy and warmth. And screenwriter and director Celine Song was smart enough to give both suitors strong appeal, vulnerability, and the ability to articulate their insecurities. Neither is a hero or villain, which makes Lucy’s choice all the more difficult. The carefully written script will make you laugh and maybe make you think, which is a bonus.

On the debit side of the movie’s ledger, however, is its negative content. There’s some intense kissing, brief disrobing, post-coital bedroom scenes, and mention of a sexual assault, but no explicit nudity. Other issues include the script’s twenty sexual expletives, and a scene where main characters admit to using marijuana. But the most unexpected issue is smoking. Lucy and John both smoke cigarettes; in fact, they smoke so frequently I was trying to decide if the cigarettes are a product placement coup by the tobacco industry or if they are on screen to reinforce Lucy and John’s class origins. Whatever the reason, it’s profoundly frustrating to see cigarettes given such a prominent place in a mainstream film. We know cigarettes kill and it’s irresponsible to normalize their use. Seriously. This is a movie that’s supposed to make us laugh, not worry about the future lung cancer risks of the main characters. That’s just not funny.