Materialists (2025) Parents Guide

Materialists is Rated R by the Motion Picture Rating (MPA) for language and brief sexual material.

Materialists (2025) Review

Every now and then, a film sneaks up on you—not with a grand spectacle, but with a quiet question that lingers long after the credits roll. Materialists, the sophomore feature from Celine Song (Past Lives), does exactly that. It asks: When choosing love, are we really choosing a person… or a lifestyle?

On paper, this is a romantic comedy. But Song isn’t interested in just making us laugh or swoon—she’s playing a deeper game. This is a rom-com for grown-ups. The stakes aren’t about weddings or breakups, but about identity, self-worth, and the lies we tell ourselves in the name of “practical love.”

Set against the backdrop of a stylish, ever-churning New York City, Materialists invites us into the sleek, curated world of Lucy (Dakota Johnson), a professional matchmaker who can pair everyone except, of course, herself. It’s a genre setup we’ve seen before—but what makes this film feel different is its emotional honesty and refusal to offer easy answers.

The Story & What It Tries to Say

Lucy is a woman who’s built her life around compatibility algorithms, curated dating profiles, and expensive dinners that whisper “success.” By all outward appearances, she has love figured out—after all, she helps others find it for a living. But when her past and present collide in the form of two very different men, her own carefully constructed emotional logic begins to crack.

On one side, there’s Harry (Pedro Pascal), a billionaire client turned suitor whose wealth, stability, and sophistication represent everything Lucy thought she wanted. On the other, John (Chris Evans), her scruffy, struggling ex—an aspiring actor with nothing to offer but sincerity, shared history, and, well… messiness.

That’s the premise. But Materialists is really about choice—particularly the kind of choice women are often forced to make between security and passion, perfection and vulnerability, lifestyle and intimacy.

Celine Song, with her signature grace, never makes it simple. This isn’t a film that pits “good guy” versus “bad guy.” It’s about the murky, middle space where most real relationships live. Harry and John aren’t just romantic archetypes—they’re embodiments of the paths Lucy might take, the selves she might become.

And that’s what’s so disarming. The film doesn’t give us a fairy tale; it gives us a mirror. And what it reflects isn’t always flattering.

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Performances & Characters

Let’s talk about Dakota Johnson. She’s never been more grounded, more alive onscreen. There’s a wry humor to her Lucy, but also a deep undercurrent of loneliness and longing. She’s composed but vulnerable, poised but self-questioning. You believe her as a woman who’s constantly reading the room, even when she’s lost in her own head.

Chris Evans, shedding his Captain America sheen, is a revelation here. As John, he’s disheveled and tender, a man who loves Lucy but has no idea how to compete with a billionaire. There’s a rawness to his performance that makes him feel real in ways that most romantic leads don’t dare to be. He fumbles, he retreats, he says the wrong things—but his love for Lucy feels undeniably human.

Then there’s Pedro Pascal, who brings effortless charisma and surprising emotional depth to Harry. What could have been a cold “rich guy” role becomes something warmer, more tragic. You don’t hate him—you just see how love, filtered through power, can get distorted.

The supporting cast deserves love too. Zoë Winters and Marin Ireland add texture as Lucy’s friends and sounding boards, reminding us that romantic entanglements don’t exist in a vacuum. Everyone in this film is searching for meaning—some in love, some in ambition, all in their own imperfect ways.

Celine Song directs with a kind of elegant restraint. She trusts her actors. She trusts silence. And she trusts us. There are long, quiet scenes that let conversations breathe, where glances say more than dialogue ever could. It’s the kind of film that feels lived-in.

The cinematography by Shabier Kirchner (Small Axe, Past Lives) once again brings magic to the mundane. New York isn’t glamorized here—it’s lit with a natural warmth that makes the characters feel both small and alive inside it. Filmed on 35mm, the visuals have a softness, a texture that digital rom-coms often lack.

Pacing-wise, the movie doesn’t rush. It gives Lucy’s emotional journey space to unfold, and while some might find it a slow burn, that’s precisely the point. It’s a film about reflection, not just reaction. You sit with her confusion. You marinate in it. And by the time she reaches a decision—whatever it is—you’ve walked the distance with her.

So does it work as a romantic comedy?

Yes. But not in the “meet cute and montage” way. The comedy here is subtle, observational. It comes from awkward moments, from brutally honest conversations that teeter between funny and painful. One scene at a fancy restaurant—where Lucy tries to explain her relationship “framework”—is both hilarious and deeply sad.

This is a rom-com where the stakes aren’t “will they kiss?” but “do they truly see each other?” It doesn’t go for cheap laughs or easy romance. Instead, it invites us to feel the slow, complicated ache of choosing between two versions of the life you could live.

It’s romantic, yes—but it’s also honest. And in 2025, that’s pretty radical.

In a world where every second movie is a reboot, a sequel, or a superhero saga, Materialists is refreshingly original. It’s the kind of standalone story that reminds you why cinema matters: to tell human stories with specificity, beauty, and truth.

Materialists (2025) Parents Guide

Language: The film features frequent strong language, including f-bombs and the kind of unfiltered dialogue that tends to show up when love gets messy and people are tired of pretending. It’s not wall-to-wall profanity, but when it hits, it’s casual, authentic, and true to the characters’ emotional states — particularly during arguments and emotionally raw scenes. Think “New York late-30s energy,” not teen rebellion.

Substance Use: Alcohol use is present throughout — wine at dinner, cocktails at rooftop bars, a few toasts in sleek apartments — all part of the adult, upper-middle-class New York lifestyle the film is embedded in. Nobody’s stumbling drunk, but drinking is normalized and ever-present. There’s also some implied recreational drug use in one offhand reference, but nothing shown explicitly.

Sexual Content: Here’s where things get real — and tastefully so. Materialists includes a few sex scenes, but they’re handled with a sense of emotional weight rather than cheap titillation. We see nudity (mostly from behind or in partial profile), and while the camera lingers, it’s not for voyeurism — it’s to make you feel the vulnerability between these characters.

One scene in particular — between Lucy (Dakota Johnson) and her ex — walks the fine line between romantic and raw. It’s quiet, intimate, and a little awkward in the way real intimacy often is. These scenes aren’t pornographic, but they are sensual, emotionally charged, and probably not something you want to watch with your teenager on the couch.

Violence & Intensity: No violence. No physical threats. But some scenes hit hard emotionally. There are intense arguments, moments of painful silence, and a few “stab-you-in-the-heart” lines that will absolutely leave a mark if you’ve ever had your heart broken or questioned your own choices.

Final Thoughts & Recommendation

Materialists is not trying to be everything for everyone. And that’s exactly why it works.

It’s a film for those who’ve been in complicated relationships. For anyone who’s had to choose between stability and excitement, between what looks right and what feels right. It’s for people who’ve grown out of fairy tale endings and are now looking for something real—messy, flawed, uncertain.

It left me reflective, a little gutted, and surprisingly hopeful. Because maybe love isn’t about finding the perfect person—but about finding someone with whom you can be your imperfect self.

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