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In a world where money talks louder than love, Celine Song’s ‘Materialists’ shoves the uncomfortable truth of modern dating right in your face. Lucy, played by Dakota Johnson, isn’t just a matchmaker—she’s a financial filter for romance, and frankly, it’s a train wreck waiting to happen.
As she juggles clients with inflated income expectations, the film reflects a stark reality for many: love in the era of capitalism is more about bank accounts than heartbeats.
Class and geography: a reflection of societal divides
The movie’s depiction of New York is nothing short of a social commentary.
The neighborhoods you inhabit scream your social status. Amy Silver, the set decorator, aptly notes that the film isn’t just about characters but about the very spaces they occupy. The posh penthouse of Harry (Pedro Pascal) versus the rundown apartment of John (Chris Evans) illustrates the absurdity of wealth disparity.
It’s not just about aesthetics; it’s a brutal reminder of how class shapes our interactions and aspirations.
Character spaces: a peek into their worlds
Each apartment tells a story. Lucy’s digs in Brooklyn Heights are a reflection of her aspirations—$3,200 a month for a place that barely fits a bed and a coffee table, with an IKEA vibe thrown in for good measure.
It’s a statement of sorts: proximity to wealth without the actual means to afford it. How charmingly tragic, right? Amy and her team meticulously designed each space to echo its occupant’s financial reality, from the ‘quiet luxury’ of Harry’s $12 million penthouse to the dilapidated chaos of John’s Sunset Park apartment.
The latter is a visual feast of neglect, complete with peeling paint and a bathroom mirror that refuses to close—because what says ‘New York living’ more than a bathroom that’s a horror show?
The irony of wealth in relationships
It’s a wild ride through the superficiality of dating in a society obsessed with financial status.
Silver and Gasparro’s designs bring to life not just the characters’ homes but their deep-seated desires and insecurities. Lucy’s small, cramped space reflects not just her financial limitations but her relentless pursuit of love within a capitalist framework. You have to wonder, does she even stand a chance? And what about Sophie, who can afford a matchmaker? Her West Village abode, valued at $6,800 a month, speaks volumes about her character—it’s tidy, it’s refined, but is it really fulfilling? Or is it just another layer of the societal façade?
Behind the scenes: crafting a narrative through space
Every detail in ‘Materialists’ is a calculated move to highlight the absurdity of it all. From the ‘shabby chic’ decor of John’s apartment to the elegant but sterile look of Sophie’s place, the film crafts a narrative that’s as much about the environment as it is about the people. These spaces aren’t mere backdrops; they serve as reflections of the characters’ psyche, their dreams, and their disappointments. It’s a critique of the notion that love can flourish in such a transactional landscape. Can we really find genuine connection when our worth is measured in dollars and cents?
The weddings and their extravagant settings
And let’s not forget the wedding culture, where opulence reigns supreme. The film’s weddings, set against the backdrop of Central Park, epitomize the lavish expectations society places on love. It’s all about the show, the glitz, and the glamour, isn’t it? Gasparro reveals that they had to combine several venues to create the illusion of a singular, upscale location. Because, naturally, nothing says romance like a disingenuous display of wealth. The juxtaposition between Lucy’s client-driven world and her own reality is laughably tragic. Can love survive when it’s wrapped in a designer bow?
A sardonic reflection on modern love
Ultimately, ‘Materialists’ serves as a biting critique of the dating scene where financial status overshadows genuine connection. It’s a playground of the rich and the wannabes, where love is just another commodity to be bought and sold. Lucy’s struggles resonate with anyone who’s ever felt the pressure of societal expectations—a reminder that in the game of love, the stakes are high, and the price tag is often too steep. So, as you sit down to watch this film, just remember: in the world of ‘Materialists’, love isn’t free—it’s a luxury.
