In Defence of 'Materialists', or Why Class matters in Dating

Neoliberal movie making almost always discounts material analysis in romantic plot lines. Celine Song, albeit imperfectly, brings it in central focus in her second feature.

By no stretch of imagination is Materialists a great movie. I’d die on the hill, however, that it is one of the most profound (and important) romantic comedies (?) of our times.

Since June, I have had several spirited, animated discussions with friends as well as Celine Song enthusiasts about the merits of the movie. At times, I have been accused of advancing a point of view which short-changes women in romantic affiliations. There is some credit to this allegation which I wish to denounce by trying to offer a more nuanced vision of what romantic associations entail, or at least, should ideally entail. Given my own material conditions, I also do not escape the charge of finding the character of John (the poor theatre actor and part-time waiter portrayed by Chris Evans) more relatable. Then, there’s also the very alluring case of the ‘Broke Man Propaganda’, debunked with optimum amount of rage by the writer-director herself.

There were cues from the beginning. A prologue with a prehistoric man putting a flower ring on his sweetheart’s finger was not going to yield up a movie about ‘prudent’ financial decisions. Celine sets the stage at the outset with the age-old, trite idea: expression of love, or love itself, comprises simple, inexpensive gestures. At this point, the class conflict she is going to present between the male protagonists vying for Lucy’s love is still not known to the audience.

This movie could very well have been about settling for simple things in love; Celine does not play it safe though. She takes the brave, bold step of pitting a finance guy against a loser by all descriptions, and making the loser win in love. If for nothing, it’s a winner only for this extremely satisfying gut punch to free-market capitalism.

Romantic relationships get analysed at the touchstone of many threadbare cultural clichés. Except, class. Class relations between potential partners remain a very subdued, scantily-discussed undertone, more particularly in modern popular culture. It usually plays out in the form of implied assumptions, often because people from same, or similar, economic backgrounds are likely to run into each other (either literally, or as is the wretched reality of our times, on dating applications) and ultimately date. Rom-coms, at least since hyper-individualism took over in the 1980s, have hardly had stories where material conditions of the protagonist play a central role in the success or failure of their love life.

Do these stories exist anymore? They do. Why do they not get told? Because neoliberal logic dictates that stories of the poor, the ones left behind are not worth retelling. So while there’s ample amount of dilemma, heartburn and confusion, we hardly see any on account of class conflict.

The current state of ‘love stories’ coming out of the Hindi film industry is a decent example. Substantial chunk of viewers of these films reside in the northern plains and face material hardships on a daily basis. The defining trope of Hindi cinema poor boy-woos-rich girl, ubiquitous till the late 80s and early 90s, has completely disappeared post liberalisation. Material conditions of an average Hindi movie watcher may have only worsened in the last couple of decades. Yet, their economic struggles do not figure or play any role in the romance crafted on the screen. Matters of the heart are somehow alien to money when in the real world, they are not.

Celine Song takes this reality and inverts it in Materialists. Neoliberal logic invisibilizes money? So be it, she says. Lucy chooses John over Harry, a ‘stupid’ choice, financial disaster of sorts which understandably enraged so many progressives and critics across the globe. Yet, Lucy turning away from this market-oriented understanding of love involving a set of financially prudent decisions was in itself a very radical, defiant act. On the surface, it may seem feminist to choose what is best for the woman but this choice, devoid of collective rationality and solidarity, is, after all, a practical exercise in self-aggrandisement. It may be anything, but it is certainly not a choice borne out of love.

We may choose not to confront this reality but the death of solidarity in a dog-eat-dog world has also permanently altered how we perceive romantic relationships. Song says something powerful in one of her interviews: poverty is not the fault of the poor. The idea of distancing oneself from someone materially disadvantaged is now seen as an act of self-care, when it is all but a symptom of a rotten society which can only discard its have-nots. Yes, love will take into account material conditions but only to rise above it, not to be weighed down by its limitations. Michelle Zauner captures the feeling quite succinctly in this charming, whimsical track for the movie:

Find you someone who makes a living
Sweet, sweet nothings aren’t worth investing
Sweet, sweet nothings just nothing after all
But cold cash comforts are overrated
When your lover’s got funds depleted
Only company baby’s got is mine
And that’s sure something

And then again:

Say, “Find somebody who makes some figures”
Preferably one that’s got lots of zeroes
The only figure my baby’s got is mine
But corporate callings are for the basics
And settling safely is for the faithless
The only baby this baby wants is mine

And then, lastly, there is this little matter of, well, love. To talk of judiciousness in love is antithetical to its whole conception. It’s one of the reasons why it is difficult to take white people (when I say white people, I also mean their caricatures in the Global South) yearning seriously because yearning cannot be tempered with pragmatism. Love does not come with solutions. It does not come with right choices and wrong choices. It is meant to be irrational; your tormentor, the very cause of your marz (disease) is also meant to be your chaaragar (doctor). Lucy’s actions (and her ultimate choice) do not make sense because they are not supposed to make sense.

Love is not supposed to make sense.