For a stretch of Materialists, confidence is rattled, the hope of love is lost, and any rom-com gamemanship ends, as a more necessary, heavy, and therapeutic arc takes over. Admittedly and appreciably, for as bracingly honest as this swerve is in Materialist to emphasize the aforementioned risks that embody the reality of dating for many people—luxury level or otherwise, it is such a downer of a turn that it threatens to mar the good graces established by that opening scene’s instinctual simplicity of a shared flower.
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