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Marriage, apparently, can be classified as a business transaction.

In exchange for a good income, a woman will have to accept a short, balding man with little or no personality. If she wants more, she has to offer more.

Or so it goes in “Materialists,” an odd look at relationships that never seems to do more than simmer.

Written and directed by Celine Song, who created the beautiful “Past Lives,” “Materialists” is like a Sandra Bullock comedy without the comedy or Bullock.

With Dakota Johnson in the lead, it just sits there, hoping to come to a boil and doesn’t.

She’s a matchmaker (holy, “Hello, Dolly!”) who tries to pair couples who can’t quite make the love connection on their own. Usually, there’s some kind of stumbling block — age, weight, height — and she lifts the veil.

While attending the wedding of one of her matches, she meets the groom’s wealthy relative (Pedro Pascal) who has everything a woman could want. Playing the Burt Reynolds card, Pascal suggests he might be right for the matchmaker. Just as she’s about to ponder the offer, a bottle of Coke and a beer are plopped on her table. They’re from an old beau (Chris Evans) who’s a cater-waiter when he’s not acting.

In one swift move, she’s given choices. But where to turn? Naturally, there are issues at work and some secrets that don’t come to light until Song has exhausted every possibility. When she reveals what might be a downside to one of the candidates, it’s a nonstarter for most.

Here, though, it’s a deal breaker — a reason to rush into the arms of the other. While Pascal and Evans do a good job making a case for themselves, it’s a miracle they’d want to spend the rest of their lives with a woman who’s constantly sizing them up, seeing where they might land on her Venn diagram of relationships.

While Evans could make a living in soap operas (thus ending his path of poverty), there’s really no downside to Pascal. Owning a stunning place in New York, he pitches the idea of a vacation in Iceland, seems endlessly interested in his new squeeze, and doesn’t mind that she’s in a field one step removed from prostitution.

“Materialists” limps along until a crisis occurs with one of Johnson’s clients. Then it gives her a moment to pause and come to some dumb conclusion about her own wants and needs. Too often, Johnson plays much of this close to the vest. You can’t really tell if she’s worth the investment or looking for entries for her own burn book.

Song either needed to spiff this up with some one-liners (to relieve the ennui) or given it a dramatic twist to soften the blow.

Two hours in, you want someone to be a serial killer just to justify the time spent watching this. Sadly, no one is.