The tale of a young couple of whose collective mood manifests in the world around them, “Wishful Thinking” sounds quirky and cutesy on paper. However, the feature debut by Graham Parkes is something else entirely, merging a magical premise with a starkly realistic, anxiety-inducing relationship comedy-drama, buoyed by stellar lead performances and immensely impressive audio-visual control. It’s a blast of misery and euphoria bouncing off a filthy funhouse mirror, announcing the arrival of a director to watch.
Struggling musician Charlie (Lewis Pullman) and indie video game designer Julia (Maya Hawke) are out of sorts, and out of sync. Parkes symbolizes this through occasional split-screen shots of skylines slightly misaligned in color and angle; the film has all the subtlety of a sledgehammer, and all the forceful momentum too. The couple has been together long enough that their alternating fracas and flirtations have become a familiar rhythm. We first meet them in the cramped house they share in Portland, Oregon, as a supportive check-in about Julia’s latest character designs dovetails quickly into a manic plan from Charlie to whisk her away to Italy, which in turn sparks an argument about her busy work schedule that feels like their umpteenth disagreement about the subject.
During this and similar scenes, Parkes and cinematographer Christopher Ripley maintain an unpredictable, handheld intensity for lengthy takes, as Pullman and Hawke dig deep into the exhaustion that sits alongside the chummy intimacy of a long-term relationship that oscillates between comfortable and disastrous. That this disarray is their default prompts their close friend Ella (Amita Rao) to set them up with a relationship seminar held by twin TikTok mystics Tilly Wylden and Tilly Wylden (Kate Berlant) — yes, they have the same name, and theories about twin souls — resulting in a strange realization. Seated back to back, and facing a Tilly each, Charlie and Julia begin expressing their frustrations and adorations simultaneously, matching descriptions down to the letter, as they come to believe the unusual circumstances of their long-distance courtship may have been an act of manifestation.
From there on out, strange things start to transpire. Tiffs are accompanied by bad news at home and in Julia’s workplace, but sex and reconciliation begin to have almost otherworldly advantages, like their hot water finally being fixed, a dying houseplant blooming overnight, and Charlie’s hare-brained cryptocurrency investments finally paying off. The film takes on a non-stop climactic bent once the couple starts to suspect something in the vein of “The Secret,” wherein the state of their relationship influences the world around them, and brings them what they desire — and eventually, what they fear. The way they test this theory is hilarious, intentionally ramping up how and when they hurt each other or repair the damage, but it isn’t long before their apparent abilities begin complicating things in manners unforeseen, as they discover their clashing wants and needs, and the unintentional ripple effects of altering the fabric of reality, which stem as far as the safety of other nations. You know, standard relationship stuff.
The fluctuating joy and horror of each new realization makes for a wildly entertaining experience, underscored by jaw-dropping, gasp-inducing humor as the characters grow more desperate. Parkes and editor Lilly Wild imbue the proceedings with an emotional volatility, as composer Oliver Lewin’s mischievous music dances across your skin. However, the film’s undoubted highlights are its career-best lead performances from two of Hollywood’s best second-generation actors, who, if they hadn’t already earned proved themselves, most certainly do so here.
Hawke starts out already high-strung and grows increasingly frayed from there, creating an audaciously uncomfortable status quo for Julia, who feels like she could come apart at the seams at any second (and boy, does she ever). Pullman (the son of actor Bill Pullman), meanwhile, creates an unspoken portrait of manic-depression that manifests as alternating wisdom and capriciousness. This noxious combination yields fights and sexually-charged frolic that feel alive and uninhibited, as the actors, in tandem with camera’s unforgiving close-ups, unearth years of dueling bitterness and gratitude, sometimes at once. While it may be presumptuous to speak to the on-set process, these are kinds of physically and emotionally liberated performances that depend not only on actors sharing a fearless chemistry, but on a director creating the right circumstances for them to do so.
The supporting cast is charming too, from Charlie’s over-eager, stoner bandmate Milo (Eric Rahill) — the only other person aware of the strange situation — to Julia’s adoring coworker Jeff (Jake Shane) and her poseur boss Bobby (Randall Park), who become perfectly unwitting pawns in the couple’s universe-morphing schemes, and eventually, collateral damage. However, what keeps the film comically and dramatically grounded is its commitment to aesthetic naturalism despite the fantastical premise. Although shot digitally, on the Sony Venice 2, it maintains the textured appearance of raw, un-graded celluloid (which sneakily aids in the split-screen bits as well, as though each half of the image were shot on a different film stock). Every transformation, whether a sink un-clogging, or a shelf breaking, or the weather turning all of a sudden, either is, or at least feels, rendered practically. The magical realism becomes a visceral part of backdrop, allowing the camera to zip past each detail at lightspeed, albeit without ever a missing a beat. It’s a non-stop thrill ride that slows down just long enough for the characters’ psychologies to come to light — for instance, Charlie’s emotional reliance on his ailing mother (Kerri Kenney-Silver) — which in turn informs the next bit of metaphysical meddling, for better or worse.
Led by uncompromising actors, and by a focused commitment to matching their energy through chaotic formal flourishes, “Wishful Thinking” runs the emotional gamut with its barely-disguised metaphors for codependence, and the way perception emanates from state of mind. It’s among the more ludicrous romantic films to emerge from the American indie scene, though certainly not by accident, earning its keep as a zany gem ripe for delightful discovery.
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