Peas and Carrots 2025 Movie Review
In Peas and Carrots, writer-director Evan Oppenheimer embarks on a boldly whimsical journey that fuses family drama, musical fantasy, and surreal sci-fi elements in an attempt to explore identity, creative ambition, and the fragility of familial bonds. The film centers on Joey Wethersby (Kirrilee Berger), a 16-year-old living in New York whose parents once tasted success as a one-hit-wonder band in the 1990s. That musical past becomes the backdrop for an even more peculiar twist: Joey discovers that by uttering the phrase “Peas and Carrots,” she is transported to an alternate reality in which everyone can only speak those three words. As Joey navigates that dreamlike realm while simultaneously trying to reforge her family’s connections—especially after suggesting they form a new band together—Peas and Carrots attempts to balance quirky absurdism with genuine emotional stakes.
The conceit is eccentric—and it’s precisely that which makes the film most memorable. The alternate world in which dialogue is limited to “Peas and Carrots” acts as both a comedic device and a metaphorical mirror. On the comedic side, the gag of characters interacting under such severe linguistic constraints yields several laugh-out-loud moments, and the cast leans fully into the absurdity. As critics at Reel News Daily noted, the cast’s commitment to the gag is “laugh-out-loud funny,” and that humor becomes a throughline whenever Joey transitions between her conventional world and the surreal one. Yet beneath the silliness lies an emotional kernel: Joey’s aspiration to step out of her parents’ shadow, to have creative autonomy, and to salvage a connection with her family that feels stifled by legacy. In the alternate world, literal limitations on speech parallel the figurative constraints Joey feels in her home life.
One of the film’s strengths is its tone. Oppenheimer never lets the dream sequences dominate entirely—he keeps bringing us back to the messy, grounded relationships in the Wethersby household. By doing so, he ensures that Peas and Carrots doesn’t float away as mere novelty. The shifts between the “real world” and the alternate world are handled with a deft visual language: Reel News Daily praises the “deliberate lens change between worlds” as “genius,” capturing a playful but meaningful contrast between the two realms. The dream world evokes a Nickelodeon-esque vibe—tinged with childlike wonder, but with weight lurking underneath. In the real-world scenes, we see the strains of family life: unmet expectations, sibling jealousy, parental regrets, and the sense that Joey is both insider and outsider in her own home.
The cast overall is a bright spot. Kirrilee Berger as Joey brings an effervescent energy; reviewers compare her presence to that of Jane Levy or Rachel Sennott, with a blend of vulnerability and spunk that anchors the film’s more high-concept maneuvers. Amy Carlson and Jordan Bridges, as Joey’s parents Laurie and Gordan, carry a believable mix of affection and frustration, demonstrating how creative dreams and practical reality often collide. Andrew Polk, in the role of the family’s producer Woody, brings sharp wit, serving as a kind of grounding anchor when the narrative threatens to drift too far into whimsy. Among the younger siblings, Talia Oppenheimer’s comic timing as Mickey and Callum Vinson’s charm as Topper offer welcome moments of levity and character texture. The ensemble feels invested in the film’s odd logic, making the more surreal sequences feel earned rather than gimmicky.
Where Peas and Carrots is less assured is in pacing and narrative cohesion. Some middle stretches sag under the weight of connecting plot mechanics, and the film occasionally leans on familiar tropes—teen girl wants creative voice, band reconvenes, family bonds heal—that might feel predictable. Indeed, some viewers have noted that “pacing problems emerge mid-film” and that “the middle acts feel stretched.” The shift between worlds, while imaginative, sometimes feels like a distraction from the emotional throughline; the script occasionally loses its grip on how much absurdism it needs to support versus when to let the heartfelt moments breathe.
Another structural challenge is balancing the musical elements with the fantasy and drama. At times, the musical interludes feel like they belong to another genre entirely, and there can be a tonal whiplash—one moment you’re laughing at linguistic absurdity, the next you’re confronting sibling betrayal or unspoken resentment. That said, the film does manage to reintegrate the musical threads in satisfying ways. The sequence in which the family finally plays together, both in the real world and echoing in the alternate realm, offers catharsis. And the musical credits scene, which Reel News Daily urges viewers to stay for, delivers a sweet surprise—an emotional pay-off that validates the film’s risk-taking.
Visually and technically, Peas and Carrots is modest but resourceful. It doesn’t rely on grand CGI spectacle; instead, the stylistic shifts between the two realms are done through color, framing, and playful editing. The cinematography and production design lean into the whimsical—shadows stretching, odd spatial cues, softly lit domestic interiors contrasted with dreamlike vistas. The soundtrack and score also deserve praise: there’s an authentic fun spirit, matching the film’s musical ambitions, and the musical numbers are integrated with enough sincerity to feel more than just palate cleansers. The commitment to original music helps the film feel personal rather than derivative.
Thematically, Peas and Carrots is at its heart about voice—how we express ourselves, how we communicate with those closest to us, and what happens when language itself fails. Joey’s nightly excursions are a vivid metaphor for the distance that can grow between family members when they speak but fail to be understood. The choice of “Peas and Carrots” as a limiting phrase is clever: it suggests sameness and pairing—but ironically, its enforcement in the dream world highlights how rigid repetition can stifle nuance. In that sense, the film wrestles with the tension between unity and autonomy: Joey wants to join the family band, but not as a mere echo; she wants her own voice. The final act wrestles with reconciliation—not erasure of differences, but recognition of them.
Where Peas and Carrots doesn’t always land is in the resolution. Some emotional arcs wrap up a bit too cleanly, glossing over lingering friction in the name of narrative closure. For a film that delights in ambiguity in its dream realm, the character arcs sometimes succumb to conventional healing tropes. Also, a few supporting characters are thinly sketched, and their motivations or conflicts feel underdeveloped. But these flaws are forgivable, especially given the film’s ambition and heart.
As a limited release slated for October 3, 2025, Peas and Carrots might not reach broad commercial impact, but it feels poised to become a cult favorite among viewers who enjoy genre-blending, whimsical storytelling. Its festival premiere — at Dances With Films in December 2024 — already signaled that this is a work born of personal imagination and cinematic risk-taking.The film invites multiple viewings so one can trace the parallels between language and emotion, dream logic and real life.
In sum, Peas and Carrots is an inventive, lightly magical film whose greatest successes lie in the emotional sincerity and wholehearted performances that anchor its more fanciful flights. It doesn’t always maintain perfect balance, and some plot mechanics feel a bit shaky, but the film’s boldness and warmth make it a worthwhile, memorable ride. For anyone willing to lean into a little absurdism in the service of heart, Peas and Carrots offers both laughs and small poignancies in equal measure.
