Chemistry, at its core, is the study of elements — their interactions, their bonds, and the energy exchanged when they collide or fuse. I prefer “bond.” The word itself comes from alchemy, the pursuit of transformation — the blending of base substances into something greater. But for me, chemistry is more than just a science; it’s the invisible force that defines relationships, fuels creativity, and brings performances to life.
A band isn’t just a collection of musicians; it’s a conversation in rhythm, an unspoken agreement between the drummer and the bassist, the lead singer and the guitarist. You can witness this in jazz. Those musicians move intuitively, reading each other’s shifts, anticipating what’s next. Without that chemistry, even the most technically skilled musicians fall flat. Sometimes the band’s chemistry is intense, brilliance is made, and then it explodes and dissipates. And we are left with what that chemical reaction made: their songs.
It’s not just about delivering lines with precision when you’re an actor — it’s about creating a charge between them, a tension that draws the audience in. When two actors share a scene, they’re reacting, responding, feeling the space between the words. That’s where the on-screen action gets a reaction. The push and pull, the dance between human interaction, the audience recognizes it in the feelings they receive when watching a movie.
But there’s another level of chemistry, one that moves beyond words or even instinct — for me, it’s being an identical twin. When I work with my brother Mark, the chemistry isn’t just complementary; it’s symbiotic. It’s a flow, a knowing, an understanding of what’s needed without the need to articulate it. Our films embody this connection — between characters, between creators.
Our first feature, Twin Falls Idaho, is built on that chemistry, both in story and in reality. Playing conjoined twins who navigate the world together was a challenge, but what I believe makes the film unique is the unspoken language between us. It’s not just that we move in sync — it’s that we create in sync, as actors, as writers, as filmmakers. One picks up where the other leaves off. The chemistry is natural, fluid, invisible. You don’t see the process; you only see the result — it’s instinctual, as if both minds are working as one. The chemistry might be biological because we share the same DNA. OK, I’ll say it, we are the chemical brothers.
In our latest movie, There, There, we explore the differences and similarities that make up our bond as twins. I tell one story, Mark tells the other, and we both don’t know each other’s story until the end. Now that’s a science project.
All of it — the science, the art, the force that binds, the push and pull, the explosion, the dissolving, the kiss on screen. It’s not just about attraction or friction; it’s about understanding, about discovering what each element brings. And sometimes, we have no clue how the magic happens … so we just call that chemistry.
Featured image, showing Michael Polish talking with Mike Colter on the set of Alarum, is courtesy Lionsgate.
