In We Live in Time, director John Crowley and writer Nick Payne present a buzzy slice-of-tribulation that—despite its loveliness and tender performances—trades its early warmth for subtle dissatisfaction. The film’s first half is an utterly charming love story on the precipice of misfortune, buoyed by the magnetic performances of Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield. When I tell you that man EMOTES, all caps, believe it. Their chemistry shines in snappy dialogue and unexpectedly intimate moments—from car crashes to an accident in a petrol station toilet. That bittersweet concoction makes us anticipate insights about uncommon ways to love and let go. However, for all its charm, the second half of We Live in Time wanders without clear direction, failing to deliver a last sigh of meaningful commentary or emotional depth.
Even the title is misleading; aside from nonlinear storytelling that mimics fragmented memories, We Live in Time doesn’t explore how time affects us. With such strong initial writing and a cast of this caliber, that’s a missed opportunity. I keep wondering: What if Pugh’s Almut had chosen differently? But beyond and after the decision to have a daughter, the film never tells us why Almut and Garfield’s Tobias make any decision at all. There is so much territory introduced but left untouched, for example: Almut and her grief on multiple levels, Tobias and his losses on multiple levels, the relationships between the two and their fathers, and the fact Almut is seriously talented but repeatedly goes unfulfilled. So much remains unseen.
Moreover, the underlying message is disappointing, particularly in its view of traditional gender roles. The ending suggests for women, children are the ultimate measure of success, while a fulfilling career—regardless of its merit—is framed as selfish. If you’re wondering: Why not both? We Live in Time won’t tell you. Literally the suggestion is: the only mark a woman can truly leave behind is genetic. We’re left to ponder how a film so rich in charm and talent could simultaneously convey such a narrow view of a woman’s ability to live a balanced life, even in the face of mortality.
In the end, We Live in Time is a gorgeous grift; the finest trickery. While it may resonate with viewers seeking a lighthearted romantic drama—as it did with me, at first—it falls flat in illuminating its themes. For a film with this much humor and warmth, delivered in a big bowl of surprising moments, that is a disappointment. We were promised a singular excavation of relationships, impermenance, and the passage of time but, on that note, We Live in Time remains silent.
