Movie review: We Live in Time

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In We Live in Time, Florence Pugh stars as Almut, a modern woman facing traditional dilemmas, alongside Andrew Garfield’s Tobias. 

Described by Pugh as a story about the simplest of things — love — the film ultimately veers into complex, and, at times, absurd territory, exploring love, loss, and the painful pull of heteronormativity. 

Director John Crowley places us in an out-of-sequence journey through the couple’s life together, marked by humour and heartbreak, while Nick Payne’s screenplay tackles the tension between independence and commitment.

Almut is every bit the independent woman of modern romance — devoted to her career as an Anglo-Bavarian chef and vocal about her ambivalence toward motherhood. Yet, it’s not long before her relationship with Tobias pulls her toward compromises she once resisted. 

Early in their courtship, she tells Tobias kids aren’t in her plans. Yet he, undeterred, declares, “I’m worried there’s a very distinct and real possibility that I am about to fall in love with you.” 

This tension escalates as their romance deepens and is suddenly complicated by a cancer diagnosis, which forces Almut to weigh the risks of a partial hysterectomy against the odds of recurrence. She takes the chance, leaving room for potential motherhood, as she wrestles with what it means to love someone while clinging to autonomy.

Almut’s choice — to retain the potential of motherhood — is framed as empowering. But it’s part of a larger narrative where Payne’s script edges her closer to a traditional ideal, one that’s ultimately tragic. 

The movie could easily be mistaken for a timeless romance with fresh sensibilities, yet beneath its progressive veneer lies a deeply traditional storyline. Tobias, in his role as the softer partner — a cereal-brand representative who invests himself in wedding details and parenting duties — offers a subtle yet potent portrayal of gender-role reversal. 

Garfield’s character, though empathetic, sometimes feels like a gentle caricature of the supportive husband. This traditionalism is humorously punctuated in scenes like Tobias getting hit by a car after absent-mindedly wandering into traffic — a “meet cute” with undertones of dark humour as Almut jokingly reveals she was the driver.

The film maintains a delicate balance between romantic idealism and raw realism, sometimes leaning into melodrama. For instance, Almut chooses her culinary career over marriage — a decision celebrated as a stand for individual identity. 

The climax unfolds as she competes in the Bocuse d’Or, her final act of self-determination. Yet, the movie pivots to a sentimental resolution as Almut trades her ambitions for a tender moment on an ice-skating rink, a callback to her past as a competitive skater. 

This bittersweet scene could have marked her legacy with her daughter, yet it feels underwhelming in scope.

Ultimately, Almut’s journey ends with an understated legacy. The film’s last scenes show Tobias and their child, Ella, in a quiet moment of remembrance, as Tobias teaches Ella her mother’s way of cracking eggs — a small, personal memory in place of Almut’s dreams of culinary acclaim. 

For a film so intent on capturing grand declarations of love, the finale leaves Almut’s impact a bit diluted, her achievements seemingly sidelined. The message feels incomplete, as though Almut’s ambitions were sacrificed on the altar of romantic tragedy. 

We Live in Time seeks to blend modern love’s complexity with classic romantic storytelling, with Crowley balancing heartfelt moments and unconventional humour. However, the narrative’s attempt to be both progressive and traditionally romantic ultimately tempers its impact. 

While the performances resonate, and moments of genuine chemistry exist, the film’s ending underscores the cost of aspiring to have it all in a world that doesn’t always support it. For all its romantic idealism, We Live in Time ultimately seems like a cautionary tale of love’s bittersweet demands.