Florence Pugh shines in the artful romance We Live in Time
When making a romantic film, one can go in the direction of a drama series (like It ends with us) or turn the volume down and choose something softer (like Weekend). Choosing a path between those poles can be more difficult; cheesiness and seriousness don’t usually mix well. But in the new film We live in timepremiered at the Toronto Film Festival on Friday, directed by John Crowley and screenwriter Nick Payne try to find a stable common position, achieve a kind of emotional sobriety.
The film opens with a scene of a happy family. A woman, Almut (Florence Pugh), gathering cooking supplies—herbs, freshly laid eggs—from the lush garden next to her pretty little house. She goes inside to cook some food and wakes her sleeping husband, Tobias (Andrew Garfield). It was an intimate, idyllic moment, captured in a hazy way. Stuart Bentley and scored dreamily by Bryce Dessner. Here is a happy couple, wrapped in everyday clothes.
The film then cuts to a later moment, seemingly, when the couple are sitting in a doctor’s office as Almut receives the devastating news that her cancer has returned and the treatment options will be dire. A difficult conversation about quality of life ensues, the film showing its sharper edges, its interest in the complex conversation. Pugh is matter-of-fact, straightforward; Garfield is more of a weepy one.
We live in time then turns around to tell the story of two great beginnings. There’s the obligatory meet-cute—in this case, Almut, a chef, hits Tobias, an IT guy for Wheatabix, with her car—and it develops into a passionate romance. The first speed bump is Tobias and Almut’s differing views on having children. A pregnancy ensues, depicted in some of the film’s funniest moments—this is a film with a graphic birth scene, a hallmark of the genre.
The film is an elegant blend of these key moments in the development of their partnership. Its rhythms are too specific to be general, but they certainly follow a well-tested formula. If the film were told linearly, I wonder if it would have sounded as fresh. A change in structure would at least not diminish the power of Payne’s clever and insightful dialogue, nor the compelling natural performances of its two stars.
Garfield, who has perhaps the most enviable hair in the business, uses his signature charm—his husky voice, his watery eyes, and his wry smile—to create a relatable good guy who is above all a devotee of love. Pugh is given more courage and independence, her conflicts more clearly expressed. She’s a marvel on screen, responding fluidly to every change in emotional weather.
We live in time finds much insight in Almut’s complex motivations, the tug-of-war between her duty to her family and her own ambitions—both of which are horribly compromised by her health. Almut fears that if she abandons her career, she will leave no legacy, and thus nothing that can help her children understand her mother’s personal life and spirit. It’s an interesting way to approach a common tension in film; self-interest is seen not as a distraction from selfishness but almost as a lesson to be imparted.
The way the film chews over issues of parenting—or the decision not to parent—can lean a little too traditional. Adoption is never mentioned as a possibility, nor is Almut’s hesitation about having children treated with the same respect as Tobias’s desire to be a father. Payne uses his cutting technique to skip over some difficult, life-changing conversations, giving us an idea of a relationship breaking down but not really showing the mechanics of how those issues are resolved.
Crowley and Payne’s nonlinear approach also blunts some of the film’s dramatic impact. We learn about the existence of a child before we see the argument for having a child. The film shows Almut’s second diagnosis before her first. When developments and conclusions are laid out like this, there’s little room for pleasant surprise or the rumble of new, devastating information (the way a diagnosis like this would come to life). I enjoy the film’s many of its drifting and darting rhythms, but it forces us to take a more objective perspective.
The film remains broadly appealing, making us root for two people and making us ache for them as the inevitable ravages of life weigh down on them. There’s also a quick humor, refreshingly frank and sex-positive portrayals—maybe we’re finally turning the corner on that whole thing. And there’s the remarkable Pugh, who does a lot to deeply humanize a story about beautiful people in beautiful places and slightly forced circumstances. Through her, we feel the film’s most passionate, its most poignant sadness. She presents a life that’s tangible, utterly real, but fleeting.
