WE LIVE IN TIME. And We Cry

On the 29th birthday of Florence Pugh, one of Hollywood’s most talented and unconventional young actresses, cinemas are screening We Live In Time, a melodrama that is absolutely unique for our times. Its original title itself suggests that the passing of time will be one of its main protagonists. For two people deeply scarred by life yet madly in love—Almut, a head chef, and Tobias, an IT analyst—the woman’s cancer diagnosis seems as abstract as some of her exquisite dishes might appear to a complete culinary novice. How does one react to such tragic news at such a young age, essentially at the very start of a shared life, with anything other than utter despair?

Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield offer not just a lesson in enduring life’s most difficult moments beautifully and meaningfully, but perhaps more importantly, in preparing for a future that looks vastly different from what they had planned.

For fans of the two leads, We Live In Time was destined to succeed from the outset. One might even ask, what else could we expect from artists of Pugh and Garfield’s caliber but another romantic classic to revisit during life’s tougher moments, when we seek understanding, solace, and simple human empathy from cinema? When even the actors themselves struggle to discuss the film without showing a hint of emotion, viewers already know that holding back tears in their theater seats will be a challenge.

The story of Almut (Florence Pugh) and Tobias (Andrew Garfield) is not told in a classic, linear way. Instead, we encounter it in fragments, presented out of chronological order, scattered across various stages of their shared life. A lonely, lost Tobias, navigating a painful divorce, spends time in a cramped hotel room. On his way back from the supermarket, he literally runs into the charming Almut. The two, now nearing their forties, debate whether they want to endure another round of chemotherapy for Almut. A scatterbrained Tobias and a bemused Almut prepare for the birth of their first child.

Nothing here is straightforward, and the chaotic mix may initially be confusing. However, as the narrative unfolds, it reaches a crescendo where the seemingly random pieces come together with profound meaning.

Screenwriter Nick Payne takes a significant risk by avoiding the conventional narrative arc. Instead of guiding viewers through the somewhat awkward yet sweet beginnings of a relationship to its inevitable end, the film celebrates the extraordinary moments in between, leaving it to the audience to piece them together into a cohesive whole. The nonlinear structure doesn’t create chaos; rather, it allows us to catch subtle nuances, akin to browsing a family photo album where images may not be arranged chronologically but still convey a clear emotional message.

In the film’s opening minutes, we learn that Almut is about to undergo another round of chemotherapy. However, as she remarks, she’d prefer “seven or eight amazing, active months” to ten months filled with pain, pitying looks, and endless frustration. Director John Crowley avoids overt sentimentality or melodrama, delivering instead a deeply moving tale of fighting for every shared moment without any trace of falseness, excess, or self-pity.

Almut and Tobias are one of those on-screen couples whose magnetism captivates us from their very first glance, shared in a somewhat grotesque situation—a hospital corridor, where Tobias, dressed in a bathrobe and slippers (it’s a long story), runs straight into the young restaurateur. Their love story doesn’t dwell solely on fiery romance or the fruitless wait for the next stage of illness. Instead, it offers a raw, bittersweet, and deeply moving lesson about real life—unfiltered and unvarnished, capable of hitting hard but also leaving us with a profound appreciation for every moment.

If the film industry ever creates an award for on-screen chemistry so palpable it feels tangible, Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield would be the first in line to receive it. Their romantic pairing is utterly captivating, whether in passionate, joyous scenes or those that tear you apart. Pugh, if she hasn’t yet convinced someone of her dramatic prowess, has ample opportunity to shine as Almut (a particularly demanding childbirth scene and the portrayal of her character’s illness are standout moments). Garfield, as her emotional, driven partner and father, finds contentment alongside his two beloved girls, needing nothing more. Together, they form one of the best-matched couples in modern melodrama, so much so that by the tear-jerking finale, we almost want to beg them to stop breaking our hearts.

Despite the ticking clock and the looming end of their shared time, this charismatic duo focuses on leaving behind more than just sorrow and worry. In their case, the “art of living beautifully” means cherishing every moment without needing grand speeches or a whirlwind trip around the world. And while conventional wisdom might suggest reviewing a film like this with a clear mind after some emotional distance, I’m writing about We Live In Time fresh off finishing yet another box of tissues. Once in a while, a film comes along that consumes you from within and refuses to let go. This is what We Live In Time achieves: genuine, enchanting, and leaving viewers with an urge to hug their loved ones and express just how much they care. In Crowley’s masterpiece, this becomes the most important lesson of all.