We Live in Time Review

Chemistry is, inevitably, what makes or breaks a film with even a tinge of romance. For Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield to make it look so natural in We Live in Time should be no surprise. We should praise them for this natural extra element, this new detail which comes only from those who can refresh an intimacy or knowingness of one another behind the camera as well as in front of it, but we should not be shocked by its utilisation. It is the very core of We Live in Time, the latest feature from John Crowley. Tapping up the Brooklyn and Is Anybody There? director for a soppy bit of dramatics fixating on a one-on-one dynamic is, in itself, no real shock, either. But therein lies the benefit of this latest feature from Crowley. The element of surprise is not on his side and, as a result, it ends up being his secret weapon. 

He uses this weapon on his script, rather than the audience. What we have come to expect from him and the genre at large is now what we can take for granted. To upend that as Pugh and Garfield do here is, too, expected. Cancer as an immediate course of testing the relationship at present feels a bit cheap but with Pugh and Garfield at the centre of it, they are more than capable of elevating what is a relatively stock option. They manage to make it feel like an everyday acceptance. The strength of We Live in Time should be its humanising writing, but the flawed wordplay holds this genuine attempt down. To compartmentalise the horrifying diagnoses, fallouts and troubles we deal with every day is no small feat but We Live in Time takes some ugly shortcuts. Pugh develops Almut as a professional with self-doubt, Garfield provides an understandable selfishness from Tobias which is no doubt the common argument but, as We Live in Time unravels, becomes this timid expectation. 

But it can only be as timid as the writing which, while achieving this serenity in the face of difficult medical dramas, is a low-hanging fruit, an inevitable mix that could have any two actors in place. Liam Neeson made this film two years ago. Before that, anyone from Awkwafina to Adam Sandler. Ray Romano, too. These are not new instalments and to do nothing extra with them is unfortunate considering the talent on display here. This is a film for and about grieving as a process and it gets there with some cheap tricks. There is a neatness to the humour, a little smile or two here or there as we dive into the random spots of life, a common narrative trope simply accepted now rather than applauded. 

Such is the trouble with We Live in Time and Crowley’s direction through this. He is playing with elements which excited a decade ago and are now just part of the fabric. We Live in Time is now just part of the scenery. Such is the point. Garfield and Pugh have great chemistry with one another, a naturalism to their performance which brings out the best in the everyday charms Crowley is so set on. His tunnel vision for it is admirable, and so too are the performances. But without the writing to back it up, this falls into a generally unambiguous, unambitious display. Pugh and Garfield are the eye candy many will project themselves onto, and inevitably so. But beyond their presence here, this is your run-of-the-mill drama using a diagnosis as a direct route to the heart.