WE LIVE IN TIME Review

There's something profoundly captivating about the kind of cinematic storytelling that transcends mere plot mechanics, instead diving deep into the complex emotional labyrinth of human relationships. We Live In Time, starring Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield, is exactly that sort of film — a poignant, heartfelt exploration of love, grief, and the fleeting nature of existence.

Directed by John Crowley, whose previous works (Brooklyn, Boy A) have already established him as a master of intimate, character-driven narratives, We Live In Time feels like a natural evolution of his craft. This is a film that wears its heart unapologetically on its sleeve, and yet, it does so with such precision and nuance that it never feels cloying or manipulative. Instead, it invites you to lean in, to feel deeply, and to leave the cinema changed — perhaps even a little bruised.

The narrative centres on a chance encounter between two strangers, played by Pugh and Garfield, whose chemistry is undeniable from their very first scene together. It’s not often you watch two performers who seem to share such an intuitive understanding of each other’s rhythms. As Albie (Garfield) and Ella (Pugh), they bring a rawness and authenticity to the screen that is rare in modern romantic dramas. Their story unfolds with a delicate pace, moving from moments of joy and levity to harrowing depths of heartbreak. And while the trajectory of their relationship might seem, at first glance, like familiar territory, the way it’s executed here feels anything but.

Pugh continues to prove herself one of the most compelling actors of her generation. As Ella, she is luminous, capturing a character who is at once fiercely independent and deeply vulnerable. There’s a moment where she delivers a monologue about the impermanence of life and the inevitability of loss — and it’s one of those rare instances in cinema where the room seems to hold its breath. Garfield, too, is astonishingly good. Albie’s journey from optimism to despair is handled with grace and subtlety, and Garfield imbues the character with a quiet dignity that makes his pain all the more resonant.

Visually, the film is stunning. Cinematographer Sean Bobbitt (12 Years a Slave) uses light and shadow to evoke an almost ethereal quality, particularly in the sequences that explore memory and time. There’s a recurring motif involving cherry blossoms — a symbol of the transient beauty of life — that serves as both a visual and thematic anchor. The score by Emile Mosseri (Minari) is equally evocative, a delicate mix of strings and piano that swells and recedes like waves, perfectly complementing the film’s emotional ebbs and flows.

What struck me most, though, was the film’s willingness to grapple with the messiness of love and loss. We Live In Time doesn’t offer easy answers or tidy resolutions. Instead, it embraces ambiguity, recognising that life is rarely neat or predictable. There’s a bravery in that approach, a refusal to pander to audience expectations, and it’s something I found deeply refreshing. It’s not a film that tells you what to feel; it’s a film that gives you the space to feel.

That said, the film isn’t without its flaws. There are moments where the pacing feels uneven, particularly in the second act, where the narrative momentum slows to a crawl. Some of the secondary characters, while well-acted, feel underdeveloped, serving more as catalysts for Albie and Ella’s journey than fully realised individuals. These are minor quibbles, though, in what is otherwise a remarkably accomplished piece of filmmaking.

We Live In Time. It’s an evocative phrase, one that encapsulates the film’s central themes of temporality and human connection. Time is both a gift and a thief, the film seems to say, and it’s in those fleeting moments of love and connection that we find our greatest joys and deepest sorrows. It’s a sentiment that lingers long after the credits roll.

In a cinematic landscape often dominated by spectacle and bombast, We Live In Time is a welcome reminder of the power of quiet, intimate storytelling. It’s a film that demands your attention, rewards your patience, and stays with you long after you’ve left the theatre. For me, it’s the kind of film that makes you want to call an old friend, hug a loved one a little tighter, or simply sit quietly and reflect on the beauty and fragility of life.

In short, We Live In Time isn’t just a film you watch; it’s a film you feel. And in a world that often feels hurried and disconnected, that’s a rare and precious thing indeed.