Love, Loss, and the Moments That Matter: We Live in Time

Silence is often misunderstood today, seen as awkward or a sign that something is off. But a couple of weeks ago, the silence that settled between my friend and me after watching We Live in Time spoke volumes. It wasn't discomfort—the kind of silence that comes when you've just experienced something profoundly raw and deeply human. I knew right then that this movie would stay with me. And seeing as I'm here, pouring my thoughts into this blog— I guess it did.

However, I want to start this review with an apology. Writing about a movie that had me violently weeping in a theater may not scream "holiday spirit." However, I'm hoping the season's joy offsets the inevitable melancholy this post might bring. So, before I dive into this review, I wish everyone a jolly Christmas and, if you are reading this a little later, a Happy New Year! Fair warning, though—those might be the only cheerful words you'll find here.

As you've probably guessed by now, this A24 gem, directed by John Crowley, is an emotional wrecking ball. And it's no secret, either. The New York Times even dubbed it "The Movie that Inspired a Thousand Crying Selfies." If I were a selfie-taker, I'd be one of those people. I will not claim that I barely cry at movies because god knows that's a lie—but few films have hit me as deeply as this one. The unapologetically English characters of Andrew Garfield's as Tobias and Florence Pugh's as Almut burrowed into my soul, and by the time the credits rolled, I was a sniffling, teary mess. (For context, only Inside Out and The Good Dinosaur have brought me this many tears).

Background 

By no means are weepy romantics a groundbreaking movie genre, the likes of The Notebook and Brokeback Mountain being the two most notable; maybe it is just my hopeless romantic side talking, but I feel like we, as a society of movie watchers owe an outstanding debt to generations of films about doomed romance. Post-Covid, though, we haven't had a truly devastating romance film—especially not one with a cast this talented. We Live in Time steps in with unflinching honesty, tugging relentlessly at your heartstrings. It's a movie that, with such a "simple" script, would crumble with less capable actors, but Garfield and Pugh elevate Nick Payne's script into something raw and unforgettable.

The incredibly gifted, charismatic, and talented actors and a purposefully fragmented timeline create a guaranteed recipe for success. It opens with Almut (Florence Pugh) receiving a brutal cancer diagnosis and facing an impossible choice: six months of quality life or a year of grueling chemo with no guarantees of survival. From there,  Nick Payne's script splits into two timelines: 

1. In the aftermath of Almut's cancer recurrence, where she secretly enters a cooking competition as a final accomplishment, hiding it from Tobias to spare him additional stress.

2. The early days of the courtship of Tobias and Almut, her earlier battle with cancer, and the young couple's heartbreak as they confront the likelihood of never having children—though flash-forwards show Almut pregnant, leading to one of the most memorable birth scenes I've seen in years.

While the non-linear structure might frustrate some viewers, I found it beautifully reflective of how relationships work in real life. Our memories and relationships don't follow a neat chronology; they're messy, emotional fragments—moments of joy and pain stitched together imperfectly.  That is what this movie embodied, showing the characters at their happiest, then quickly switching to their lowest, their fights, their actions of deep passion—I think this was the main reason that I felt so connected to the characters, by being able to tag along with their journey I felt like I had known them for my whole life, and that is why the tears came thicker and quicker than other films. Crowley and editor Justine Wright avoided heavy-handed markers like title cards, instead letting Almut's physical state guide us through the timeline: a pregnant belly here, a shaved head there. The jumps can feel random at times, but digging deeper into each reveals an emotional logic to them, the way one would remember critical moments of their life out of order as it slowly ends. Amidst all this praise, I will admit some jumps are too frequent or prolonged, but overall, the narrative's emotional coherence is amicable. After all, how do you show Day 100 of a relationship differently from Day 1,000? This film finds a way.

I've mentioned it already, but let me gush about the acting again; we know Florence Pugh,  the Little Women star, is no stranger to emotionally heavy roles and carries much of the film's weight. However, Garfield also shined in this movie, which may be due to his connection with the plot. Garfield's mother passed away a few years ago after a battle with cancer. He's talked on multiple occasions about how this film has been a source of healing and comfort for him — that could not be more evident in this performance—with his ability to convey concern, anger, and deep sadness through his remarkably expressive face. Together, they overcome a script that occasionally feels like it's working against them, crafting characters so vivid that you can't help but fall in love with them.

Few movies can juggle two cancer diagnoses, a birth, a blossoming romance, and an end to life into one film and NOT feel like its sole purpose was to play with the audience's emotions.  For me, this wasn't just a love story; it was a lesson. As someone ready for a relationship, not just wanting one (an important distinction), this film taught me a lot about the kind of love I want and the kind of person I need to be to find it. Watching Tobias and Almut's imperfect, fleeting love unfold reminded me of love's fragility and enduring power. 

Analysis

Here is the basis of the title: We are all shaped by our past, cleaved to our present, and unaware of our future. The film argues that we get the full measure of life when we see all three at once. With such a challenging goal of portraying these different aspects of life, the film becomes a complex tapestry of what it means to love and lose and the people that make it worth it all.

Therefore, I think an overview of this story's two main and commanding characters is essential. As described earlier, Florence Pugh is devastatingly charming as Almut, imbuing the character with so much love, care, and passion. Almut stands firm in who she is and is unwavering in the pursuit of her dreams — being a world-renowned chef among them — yet, she is also filled with much love for Tobias and their daughter Ella. The space the film holds for Almut to be her own person with dreams and ambitions outside of motherhood while still allowing her to be an incredibly compassionate and dedicated mother and wife is incredible.

Tobias is a dotting and devoted father and a overcome and captivated lover. The love Tobias and Almut share is so profound, moving, and human. Tobias wants Almut to stay; he wants her to fight, but he also wants her to live the life she has left with as much joy as she can. The core of this film is the dichotomous challenge of loving someone, knowing very well you might lose them, and fighting to accept that while also wishing they'd stay. 

These strong characters carry the burden of the heavy plot of the film. The story begins with Almut and Tobias meeting under unfortunate yet hysterical circumstances—when Almut hits Tobias with her Mini Cooper. As Tobias wakes up in the hospital, Almut's apology sparks a charming conversation between the two, which eventually leads to Tobias visiting Almut's restaurant. From there, their romance blossoms.

The most significant decision/battle throughout their relationship revolves around children; Tobias wants kids, while Almut is against it. The pressure on this decision is further exacerbated when Almust is diagnosed with ovarian cancer for the first time, where she must decide between a total hysterectomy (never getting pregnant again) and a partial hysterectomy (possibility of kids, but cancer can also come back). 

It's no secret that many women face this kind of decision—whether due to health challenges or societal pressures. Often, as alluded to earlier, society has an overwhelming tendency to equate a woman's value with her role as a mother, and this film captures that struggle poignantly. I remember a conversation with a close friend who embodies so many nurturing, "motherly" traits—she bakes muffins for me when she thinks I'm not eating enough, delivers me the extra cookies she bakes, and always offers brutally honest yet kind advice. I was stunned when she told me she didn't want children. In my mind, she was the perfect "candidate" for motherhood. But our conversation helped me understand the exact struggle Almut faces: How do you make such a deeply personal decision while filtering out the noise of societal expectations? How do you confidently say, "This is my choice, and it comes from me"? 

Almut navigated these difficult questions with grace by holding onto two essential virtues: respect and communication. She and Tobias struck a remarkable balance between the two, creating a dynamic that felt both mature and deeply compassionate. Tobias made it a point to share his desire for a child, yet he always reassured Almut that the final decision was hers. Simultaneously, Almut acknowledged the emotional weight of the situation and ensured Tobias felt heard, even as she expressed her uncertainty about what choice to make. This delicate push and pull between them embodied a level of understanding and care that made their relationship compelling.

Learning/Takeaways

It might seem like a pretty basic discovery—maybe you are even calling me Captain Obvious under your breath as you read this. And honestly, I wouldn't blame you for thinking that. Maybe this isn't a revolutionary epiphany or some groundbreaking realization. Or maybe I just hadn't fully grasped these virtues' significance in driving a successful relationship. After finishing We Live in Time, I realized that underneath all the sadness I felt, there was an unexpected twinge of jealousy. I found myself jealous of the dynamic between Tobias and Almut. Somehow, these fictional characters managed to create a relationship so mature, so perfectly imperfect, that it felt almost aspirational. 

This sent me on a reflective stroll—more like a light jog—down memory lane.

This is what I uncovered:

Based on my (admittedly limited) relationship experience, I've always struggled with embracing differences. Whether it's goals, lifestyle, or preferences, I've found it hard to reconcile those disparities while still aligning as a couple. In the movie, Almut is portrayed as a high-energy, fast-paced individual who thrives on setting and smashing goals. Conversely, Tobias takes life as it comes—a more easygoing, in-the-moment type of person.

As someone who identifies more with Almut's way of living, I've often felt like I needed a partner who is just as driven, goal-oriented, and competitive as I am; anything less, and the relationship would never last. But looking back, I see that mindset caused me to overlook many other valuable traits in my past relationships—things like kindness, acceptance, and the joy of simply being present. (To any of those relationships reading this: I'm sorry for failing to see all the good parts while I was so busy chasing the "perfect" ones.)

More importantly, I realized that I've been valuing people based on how they align with where I am in my journey. In a way, I judge their worth based on how their external qualities make me feel.

I have written and rewritten the previous line so many times, but every time, it falls short of explaining what I mean, so maybe an example will help me do a better job. 

Since starting this semester, I've grown distant from a close friend. Recently, I've been bothered by how our lifestyles and perspectives no longer align. It's true—we probably won't be lifelong friends. But I've let that disconnect overshadow the happy memories we've shared in the past. My current irritation is subconsciously and retroactively spoiling the good times we shared.

Watching We Live in Time reminded me of something crucial: They're still with me in many ways. Through the lessons they taught me that I now share with others, through the stories I love retelling (even for the hundredth time), they remain a part of who I am.

This is what We Live in Time captures so beautifully—the memories we make with others truly endure. The laughter, the heartbreak, the quiet moments of comfort. For instance, Almut's successes as a world-class chef live on through her widower, Tobias, and their daughter. In the final scene, as Tobias teaches their little girl how to crack eggs, you can feel Almut's presence. She's gone, but not really. The love they shared wasn't about being perfect but about building a life together, flaws and all.

My perspective on relationships has to shift to have the kind of dynamic Tobias and Almut shared. Relationships aren't about finding someone who checks all the boxes or aligns with you perfectly. They're about sharing a journey, embracing the messy, fleeting, extraordinary moments you create together. That's why Almut entered the cooking competition—despite the stress it added to her life. She wanted her daughter to have more than just the memory of a dying mother. She wanted her to look back and remember witnessing her mom win at life.

I've learned that the most important thing is to find someone who loves you for who you are—whether that's a fiercely independent chef facing a terminal illness or, in my case, a hyper-independent young adult with some serious baggage. Those are the people worth holding onto.

Ultimately, We Live in Time reminded me to let go of perfection. The perfect partner isn't someone who mirrors your every ambition but someone who helps you savor the journey. Life isn't just about the people we meet; it's about the moments we share with them.

So let's embrace the chaos, cherish the memories, and always crack eggs in separate bowls and on flat surfaces. After all, it's not the perfect parts of life that stick with us—it's the meaningful ones.