Most time travel movies are obsessed with the mechanics. They want to explain the flux capacitor, the branching timelines, or why you definitely shouldn't step on a prehistoric butterfly. Richard Curtis didn't care about any of that. When he sat down to write About Time, he wasn't trying to out-Nolan Christopher Nolan. He wanted to talk about tea. He wanted to talk about a dad and a son playing table tennis in a drafty Cornwall house. Basically, he used a massive sci-fi trope to trick us into watching a movie about how much it hurts to be alive and how much it hurts to lose the people we love.
It’s been over a decade since Tim Lake first learned he could hide in a dark cupboard, clench his fists, and go back to any moment in his own past. Honestly, the "movie from time to time" genre usually treats this power like a weapon or a curse. But in About Time, it’s just a tool for social anxiety. Tim doesn't try to kill Hitler. He just tries to make sure a girl doesn't think he's a total idiot at a New Year's Eve party.
The Domhnall Gleeson Factor and Why Tim Works
If you cast anyone else, this movie probably fails. If Tim is too cool, the time travel feels predatory. If he’s too nerdy, it feels like a sitcom. Domhnall Gleeson has this specific, frantic energy—a sort of ginger-haired sincerity—that makes you forgive him for literally manipulating time to get Rachel McAdams to love him.
Let's be real. The premise is kind of creepy if you overthink it. Tim meets Mary (McAdams) at a "blind" restaurant (the real-life Dans le Noir? in London, by the way), they have a perfect connection, and then Tim erases it to help a playwright friend. He then spends the next act using his "movie from time to time" abilities to stalk her at a Kate Moss exhibit and redo their first night together until it’s seamless.
But we give it a pass because the movie isn't actually about the romance. That's the first big misconception. People think About Time is a rom-com. It’s marketed as one. It has the Notting Hill pedigree. But the romance is settled by the halfway point. They get married in the rain—to the sound of Jimmy Fontana’s "Il Mondo"—and they have kids. The real story, the one that actually sticks in your ribs, is the relationship between Tim and his father, played by Bill Nighy.
The Rules (Or Lack Thereof)
Richard Curtis is notoriously loose with logic. In the film, Tim’s dad tells him the rules: you can’t go back to a time before you were born, and you can only go where you’ve actually been. Later, the movie introduces a massive "save game" conflict. If you go back to a point before your child was born and change something, you might come back to a different child. A different sperm, a different egg, a different kid.
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It’s a brutal biological reality dropped into a whimsical movie.
Critics like Leslie Felperin from The Guardian pointed out at the time of release that the internal logic is "holey as a Swiss cheese." And she's right. But the audience doesn't care about the physics of the Cornwall cupboards. We care about the scene where Tim realizes he can never see his dead father again because his third child is about to be born. That is the ultimate trade-off. It's the "movie from time to time" equivalent of a Sophie’s Choice. You choose the future over the past, even when the past is Bill Nighy offering you a bit of advice on a beach.
Why We Keep Coming Back to This Movie From Time to Time
Google Discover loves a comeback story, and About Time is the ultimate "slow burn" success. It didn't break the box office in 2013. It did okay. But in the years since, it has become a staple of "movies that will make you sob" lists on TikTok and Letterboxd.
Why?
Because it addresses the one thing we all actually want to do with time travel. We don't want to see dinosaurs. We want to go back to that one Tuesday where nothing special happened, but everyone we loved was still alive and healthy.
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The third act of the film is essentially a philosophical essay. Tim stops using his powers to fix mistakes. He starts using them to live the same day twice. The first time, he’s stressed, the barista is slow, and he’s annoyed by the commute. The second time, he notices the sunlight. He smiles at the barista. He listens to the music on the train. It’s incredibly "Live, Laugh, Love" on paper, but in the context of the film, it’s earned.
Real-World Filming Locations and Their Impact
Part of the reason the movie feels so grounded—despite the cupboard teleportation—is the use of real, gritty London and Cornish locations.
- Porthpean House: The Lake family home in Cornwall is a real place you can actually rent. It’s not a film set. That sense of lived-in history contributes to the E-E-A-T (Experience, Expertise, Authoritativeness, and Trustworthiness) of the film's world-building.
- The Tube: The famous busking scene was filmed at Maida Vale station. It captures that specific London feeling of being surrounded by millions of people but only seeing one.
- The Rain: The wedding scene at St Michael’s Church in St Ewe wasn't supposed to be that wet. The weather turned, and Curtis decided to lean into the chaos. It became the most memorable part of the movie.
Addressing the "Stalking" Criticism
We have to talk about the Mary of it all. In 2024 and 2025, modern audiences have looked back at Tim’s behavior with a more critical eye. Is it okay to use time travel to find out a woman’s interests and then pretend you share them?
Honestly? No. It’s a massive breach of consent.
However, the movie survives this critique because Mary is written with a surprising amount of agency, and Rachel McAdams plays her with a sharp wit. She isn't a prize to be won; she’s a person Tim has to keep up with. The film acknowledges, in its own way, that no amount of time travel can make someone love you if the spark isn't there—demonstrated early on when Tim tries to win over his sister's friend, Charlotte (Margot Robbie in one of her first big roles), and fails no matter how many times he tries.
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The Actionable Insight: How to Watch About Time (Again)
If you're going to revisit this movie from time to time, don't look at it as a romance. Look at it as a guide on grief.
- Watch the background characters. The sister, Kit Kat (Lydia Wilson), has a subplot about toxic relationships and recovery that is much darker and more realistic than the rest of the film. It anchors the whimsy in something real.
- Listen to the score. Nick Laird-Clowes put together a soundtrack that moves from the upbeat "Mr. Brightside" to the devastating "The Luckiest" by Ben Folds. The music tells you when Tim is being selfish and when he's being selfless.
- Apply the "Final Rule." The movie ends with Tim deciding to stop time traveling altogether. He chooses to live life as if he has chosen to come back to this one day to enjoy it.
Try it tomorrow. Wake up and pretend you’ve traveled back from the year 2050 just to experience this specific Wednesday.
You’ll find that the coffee tastes better, the traffic is less annoying, and you’re a lot more patient with your kids. That’s the real "movie from time to time" magic. It’s not about changing the past; it’s about being present enough that you don’t feel the need to change it later.
Take a walk. Look at the sky. Don't worry about the cupboard. You're already where you need to be.