It’s just a man running. Honestly, if you strip away the pedigree of the people involved, that’s the base layer of the film. But when that man is Cillian Murphy and the backdrop is the rugged, almost punishing beauty of the Irish archipelago, "running" becomes something else entirely. All of this unreal time isn’t just a movie title; it’s a visceral description of that weird, elastic state of mind we all fell into during the global lockdowns of 2020 and 2021.
You’ve probably seen the stills. Murphy, hair slightly overgrown, wearing a dark tracksuit, looking like he’s trying to outrun his own shadow across a desolate beach. It premiered at the Manchester International Festival (MIF) in 2021, and while it was born from the isolation of the pandemic, it hasn't aged into a "period piece" of that era. It feels permanent.
What actually happens in the film?
Most people expect a narrative. They want a beginning, a middle, and a climax. But director Aoife McArdle and writer Max Porter didn't give us a traditional plot. Instead, we get a 40-minute internal monologue. It’s a confession. Murphy’s character—simply referred to as "the man"—wanders through empty city streets, lush forests, and crashing Atlantic waves. He is apologizing. He’s apologizing to his family, to the earth, to himself.
The dialogue is rhythmic. It’s basically spoken-word poetry, but without the pretension that usually kills that genre. Porter, known for the heartbreakingly good Grief is the Thing with Feathers, has this way of making deep shame sound lyrical.
The film was shot over a grueling schedule in locations across Ireland. Because it was filmed during a time of strict social distancing, the emptiness of the locations isn't CGI. It’s real. That haunting lack of people reflects the "unreal time" the title suggests—that period where the world stopped, but the clocks kept ticking.
Why Cillian Murphy was the only choice
Let’s be real: not many actors can carry 40 minutes of screen time with almost zero supporting cast. Murphy has this specific intensity in his eyes—fans call it the "Oppenheimer stare" now, but it was fully on display here first. He brings a physical exhaustion to the role. You can feel the lactic acid in his legs and the weight in his chest.
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The collaboration between Murphy, McArdle, and Porter wasn't a fluke. They wanted to explore the "shame of being a man." That’s a heavy theme for a short film. It touches on environmental collapse and personal failure. It asks: "What have we done?"
The music matters more than you think
You can’t talk about all of this unreal time without mentioning the score. Composed by Aaron and Bryce Dessner of The National, the music acts as the second character. It’s glitchy. It’s orchestral. It swells when the character hits the open landscape and constricts when he’s trapped in the neon-lit urban alleys.
If you’ve ever listened to The National, you know that specific brand of "anxious melancholy" they've mastered. It fits Murphy’s performance like a glove. The Dessner brothers have become the go-to guys for this kind of high-art mood setting, and here, they lean into the dissonance.
The technical side of the "Unreal"
The cinematography by Steve Annis is worth a deep dive. He used a mix of sweeping wide shots and claustrophobic close-ups.
- Location 1: The urban sprawl of Manchester (where it premiered). It represents the noise of the modern world.
- Location 2: The Irish coast. This represents the raw, uncaring power of nature.
- The transition between these two spaces is where the "unreal" feeling kicks in. One moment he’s in a neon-lit underpass, the next he’s knee-deep in freezing salt water.
It mimics the way memory works. Our brains don't remember things in a straight line. We jump from a regret we had ten years ago to the sandwich we’re eating right now. The film captures that mental hopping perfectly.
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Why it still resonates in 2026
We’ve moved past the "lockdown" phase of history, but the anxiety hasn't really left. All of this unreal time tapped into a collective burnout. It’s about the realization that we spend most of our lives performing versions of ourselves that don't actually exist.
Critics at the time, like those at The Guardian, noted that it felt less like a movie and more like a "filmed fever dream." That’s an accurate way to put it. It’s not something you watch while scrolling on your phone. If you do, you’ll miss the nuance. You have to sit with it, which is something we’re increasingly bad at doing.
Common Misconceptions
- Is it a music video? No. While it features musicians and a heavy score, it’s a narrative short film.
- Is it a documentary? Not even close. It’s highly stylized fiction.
- Is it part of the Peaky Blinders universe? (Yes, people actually ask this). No. Tommy Shelby is nowhere to be found, though Murphy’s intensity is a common thread.
The "Shame" Narrative
The most controversial part of the film for some viewers was the focus on "male shame." Porter’s script is incredibly hard on its protagonist. He’s a man who has taken too much and given back too little. In 2021, this felt like a commentary on the "old world" dying. In 2026, it feels like a warning.
The man in the film is basically a surrogate for the viewer. He’s asking for forgiveness from the "unreal time" he’s wasted. He’s mourning the version of the world that didn't burn, didn't flood, and didn't isolate.
How to experience it properly
If you’re going to watch all of this unreal time, don't treat it like a Netflix binge.
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- Use high-quality headphones. The sound design is 50% of the experience.
- Watch it in the dark. The contrast between the shadows and the Irish landscape is lost in a bright room.
- Be prepared for the ending. It doesn't "resolve" anything. It just leaves you standing there, much like the character.
What we can learn from the project
This film proved that there is a massive audience for "slow cinema." In an era of 15-second TikToks, 40 minutes of a man walking and talking to himself shouldn't work. But it does because it’s honest. It doesn't try to sell you a product or a sequel.
It’s just art.
The production was supported by Film4 and various arts councils, which allowed it to be experimental. It didn't have to answer to a box office. This freedom is visible in every frame.
Actionable Takeaways for the Curious
If this sounds like your kind of thing, here is how to dive deeper into the world of McArdle, Murphy, and Porter.
- Check the MIF Archives: The Manchester International Festival often hosts behind-the-scenes talks about the production. These reveal how they managed to shoot in such remote locations with minimal crew.
- Read Max Porter’s Poetry: If the dialogue moved you, "Lanny" or "Grief is the Thing with Feathers" are the natural next steps. They share the same DNA as the film.
- Explore Aoife McArdle’s Commercial Work: She’s a master of visual storytelling. Even her short advertisements have the same cinematic weight as this film.
- Listen to the Soundtrack Separately: Take a walk with the Dessner brothers' score in your ears. It changes how you perceive your own surroundings, making your own daily commute feel a bit more like "unreal time."
The film serves as a landmark in Cillian Murphy’s career. It’s the bridge between his character work in indie films and the massive, world-altering roles he’s taken on recently. It shows an artist who isn't afraid to be vulnerable, ugly, or exhausted on camera. That, more than anything, is why we’re still talking about it years later.