The internet basically lost its mind when the first trailer for John Crowley’s We Live in Time dropped. It wasn't just the weirdly viral carousel horse that looked like it was judging your life choices. It was the chemistry. Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh have this crackling, lived-in energy that makes you feel like you're intruding on a real marriage. But once people actually saw the film at TIFF or in theaters, the conversation shifted. Specifically, the We Live in Time sex scenes became a massive talking point for being, well, actually honest.
Movie sex is usually a disaster of choreography. It’s either hyper-stylized neon lighting where nobody breathes, or it’s a "PG-13" tumble where the sheets stay magically tucked under everyone's armpits. Crowley went a different way. He wanted the intimacy between Almut and Tobias to feel as messy and non-linear as the rest of the movie.
The Reality of We Live in Time Sex
It’s about the vulnerability. In one specific sequence, the film portrays intimacy not as a peak of a mountain, but as a quiet, somewhat awkward valley. There is a scene that involves Almut’s battle with ovarian cancer. It’s heavy.
Sex during illness is rarely depicted in Hollywood. Usually, if a character is sick, they become a saintly figure who transcends physical desire. We Live in Time rejects that. It shows how cancer—and the grueling nature of chemotherapy—physically changes how a couple interacts. The intimacy becomes a form of communication. It’s about checking in. It’s about the fear of "breaking" the other person. Honestly, it’s one of the most heartbreakingly human things put on film in years.
Breaking the "Hollywood Style"
You know the drill. Most films use sex as a plot device to show two people have "made it" to the next level of their relationship. Here, the non-linear structure of the film means we see the We Live in Time sex moments scattered across a decade. We see the "new relationship" heat, sure. But we also see the "we have a kid and I'm exhausted" intimacy. We see the "I might be dying" intimacy.
Florence Pugh has been vocal about this. She’s famously protective of how her body is used on screen, often pushing back against the "polished" version of femininity. She and Garfield worked closely with an intimacy coordinator, but they also leaned into the improvisation of the moment. There’s a scene involving a birth on the floor of a gas station bathroom—not a sex scene, obviously, but it carries that same raw, unvarnished physical reality that defines their entire sexual relationship. If they can survive a gas station birth, their bedroom life is going to be grounded in something way deeper than just aesthetics.
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Why the A24 Approach Works
A24 has a bit of a reputation for being "edgy," but Crowley’s direction is actually quite gentle. He doesn't use the camera to ogle. Instead, the lens stays close to their faces. You see the micro-expressions. You see the way Tobias looks at Almut when she's lost her hair—that mix of profound attraction and terrifying grief.
There’s a specific technicality to how these scenes were shot. The lighting isn't perfect. The skin isn't airbrushed. You see the textures. It’s a stark contrast to the Marvel-fied version of romance where everything is smooth and bloodless.
- Pace: The scenes aren't rushed. They linger on the quiet moments before and after.
- Sound: There’s a lot of focus on breathing and the small sounds of a house. It makes it feel claustrophobic in a good way. Like a secret.
- Dialogue: Sometimes they talk. They joke. They aren't just brooding in silence like they're in a perfume commercial.
Challenging the "Cringe" Factor
Social media tends to reduce everything to a meme. There was a brief period where people were joking about "the carousel horse watching the We Live in Time sex scene," but that's just a defense mechanism. It's easier to joke than to admit that watching two people be that vulnerable is actually quite uncomfortable for an audience.
We’ve become used to "sexless" blockbusters. Look at the discourse around Dune or any recent superhero flick—critics and fans have been noting for years that physical intimacy has been drained out of big-budget cinema. John Crowley brings it back, but not as a spectacle. He brings it back as a necessity. You cannot tell a story about a woman facing her mortality without addressing her body—and that includes how that body experiences pleasure and connection.
The Role of the Intimacy Coordinator
It’s worth noting that Miriam Lucia worked as the intimacy coordinator on this set. Her job isn't just to put "modesty garments" on people. It's about choreography that looks spontaneous but is actually safe. In interviews, Pugh and Garfield have mentioned how this safety allowed them to go deeper into the emotional reality of the scenes. When you aren't worried about where your hand is "allowed" to go, you can focus on the grief or the joy the scene requires.
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Garfield, in particular, has a way of playing Tobias as a man who is constantly overwhelmed by his love for Almut. His physicality in these scenes isn't "alpha" or dominant. It's observant. It’s reactive. It’s a masterclass in "listening" with your whole body.
The Impact on Modern Romance Films
We are seeing a shift. Films like Past Lives, Normal People (the series), and now We Live in Time are moving away from the "happily ever after" toward the "happily ever now."
The sex in this movie matters because time is the villain. When you know your days are numbered, a physical encounter isn't just a Tuesday night. It’s a defiant act. It’s saying, "I am still here, and I am still me." This is why the We Live in Time sex scenes resonate so much with people who have actually lived through chronic illness or long-term caretaking. It rings true.
- Watch for the hands. One of the most telling things in these scenes is how the characters hold each other. It’s rarely about the "act" and always about the tethering.
- Listen to the silence. The absence of a swelling orchestral score during these moments makes them feel more like a documentary than a drama.
- Contextualize the "mess." Notice the laundry in the background or the cluttered nightstands. This isn't a fantasy; it's a flat in London.
Realism Over Performance
When we talk about "human-quality" intimacy in film, we’re talking about the bits that usually get edited out. The fumbled movements. The laughter when something goes wrong. We Live in Time keeps the soul of the relationship intact by refusing to sanitize the bedroom.
Critics from The Hollywood Reporter and Variety have praised the film for its "tactile" nature. It’s a movie you can almost feel. That’s a testament to the actors, but also to a script that understands that sex is a part of life, not a detour from it.
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Actionable Insights for Viewers and Creators
If you’re watching the film, pay attention to how the sex scenes change as the timeline jumps. You can actually track the health of their relationship and Almut’s physical state through their intimacy. It’s a visual shorthand that replaces five pages of dialogue.
For those interested in the craft of film, this is a prime example of how to handle sensitive subjects without being exploitative.
- Prioritize Emotional Stakes: If a scene doesn't tell us something new about the characters' internal states, it shouldn't be there.
- Embrace Imperfection: Human skin has pores. Real rooms have shadows. The more "perfect" a scene looks, the less the audience believes it.
- Trust the Actors: When you have performers of the caliber of Pugh and Garfield, the best thing a director can do is create a safe space and then get out of the way.
The "keyword" here isn't just a search term; it's a reflection of our collective desire to see something real on screen. In a world of AI-generated perfection and filtered Instagram lives, the messy, tearful, beautiful We Live in Time sex scenes remind us of what it actually means to be alive—and to be running out of time.
The most important takeaway is that intimacy in the face of mortality isn't a tragedy. It's a triumph. It’s the ultimate way of saying that life, however short, was worth the skin-to-skin contact.
To truly understand the impact of the film, look at the way it handles the aftermath of these scenes. It's in the quiet morning coffee, the shared looks over their daughter's head, and the way they navigate the hospital hallways. Intimacy is the fuel that gets them through the rest of their story.
Next Steps for Deeper Engagement:
Review the work of John Crowley in Brooklyn to see how he handles quiet romance, or research the role of an intimacy coordinator to understand how these "raw" moments are safely constructed. Pay close attention to the non-linear timeline in your next viewing; it completely changes the weight of the earlier scenes once you've seen the end.