You’ve probably seen the meme by now. You know the one—the buck-toothed carousel horse that looked so bizarrely out of place in a prestige romantic drama that it nearly broke the internet before the movie even hit theaters. But We Live in Time is a lot more than just a viral marketing accident or a funny prop.
It’s heavy.
Directed by John Crowley—the guy who did Brooklyn—and starring Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield, the film is a masterclass in how to tell a story that isn't a straight line. Life isn't a straight line. We remember things in flashes, right? You don't recall your 20s as a chronological diary; you remember the smell of a specific kitchen or the way a light hit someone’s face during an argument. That is exactly how this movie breathes.
The Chaos of the We Live in Time Timeline
The non-linear structure isn't just a gimmick. It’s the pulse of the film. We meet Almut (Pugh) and Tobias (Garfield) through three distinct eras of their relationship. One strand covers their "meet-cute," which happens because Almut literally hits Tobias with her car. Then there’s the era where they are raising their daughter, Ella. Finally, the third strand deals with Almut’s stage three ovarian cancer diagnosis and the brutal choices that come with it.
Crowley and screenwriter Nick Payne jump between these moments constantly. One minute, Almut is a rising star chef competing in the Bocuse d'Or; the next, she’s grappling with the physical toll of chemotherapy.
It’s jarring. It’s meant to be.
By mixing the beginning and the end, the movie forces you to look at the "middle" differently. You see the joy of their early romance while knowing exactly what kind of pain is waiting for them in the future. It makes the happy moments feel more fragile. You’re watching them fall in love, but in the back of your mind, you’re thinking about the hospital room scenes you saw ten minutes ago.
Honestly, it’s a lot to process. Most romance movies rely on the "will they or won't they" trope. We Live in Time skips that entirely. We know they will. We know they do. The question the movie asks is: "Was it worth it?"
Why the Chemistry Between Pugh and Garfield Matters
If the acting was mid, this movie would fall apart. It would just be another "sad cancer movie." But Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield have this lived-in energy that feels surprisingly real.
Pugh plays Almut with a sort of sharp, uncompromising ambition. She isn't a "perfect" victim or a "perfect" partner. She’s stubborn. She wants to cement her legacy as a chef even when her body is failing her. Garfield, on the other hand, plays Tobias with a soft, almost bumbling vulnerability. He’s the one who wants the quiet life, the one who wants to slow down.
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There’s a specific scene where they’re arguing about whether Almut should compete in a prestigious cooking competition while undergoing treatment. It’s not a "movie" argument. Nobody is giving a grand monologue. It’s messy, repetitive, and deeply frustrating.
You’ve probably been in that argument. The one where neither person is wrong, but both people are hurting.
The Reality of Ovarian Cancer Representation
We need to talk about the medical accuracy here because the film doesn't shy away from the gross stuff. Almut’s diagnosis isn't treated as a plot device to make her look "pale and beautiful." It’s depicted as an invasive, exhausting process.
According to organizations like Ovarian Cancer Action, one of the biggest hurdles with the disease is the late-stage diagnosis. The symptoms—bloating, fatigue, abdominal pain—are often dismissed. The film touches on this subtly. Almut’s struggle isn't just with the cells in her body; it’s with the loss of agency.
She’s a chef. She’s used to being in control of her kitchen. Suddenly, she can’t even control her own energy levels.
The movie highlights the "recurrence" aspect of cancer, which is a reality for many survivors. Almut has been through it once before they met. When it comes back, the stakes are different because now there’s a child involved. It shifts the conversation from "survival" to "legacy."
What do we leave behind? If Almut spends her final months in a kitchen instead of on a couch with her daughter, is she a bad mother? Or is she showing her daughter what it looks like to be a whole, passionate human being?
That Infamous Carousel Horse
Okay, let's address the horse. During a scene where the couple is at a fair, there’s a yellow carousel horse in the background with a genuinely terrifying expression. It went viral on Twitter (X) and became a meme before the first trailer even dropped.
John Crowley actually addressed this. He found it hilarious. He mentioned in interviews that they didn't even notice how "unhinged" the horse looked until the internet pointed it out.
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But in a weird way, the horse fits. Life is weird. Sometimes you’re having a profound, life-altering moment and there’s something ugly or stupid happening in the background. It adds a layer of surrealism to a movie that is otherwise very grounded in reality.
A Different Kind of British Drama
Usually, when we think of British dramas, we think of period pieces with corsets or gritty kitchen-sink realism. We Live in Time is neither. It’s stylish. It’s set in a lush, green version of the English countryside and a modern, bustling London.
The cinematography by Benedict Andrews uses a lot of natural light. It feels warm, which contrasts with the cold, sterile environment of the hospitals.
The film also avoids the typical "climax" structure. There isn't one big explosion of emotion. Instead, there are dozens of small explosions. A birth in a gas station bathroom. A quiet conversation over a half-eaten meal. A walk through a park.
It’s about the "ass" of time—the way it drags, the way it kicks you, and the way it slips away.
The editing is the real star here. Switching between 2017, 2021, and 2024 (roughly) requires the audience to pay attention to visual cues. Look at Almut’s hair. Look at the way Tobias carries himself. You start to piece together the map of their lives like a puzzle.
It's rewarding. You feel like you've lived with them.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Ending
People go into this expecting a "tear-jerker" in the style of The Fault in Our Stars or A Walk to Remember. It isn't that.
The ending isn't about death. It’s about the decision to live fully, even if the "fully" part is shorter than you wanted.
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Some critics have argued that the non-linear structure softens the blow of the ending. I disagree. I think it makes the ending more permanent. Because we’ve seen the beginning, the middle, and the end all mixed together, we realize that for Almut and Tobias, these moments exist simultaneously.
They are always hitting each other with a car. They are always having a baby. They are always saying goodbye.
It’s a bit like Kurt Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse-Five philosophy—that all moments in time exist at once, and we’re just looking at them one at a time.
Key Takeaways for Your Own Life
Watching a movie like this usually makes people reflect on their own "timelines." Here is how you can actually apply the perspective of the film to your own world:
- Document the Mundane. The movie focuses heavily on small moments—cooking eggs, sitting in a car. Don't just save your camera roll for weddings and vacations. Record the "middle."
- Understand Legacy vs. Longevity. Almut’s struggle is a reminder that the length of a life isn't the same as the depth of a life. Doing the thing you love matters, even if it "takes time away" from other things.
- Check Your Health. Seriously. The film’s depiction of ovarian cancer is a reminder for anyone with those symptoms to get checked. It’s often called the "silent killer" because it’s so hard to detect early.
- Accept the Mess. Relationships aren't polished. They involve hospital visits, arguments about career goals, and occasionally, very ugly carousel horses.
If you’re going to watch We Live in Time, bring tissues, but don't expect a pity party. Expect a celebration of what it looks like to actually show up for someone, even when you know the clock is ticking.
The film doesn't offer easy answers. It just shows you the pictures and asks you to feel them.
Pay attention to the scene where they’re learning to cook together. It’s one of the few times Almut is truly vulnerable. It’s not about the food. It’s about the transfer of knowledge. It’s about what remains when we aren't there to hold the pan anymore.
That’s the heart of the movie. It’s not about dying. It’s about what you leave on the table.
To truly appreciate the film's impact, watch it a second time. Once you know the full scope of the timeline, the early scenes take on a completely different weight. You’ll notice the small foreshadowing in the dialogue that you missed the first time around. You'll see the way Tobias looks at her in the hospital and realize he’s remembering the first time he saw her in that hospital gown years earlier.
It’s a beautiful, painful, necessary piece of cinema.
Actionable Insights:
- Watch for the visual cues: If you’re confused by the timeline, pay attention to Florence Pugh’s hair length and style; it’s the primary indicator of which year you’re in.
- Research the Bocuse d'Or: If you’re interested in the culinary aspects, look up the real-life competition. It’s incredibly intense and the film captures that pressure accurately.
- Listen to the score: Bryce Dessner (from The National) did the music. It’s subtle but plays a huge role in bridging the gaps between the different time periods.