'We Live in Time' Is A Memoir For Female Body—And Its Refusal To Be Forgotten

There are many reasons why Florence Pugh's new movie, We Live In Time, is making waves on the Internet, not just her sweet, subtly evocative chemistry with co-star Andrew Garfield during the promotional tour or the internet's incredulous reaction to the "ugly carousel horse meme" from the movie's poster. No, the true cause is found in the film itself, which is a moving meditation on identity, love, illness, and the legacy we leave behind, particularly as women.

There is a literal collision at the start of the movie. Tobias (Garfield) is struck by Almut's (Pugh) car by accident. What might initially appear to be the beginning of an oddball romantic comedy soon develops into something much more complex and nuanced. There is humour and hesitation in their relationship, but there is also a hidden vulnerability. "You almost killed me, the least you could do is let me pay for your cappuccino," Tobias teases her as they tensely drink coffee in one of the opening scenes. Their awkward and gentle laughter gives way to something more intangible and related to loss.

Their love is revealed in bits and pieces—quiet mornings, gentle smiles, unsuccessful recipes, anxious parenting moments, and brief happiness. The ticking clock, however, is soon introduced. Time starts to fall apart after Almut receives a diagnosis of a rare and aggressive type of ovarian cancer. She traces the lines of her face while sitting in the bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror, and whispers, "So this is what it looks like… when you're running out." It's a moving moment.

We Live in Time — Feminism, Fertility, and the Legacy Women Fight For

Instead of being a typical melodrama, We Live in Time explores what it means to be "fulfilled," particularly for women. Does success in the workplace contain it? When bringing up a child? In falling in love? Is it possible to desire more than one, or all of them, without feeling guilty?

Almut has the audacity to desire everything. She dives headfirst into her culinary career after receiving her diagnosis. In one scene, her hands shake as she cuts onions with ferocious accuracy; her body fails her, but her ambition does not. She enters the Bocuse d'Or, the most renowned culinary competition in the world, without telling anyone. She wishes to leave something behind. Love, not self-interest.

Not just out of concern, but also out of wounded pride, Tobias erupts when she forgets to pick up their daughter from daycare. "You're not even here anymore," he declares. "When your daughter needs you, you're chasing a pointless goal." "Have you ever thought that I don't want to be just someone's dead f**king mother?" is Almut's scathing reply.

We Live in Time transcends the realm of romance with the impact of that line, which is delivered so rawly that it ends the movie. It turns into a catchphrase. Almut suffers from both a fear of dying and a more profound fear that the world's one-dimensional conception of motherhood will erase her identity, her goals, her accomplishments, and who she is.

She battles to be recognised as more than a role, not just to survive, despite the fact that her body betrays her.

This goes beyond just demonising Tobias. Garfield actually portrays him with a great deal of tenderness and perplexity. "Will you still want to be a mother when you can't have more children?" he asks at one point. Almut responds, his eyes blazing, "F**k you for even asking that."

His inquiries aren't harsh; they're sincere, the kind that society frequently whispers. Instead of blaming him, the movie highlights the cultural narrative that has led even sensitive men to believe that women must be mothers above all else. That love needs to have a specific appearance. It must be a sacrifice to leave that legacy.

John Crowley, the director, doesn't draw tidy conclusions. Rather, he depicts time as if it were a watercolour, fusing memories and the future, alternating between scenes of Almut and Tobias laughing in Paris and the chilly hospital rooms where time falters.

One of the most poignant moments occurs when, following Almut's passing, their daughter discovers a recipe notebook with scribbles, notes, and the words, "For you." You are aware that I survived. In full.

That is We Live In Time's pain and beauty. It moves beyond Almut's personal narrative to discuss universal themes regarding women's independence, aspirations, and the ongoing costs associated with attempting to live above expectations.

The fact that Florence Pugh told this tale is no accident. Over the course of her career, she has portrayed characters who challenge the status quo, whether it be by opposing beauty standards, addressing abuse, or raising awareness about reproductive health. She has openly discussed how doctors have rejected her, ignored her PCOS symptoms, and demonised her for not meeting Hollywood's unrealistic expectations. She told The Times, "Women have to walk a tightrope; if they don't, they are called diva, difficult, or troublesome." Her portrayal of Almut is not only believable but also essential because of her refusal to be contained.

Her appearance in We Live in Time is a subdued revolution. "A woman's life is not a footnote to her family," it states. Desiring more is not selfish. Refusing erasure is not tragic.

"Remember me not for how I left, but how I stayed," says Almut in the voiceover that ends the movie, which is based on one of her letters. My life. How I was in love. Everything.

And that's the reality of We live in Time. It serves as a reminder that our legacy is defined by who we dared to be while we were here, not just by what we leave behind.

Views expressed by the author are their own.