In Defense of Almut’s Pregnancy in ‘We Live in Time’

Aren't we all hypocrites for the right—and wrong—person?

By Audra Heinrichs | October 30, 2024 | 5:21pm

Photo Credit: A24 Entertainment Movies

In Defense of Almut’s Pregnancy in ‘We Live in Time’

Since its October 18 release, We Live in Time has been deemed a “triumph,” a “heartfelt weepie,” and a “deeply affecting tear-jerker.” It’s also on track to become the highest-grossing limited release of 2024, with the film earning a staggering $1.8 million on its opening day despite debuting in less than 1,000 theaters nationwide. Personally, I think the accolades are well-earned, even if many critics have accused it of being, well, pro-birth at a time when the U.S. continues to prove hostile to women who choose not to give birth.

Andrew Garfield plays Tobias, who is a down-on-his-luck, divorced Weetabix IT man when he meets Florence Pugh’s Almut, an ambitious, effervescent chef. We’re whisked through three distinct, albeit out-of-order chapters throughout the course of their 10-year relationship, witnessing everything from their first meeting (Almut hits Tobias with her car) to their first realization that they’re competing against a particularly cruel clock (Almut is diagnosed with Stage 3 cancer). There have been some complaints about the film’s timeline and how its incessant toggling from one phase to another impedes the intensity of its most poignant moments, but the harshest criticism lands on Tobias and Almut’s personal decisions, namely, Almut’s out-of-character decision to have a baby.

Most Popular

When the couple’s only conflict apart from the Big C is introduced (Almut doesn’t care to procreate, but Tobias does), we’ve already learned that Almut isn’t a woman who bends to convention, let alone the whims of a man. But bend she most certainly does—despite the grim reality of her health. In the middle of the film, after Almut’s told she has ovarian cancer for the first time, she’s forced to decide between undergoing a partial or full hysterectomy. Obviously, a full hysterectomy offers her a better chance of not eventually dying from the disease. Yet, despite all her demonstrably sound sense, she takes the risk and opts for the partial, since she’s now suddenly invested in the idea of having a child with Tobias. Then, some years after she does, she’s given the death knell we all saw coming. It would be a confounding choice—even for someone who’s desperately wanted to bear children for their entire adult life. Almut, however, doesn’t fall within that category. That said, her repeated diagnoses do just seem like an unfair punishment.

Whether intended or not, the subtext of Nick Payne’s screenplay might read like women should sacrifice their future for a fetus. Or worse, that a woman might have to die to teach a man how to live. (Colleen Hoover, is that you?) Ultimately, Almut’s decision not to undergo the procedure feels utterly at odds with this dynamic, driven woman who, as she declares near the conclusion, desperately wants to be known as more than “someone’s dead fucking mum.” Then again, so many choices people make in a relationship (especially with a man) contradict the kind of people they were before falling in love. Frankly, this is where We Live in Time works best: Any profound sacrifice we make when in a relationship—healthy or not—probably isn’t going to make sense to anyone watching.

There, I said it. I’m defending Almut—or, rather, the way Almut was written (very notably by a man). It’s difficult for me to reckon with, too. But at the end of the day, this is a rom-com-dram, and if we’re to examine the behavior of every beloved protagonist of the genre, the faults and anti-feminist choices would be overwhelming. If they weren’t a reflection of actual people in our own lives—ourselves included—surely they wouldn’t be quite so popular among audiences. How many times does one disagree with their friends about their love lives? Or, better yet, how often do we disagree with our own choices in the throes of infatuation? Aren’t we all hypocrites for the right—and wrong—person?

Like Almut, I also have no current plans to procreate. (But if Garfield were simping for me, he couldn’t put a baby in me fast enough.) The notion of subjecting an innocent human to a world of crippling debt, decaying systems, genocide apologists, and, in some places, forced birth, is a non-starter. But if a great love were to come along, I’d at least contemplate the selfishness it requires to drop another sucker into this cesspool.

In the movies, as in real life, women often do things for love that seem wildly out of character. Does that make their stories any less beloved or relatable? Certainly not. If anything, it makes them all the more so. In My Best Friend’s Wedding, it wasn’t until after Julia Roberts’ Julianne Potter saw Michael O’Neal content in a relationship that she decided to ruin his wedding to an innocent, unsuspecting 20-something; Meg Ryan is gratingly uncommunicative in literally any Nora Ephron film; I still can’t stand behind Diane Keaton’s decision to leave Keanu Reeves for Jack Nicholson in Something’s Gotta Give; and I will always have an affinity for Elle Woods but following a man to law school after he rejected you is an arrestable offense. You get it. The list is long.

Regardless of its faults, there’s still plenty to like about We Live In Time. All of its quick cutaways and comic relief help underscore the bittersweetness of Tobias and Almut’s time together and keep it from becoming too saccharine. In the middle of the diagnosis and depression, there are quiet mornings and loud declarations, candle-lit celebrations and very coked-out-looking horses. When I saw the film’s stateside premiere at the Hamptons International Film Festival, I was also particularly bowled over by the birthing scene, directed with a certain tenderness that’s not just a testament to John Crowley, but to the intimacy of Garfield and Pugh, whose bare ass is in the air for most of it.

And while Garfield and Pugh’s sex scenes aren’t quite as steamy as recent headlines might imply, their rapport does, in fact, feel very, very real. Their chemistry is why we’re able to empathize with their characters’ decisions and what makes the film play like a poignant—at times, punishing—reel of an actual couple’s time together. Til death do they part…even if they had the choice not to part quite so quickly.