3.5 stars. Rating: R, and quite stupidly, for fleeting profanity and mild sensuality
By Derrick Bang
At first blush, this fantasy
rom-com seems to be about young love, and finding the perfect soul-mate.
Or maybe it’s a cautionary tale
about missed opportunities.
 |
| Tim (Domhnall Gleeson, left) can't begin to grasp what his father (Bill Nighy) has just confessed: that the men in their family have the ability to travel backwards in time. Very soon, though, Tim will realize that he does indeed share this incredible talent ... and he'll have plenty of fun — and not a little heartbreak — trying to get a handle on what he can and cannot do. |
No, wait, it might be a parable
on the importance of embracing every single moment of life’s precious gift.
In the final analysis, though,
writer/director Richard Curtis’ deeply personal film focuses on the indestructible
— and loving — bond between fathers and sons. And alla that other stuff
mentioned above.
One can’t help feeling that this
is a valentine to Curtis’ own father: either a celebration of a happy
relationship with the elder Curtis (who recently died), or a heartfelt wish
that they could have enjoyed the affectionate bond that links this story’s Tim
Lake (Domhnall Gleeson) and his father (Bill Nighy).
Which is interesting, since this
bittersweet film is being marketed as a sweet, whimsical love story between Tim
and Mary (Rachel McAdams). One gets the sense that Universal Pictures is
approaching this publicity campaign very
warily, not quite certain whether this creature is fish or fowl.
About Time is about all the elements cited
above, of course, which is both its greatest virtue and underlying curse. As
often is the case with a filmmaker’s long-gestating pet project, Curtis can’t
quite get a handle on how best to articulate this unusual saga; as a result,
his film wanders a bit, even stumbles at times.
This slightly unfocused approach
is surprising — and disappointing — given that Curtis so unerringly kept a few
dozen infatuated characters spinning quite successfully in his 2003
masterpiece, Love, Actually. This new
film, in contrast, offers dozens of sparkling little moments, all charming in
their own right, which wind up being greater than the sum of their parts.
And once we reach the climax,
complete with a moral delivered with all the formality of a fable from Aesop,
Curtis doesn’t know how to conclude; he stutters his way through a lengthy,
didactic epilogue that dilutes much of what came before. We’re clearly intended
to be left with a sense of radiant joy over life’s endless possibilities, but
instead — at best — we part with Shakespeare’s sweet sorrow.
At worst, with deep regret over
our own missed opportunities.
Probably not the mood Curtis intended.
