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Let’s Talk About the Way We Live in Time Deals With Death

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Let’s Talk About the Way We Live in Time Deals With Death

As someone who has experienced the loss of loved ones, I find that movies about death can be a complex and deeply personal experience. They can serve as a trigger for raw emotions, or provide a cathartic release, allowing us to confront and process our grief in a safe and controlled environment.

The story “We Live in Time” concludes much like it starts, but with a significant change: this time, instead of Almut cooking for Tobias, it’s Tobias preparing breakfast with their daughter, Ella. Just as Almut, an accomplished chef, once showed him how to crack eggs on a hard surface during their early dates, Tobias now instructs his young student. A sweet dog is present, reminding us of a past conversation between the couple. They discussed how dogs can aid children in coping with loss, following Almut’s diagnosis of recurring and incurable ovarian cancer.

This book serves as a touching reminder of how we carry our cherished ones in our hearts long after they’ve passed away. Almut feared she would be overlooked or remembered only as a deceased mother by her child. However, this scene underscores Tobias’ dedication to demonstrating to Ella that her mom had a life beyond their immediate sphere.

However, the second to last scene is particularly intriguing and may inspire closer analysis as the film “We Live in Time” makes its theater debut on October 11. The film, directed by John Crowley who is known for Brooklyn, has received generally favorable reviews since its premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival in September. In today’s cinema world where films targeting female audiences have been successful at the box office, and with Florence Pugh and Andrew Garfield as its leading pair, it seems that the longing for a heartrending romance remains strong even after half a century since Love Story featuring Ryan O’Neal and Ali MacGraw.

In contrast to the famous movie, “We Live in Time” doesn’t show Almut dying physically. Instead, it symbolically portrays her death, hinting at it without actually showing her last breaths. This is not a new approach—in fact, it echoes a long-standing tradition of off-screen deaths, particularly in romantic and family dramas. Interestingly, this figurative treatment turns out to be more emotionally impactful than a literal depiction.

Let’s Talk About the Way We Live in Time Deals With Death

In this enchanting moment, I find myself immersed in the story as Almut, who, despite battling illness, finds herself in Italy for a prestigious European culinary contest. As fate would have it, an ice skating rink catches her eye, reminding me of my past as a competitive skater, a passion shared with my late father, an ardent skating enthusiast.

On one hand, this scene borders on excessive cheesiness, causing me to roll my eyes even as tears escaped from them. Yet, on another, I’m grateful for not having to witness Al’s final agonizing breath, captured between hollowed-out cheeks and the best attempt at a not-quite-a-corpse makeup—and not being forced to watch loved ones endure that moment. We are also saved from the immediate aftermath: the coffin being buried, the child left isolated while taller acquaintances schmooze and dine, and the widower donating clothes to Goodwill.

The movie has, until this point, been rather forthright about the pain of advanced cancer and the treatment that ravages a body in trying to stave off death. Hair loss, nausea, exhaustion, bruising, random bloody noses, the interruption to intimacy. It’s all so awful that Almut considers forgoing treatment altogether so that she can try to really live for six months rather than suffer for 12. It’s about the indignities, too. In one scene, she looks on as another chemo patient nods off to sleep during an infusion, her red wig moving out of place as her head falls toward her shoulder. A nurse comes by and tenderly moves it back into place: the woman doesn’t need to be embarrassed on top of everything else, the nurse knows; her job goes beyond the purely physical.

In the play “We Live in Time,” Nick Payne intentionally avoids portraying death directly. This decision aligns with his preference for using metaphors subtly, particularly when dealing with young mothers battling cancer. Many contemporary culture aficionados would recall the emotional ending of the 1998 film “Stepmom,” where Susan Sarandon’s character asks for a family photo that includes her estranged stepmother (Julia Roberts). The snapshot is taken as “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough” plays, prompting viewers to cry and smile at the same time. The picture then fades to black, symbolizing her passing, leaving behind cherished memories of her.

Instead of “Other films adopt the policy of ‘filmed-it-or-it-didn’t-happen,'” you could say “Some movies follow the rule: ‘If it’s not filmed, it didn’t happen.’

Let’s Talk About the Way We Live in Time Deals With Death

There is no one right way to depict death on screen. Movies are about life, and death is a part of life. If you’ve lost a loved one to cancer or something like it, then the movies are either a perpetual trigger, or inexpensive therapy, or both. If you can’t bring yourself to access that grief without an external prompt, you can knowingly sit yourself down for a film that promises to demagnetize them through sheer will and swooning violins. There is a thin line between gratuitous and tasteful, maudlin and real, and that line is not located in the same place for every viewer. A wet cheek competition between Beaches and Terms of Endearment is bound to be too close to call.

In the film “We Live in Time,” I experienced a unique blend of emotions. On one hand, I was relieved not to be retraumatized by graphic recreations of painful memories. Simultaneously, I was allowed to engage with those memories to supplement the movie’s deliberate blank spaces. Some might contend that the scene falls short compared to intense moments in Winger, Shannon, or Mulligan’s performances where they disappear before our eyes; it’s a tamer moment in a film packed with intensity. However, considering the film presents us with adult themes like sex and childbirth, one could question why it shies away from depicting death.

But for a movie defined by grief and loss, whose trailer promises to lift you up, tear you to shreds, then expel you from the theater a little more wizened to the way life giveth and then taketh away, this channeling of Tara Lipinski at death’s door ultimately works. It continues in the long cornball tradition of “did you ever know that you’re my hero,” of Marvin and Tammy dancing playfully on Ms. Sarandon’s grave. A reprieve without sacrificing a release. The memories get folded into the mundane like eggs into pancake batter. Life goes on. It has to.

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2024-10-12 00:08

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