Richard Curtis’s About Time (2013) is one of those films that tries really hard to be both clever and comforting. You can tell it wants to make you smile, maybe even rethink your life choices a bit. The idea’s simple enough: Tim Lake (Domhnall Gleeson), a sweet but painfully awkward young bloke, finds out on his 21st birthday that the men in his family can travel back in time—only within their own lives. Sounds wild, right? At first, it’s proper fun, like a feel-good rom-com with a strange little twist. But after a while, the story starts to wobble. It’s lovely and warm-hearted, sure, but it doesn’t always know what kind of film it wants to be.
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About Time: A Promising Premise with Scattered Execution
The first half is good fun. Tim’s trying to use his weird new gift to meet girls—specifically Mary (Rachel McAdams), a kind American who’s all charm and quiet confidence. Their first few meet-cute moments are sweet, funny, a bit awkward, in that very British way. Gleeson plays Tim with genuine heart, and McAdams is effortlessly likeable. You can’t help but root for them.
But then, the story starts stretching in too many directions. We’ve got his oddball flatmate, a sister who’s a bit of a disaster, and a dad who steals every scene (Bill Nighy—absolute legend). Each part is lovely on its own, but together it’s like Curtis couldn’t decide if he was making a rom-com, a family drama, or a tearjerker about appreciating life. The tone keeps shifting, and you kind of get lost. By the second hour, it’s less “tight story” and more “beautiful chaos”. It still works emotionally, but you feel the seams showing.
Time-Travel Logic: A Convenient Plot Device
To be fair, About Time never pretends to be hard sci-fi. There’s no flux capacitor, no time machines. Tim just closes his eyes, clenches his fists, and—boom—he’s back. It’s charming in a way, but let’s be honest: the rules make absolutely no sense if you think too hard about them.
One moment, he can’t change big stuff, only personal moments; next minute, he’s rewriting entire days, even people’s lives. Then in the third act, there’s suddenly this “you can’t travel before your child’s birth or you’ll mess up who they are” rule. It feels a bit made-up, like Curtis realised halfway through he needed some emotional stakes. It’s fine—it hits the heartstrings—but don’t go into it expecting Looper or Tenet. The time travel’s basically just there to make you cry a bit and smile a lot.
Emotional Strengths Undermined by Thematic Heavy-Handedness
Now, here’s where the film really shines—and also stumbles. The father-son bond between Tim and his dad is beautiful. Nighy’s performance is quietly brilliant—dry humour, gentle wisdom, and that typical British calm. Their scenes together are the film’s heart, no question.
Tim’s dad teaches him this small but powerful lesson: live each day twice. Once as it is, and once again, paying attention to the small, lovely things. It’s a wonderful message, and the film does nail that “enjoy the little moments” vibe. But somewhere along the line, it starts spelling the message out too much. By the final act, it’s hammering that philosophy into you like a school assembly speech. It’s still touching, just not as subtle as it could be.
Verdict: A Sweet but Superficial Journey
At the end of the day, About Time is one of those comfort films you can throw on when you need a bit of warmth. It’s got flaws, but you forgive them because it means well. It’s funny, gentle, and packed with heart.
The time-travel stuff? A bit of a mess. The pacing? Wobbly. But the feelings? Honest. It’s not trying to be perfect—it’s trying to make you feel something real, and that’s where it wins. You walk away thinking about your family, your mates, your day-to-day life.
So yeah, it’s not a masterpiece, not even close. But it’s lovely. Properly lovely. And sometimes, that’s more than enough.
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