You did, Dad. It was implied.

Rating: 8/10 (18 August 2019)

There is a feeling one gets when watching a Richard Curtis film. The warmth starts from your middle, and then spreads out gradually to the tips of your fingers and toes. These stories are cinematic chicken soup for soul. It's that involuntary "aah' that escapes whilst clutching a hot mug, as Wesley Morris puts it. Fine class dining it is not; merely a few ingredients tossed into a bubbling broth, but what could be better on a chilly Friday night? Four Weddings and a Funeral and Notting Hill made us believe we could slide right into the gang, or that we were laughing along right there at the Thacker dinner table, another etching into their modest, working class tapestry. His directorial debut Love Actually doubled down on this ensemble approach, beating audiences into submission with schmaltzy sentimentalism. And isn't that what Christmas movies are for? If you're going to commit, you might as well go all in. Roll that montage.
About Time isn't about any ordinary British family, but it's endearing enough that it almost could be. The Lakes live by seaside in Cornwall, an idyllic childhood peppered with tea parties on the beach and projected films in the garden by moonlight and rain, their umbrellas unfurled in a Wes Anderson-esque tableau. The well-meaning Uncle Desmond is the film's sounding board for the level of affection that connects them, a life-sized teddy bear who offers warm words when you squeeze his palm. (Kit Kat is the only misstep here; she's everything you'd ever want in a sister, but she's not real, every pixie skip and tackle-hug straining the realms of authenticity). And the wonderful Bill Nighy is the heart of it all, able to distill philosophical tenets that might sound heavy or on-the-nose when spoken by others into bite-sized wisdom that can be offered over a game of ping pong. He's so grounded in his presence that he never lets the film get lost in its twee.
Is that too strong of a word? About Time is not shy about its quaintness, but leans into it gently and invites the audience to pull up a chair. The Lakes are well off, but the phrase 'rich' would never drift into your mind during your viewing. The wedding could have been an extravagant affair, yet Curtis introduces a torrent of rain to wash away any pretense or fanciful notions, and in the end the speeches take place in a cramped little tea room with the guests crouching or standing or squashed next to each other on sofas or folding chairs, all a bit damp. It would be hard to see Americans be this self-deprecatory, or not play it for laughs. And there's never ever a thought of jumping back in time for a redo.
This is low key sci-fi at its best, the time travel element almost accepted as simply magical realism. That this mechanic is never quite properly explained may irk some more hardcore fans, but I think it's beside the point. I've spoken before about Curtis' little touches but they are worth a mention here, a style so light and soft that you feel welcome immediately. His cinematography is cozy personified, shallow focus and warm, diffused light tracking the pair through the streets of London as if they were the only two people alive in the city that night, the universe still as they fall for each other. This is the meet cute at its optimal cuteness, with the preceding dialogue on their (literal) blind date a textbook on how to write dialogue for said meet cute, hitting all the right areas: some humour to lighten things up, a smattering of self-deprecation, and just the right amount of chemistry. See how Mary emerges from the restaurant and reveals herself to Tim for the first time, stumbling slightly on the step, backlit as if a halo hovers over her head, and a hint of smile framed by a fringe. I bought it at once. No amount of time travel could make Charlotte love him, but for Mary it was just a matter of time.