About Time

I was surprised how much antipathy I'd mustered by the end of "About Time," Richard Curtis' stupid and sexist British romcom.


Brendan Gleeson's son Domhnall (don't bother learning the spelling; he won't be around long) stars as Tim, a young barrister whose father (Bill Nighy) tells him, on his 21st birthday, that the men in the family have the ability to travel back in time (but only so far - don't ask) and redo life until they get it right. An asinine concept, but accept it and a good filmmaker could take you amazing places. Curtis chooses to have Tim rewind time to apply sunscreen more evenly upon the back of whichever basking beauty he's currently wanking over. He meet-cutes (and meet-cutes, and meet-cutes) Rachel McAdams as Mary (even her name is boring), about whom we know little more than that she "loves" Kate Moss. They have kids, and misadventures, and Tim's sister Kit Kat (blech) gets into a car crash, and Nighy gets cancer and dies, and it's all meant to evoke sentiment that's just not there. We care sod all for any of these people, much less over two hours' worth. "About Time" is a spoonful of tea coagulating in a bowl of clotted cream.