We Live in Time’s greatest accomplishment is jamming more sentimental and silly incidents into 107 minutes than any romantic drama in recent memory.

That any of it works is due to the charismatic performances of the charming Andrew Garfield and Florence Pugh. Yet their genuine chemistry can’t outshine the raft of affectations jostling for attention in Brooklyn director John Crowley’s latest, which just premiered at the Toronto International Film Festival. Pulling on the heartstrings with tug-of-war-grade might, it’s a carpe diem fable that elicits more exasperated eye rolls than tears or laughs.

Of We Live in Time’s many missteps, perhaps none is as glaring as its decision to chronologically fragment its tale, which hopscotches between the past and present without much care for thematic or narrative logic.

One second Almut (Pugh) is running through the woods, collecting herbs and pine needles for a “Douglas fir parfait” that she wakes partner Tobias (Garfield) to try. The next instance, she’s teaching him the best method to crack an egg. Then, she’s pregnant and having her contractions counted by a studiously efficient Tobias. After which, she’s doubling over in pain and visiting a doctor who informs her that her cancer has returned, requiring an arduous new round of treatment involving chemotherapy and surgery.

In the parking lot following this terrible meeting, Almut tells Tobias that she’s not sure she can go through this process again, and wonders if perhaps it would be better to spend her last........

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