None of this is intended to short shrift Pugh, who is an absolute delight—a singular talent and earthy beauty who has rightly taken Hollywood by storm. Girl is no slacker in the charm department herself.

So it is with some disappointment that I tell you that We Live In Time lives up to its dopey name. It’s muddled and half-baked, even though the two actors give it their all and, yes, do convince us they’re an actual couple.

Here’s the basis of the title: We are all shaped by our past, cleaved to our present, and unaware of our own future, the film argues, and only when we see all three at once do we get the full measure of a life. Not exactly revelatory stuff. Director John Crowley and writer Nick Payne toggle back and forth between Garfield’s Tobias and Pugh’s Almut at various stages of their relationship. One minute they’re an established couple with a daughter, Ella. One minute they are meeting (not-so) cute when Almut runs Tobias over with her Mini Cooper. One minute we are finding out that Almut’s cancer has recurred, although we didn’t know she had cancer to begin with.

All this is fine. I mean, I didn’t find it especially confusing, as some have complained, although Garfield looks exactly the same throughout—same fabulous head of tousled hair, same concerned face, same wire-rimmed glasses that he trots out to look extra emo. They could’ve at least given him a goatee or a haircut or something to help us navigate the timelines. (Thanks to chemo, Almut occasionally has a shaved head.) But it doesn’t really add anything to the film. I didn’t learn much more about the couple or their motivations because of the shifting timeline—if anything, it felt like a bit of a cop out. Just when things start to go below surface level, poof, we’re in a new year!

Also, the film has been falsely advertised to a certain extent. It’s not a story about Tobias and Almut so much as a story about Tobias reacting to Almut. She’s at the center of the film: her pain, her willfulness, her triumphs, her choices (or lack thereof). All Garfield has to do is look at her—at various points moist-eyed, adoring, befuddled, and, yes, concerned.

This is a bit of a gender reversal, I suppose. In most films, it’s the woman who is forced to be “put upon” and “long-suffering” as the husband, our hero, goes off and commits various acts of derring-do. But it’s a telling gender reversal because Almut doesn’t go on adventures: she gets cancer and has a child, all while guiltily navigating a career as a star chef.

Early in their relationship—too early, perhaps—Tobias tells her that he wants to have children and that her stated uncertainty on the matter could be a dealbreaker. She lashes out, cursing at him, telling him he’s putting a lot of unnecessary pressure on her. (Facts.) Their relationship progresses, but when she gets her first cancer diagnosis, she has to choose between a complete hysterectomy (meaning no chance of getting pregnant) or a partial one, which would be riskier but allow her to conceive. She chooses the latter and the film makes sure we know this was her decision . . . but was it? He’s the one who really wants kids.

Mixed in, we have lots of cozy, classic British rom-com scenes—Almut teaching Tobias to make eggs (you crack them on a flat service, she instructs); the two of them on bumper cars; the two of them getting it on in candle-lit rooms; scenes of smelling herbs and lemons in their painfully quaint garden; the obligatory scenes of Almut peeing on a stick as Tobias watches, concerned, until the happy pregnancy news comes through, etc.

The big conflict of the film has to do with Almut secretly entering international cooking competition Bocuse D’Or when she should be home resting during her cancer treatments. Her logic: If she’s going to die, she wants Ella to remember her for doing something great. But the film itself is ambivalent about this decision—one day, Almut’s so distracted by the menu preparation she leaves Ella waiting outside school in the rain. Is this a moment of female empowerment or a selfish choice by a mother who doesn’t quite love her daughter enough? The film isn’t sure. (But kinda, secretly, deep down thinks she’s a Bad Mom ™.)

In one of the timelines there is a brilliant set piece involving Almut giving birth in a “petrol station” bathroom (hey, it’s England). It’s an extremely funny and touching scene—both Garfield and Pugh act the shit out of it—but it fits in with my overall concern about the film. Garfield’s Tobias wants a child and Almut eventually agrees. But it’s not Tobias on the dingy floor of that station, hands gripping the sink, pushing for dear life.

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But what about the rest of us? For all its stellar special effects, rousing action, awe-inspiring beauty—undulating sand dunes, billowing capes, fire-red crescent moons—and cast of young Hollywood hotties acting their butts off, Dune Part Two didn’t pass the ultimate test for me. That test being: Would I recommend the film to my mother? No. No I would not.

Look, not all films are for all people—I get that. But the very best genre films transcend their tropes and offer something for everyone. An apropos example: I would recommend Villeneuve’s Arrival to all film lovers, not just sci-fi fans.

My biggest objection to the Dune series continues to be that it takes itself far too seriously. Again, I get it—we’re dealing with serious stuff here: dying civilizations, ancient prophecies, struggles for power, the dark temptation of revenge. But just because something is set in a desert doesn’t mean it has to be this dry.

I was a fan of first Dune in this series, although I logged similar complaints about its self-seriousness. This one is a little better; the action is just as thrilling but the characters are given more depth and the central moral dilemma of Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet)—at what point does one become blinded by power?—begins to snap into focus. There is also a love story with the wonderful Zendaya, playing Chani, a member of the blue-eyed desert people, the Fremen of Arrakis. Paul is utterly devoted to her (“I will love you for as long as I breathe”) but she is a bit more circumspect. “You will never lose me as long as you stay who you are,” she says pointedly. She knows that Paul is being pulled by some powerful temptations, namely the Fremen people, who see him as a possible savior. They grow to worship him, especially after he manages to tame one of those giant worm creatures, riding it like Ben Hur through the swirling sand. But will Paul lose himself in his quest for revenge? It’s hard not to root for the brave and resolute Paul—he is played by Chalamet, after all—but Chani serves as the film’s voice of moral clarity and skepticism. She knows he’s teetering toward a point of no return.

But we’re not there yet. Paul is still quite heroic in this film, even as he’s haunted by visions of leading the Fremen people to their own destruction. He has voices in his ear: His power-hungry, sorceress mother (Rebecca Ferguson), now pregnant with Paul’s sister, and recruited by the Fremen to be their Reverend Mother; the big-hearted Fremen patriarch, Stilgar (Javier Bardem), who is a true believer in Paul as the messiah; and Chani, who tells him to be wary of these prophecies.

Meanwhile, Arrakis is under siege by the Harkonnen kingdom, a land with, apparently, no Rogaine. Last film we met the Jabba the Hut-like Baron (Stellan Skarsgard), who was after the Arrakis’ precious resource of “spice.” This time we also meet his creepy nephew Feyd (Austin Butler), a lethal swordsman, not above cheating to win a dual, with a beautiful, alien-like face and positively crazed eyes.

Florence Pugh, who does some of the film’s narration, only appears briefly as the daughter of the Emperor Shaddam IV (Christopher Walken), who feels his grip on power slipping away. Her arc will be compelling—she’s loyal to her father, just as Paul was loyal to his, but she comes to realize that he is not a righteous man. By the film’s end, her fate and Paul’s fate will be inextricably entwined. (Alas, we’re going to have to wait for Part Three to see it play out.)

Villeneuve recently gave an interview where he said that he is mostly interested in cinema for spectacle, that dialogue holds little appeal to him. Having seen Dune: Part Two that tracks. The film is a spectacle, a marvel of craftsmanship, the sort of film you need to see on the largest screen possible. But the dialogue is mostly expository, and at times painfully earnest. That said, I wouldn’t want some script doctor jazzing this thing up with zingers (“Stop trying to worm your way out of this, Paul!”). That’s definitely not the vibe. Dune Part Two is the best Dune Part Two it can possibly be. I just have to accept that it’s not the best film for me.

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