It was at a Cocktail Night celebrating The Badger’s National award nominations that I finally got a chance to get to know our features editor, Marni. Despite working on the same team for almost an entire year, there had always been some kind of job to get in the way of an actual conversation. It was all going smoothly, stories were being shared, compliments flying around the place; we even split the cost on the bar’s two-for-one happy hour deal. But it was over our joint Amaretto sours that a conversation surrounding a recent rewatch of the film About Time sparked an impassioned (albeit drunken) debate. I’m sure this was a conversation we could’ve left at the bar, discarded at the table with our empty glasses and cigarette buts, yet the journalists in us couldn’t let these ideas rest:
It’s About Time We Valued Informed Consent
I used to consider About Time one of my favourite films; it always felt warm, as though infused with a sincere and pure feeling of hope. I guess my perception of the world has evolved since those days, with a clawing sense of cynicism and mistrust developing in me because, upon rewatch, I couldn’t help but find the supposedly lovable, nerdy protagonist strangely sinister. I tried to push this out of my mind, craving the comfort and contentment the film used to bring me, but unfortunately, the unsettled feeling was there to stay. Maybe I’m too stubborn in my feminist ideals, or I’ve just become too pessimistic about the media I consume, but the fact is, About Time worries me.
While I want to give this film the benefit of the doubt, as there’s no denying that I’m as innately fond of Bill Nighy as the next British person— let’s call the narrative from Mary’s (McAdams) perspective what it is, a psychological thriller where she is gaslit and manipulated without even the power to acknowledge what is happening to her.
Why are so many aspirational heteronormative representations steeped in toxicity? (I’ll say it, Noah manipulating Allie into a relationship by threatening to kill himself in The Notebook was not cute!!). It may not seem like a big deal, but it concerns me when a protagonist displays borderline abusive behaviour and is forgiven or even championed in the name of love. Cases of coercive control within relationships are on the rise in the UK, with the charity Women’s Aid reporting that 49,557 offences of coercive control were recorded by the police in England and Wales in the year ending March 2025.
Although it may not be his intention, Tim (Gleeson) consistently uses his power to manipulate and control huge parts of Mary’s life. When he hears she has found a new boyfriend, he turns back time to stop her from ever meeting the man, just one example of him taking advantage of their power imbalance to exercise complete control. Additionally, when they first sleep together, Tim uses time travel to redo the event three times until he is completely satisfied with his performance. Mary seemed perfectly happy the first time, making these steps unwarranted, but even if it had been an absolute nightmare, I wonder how Mary would feel knowing that Tim has completely unlimited access to her body.
It is also made clear throughout the film that not only is the power of time travel exclusive to the men of the family, but that their capabilities have never been discussed with their loved ones. Another Boys Club, how unique! The Office for National Statistics suggests that women do an average of 60% more unpaid work than their male counterparts. Based on these stats, I’m sure that the women of the family would have benefited from the ability to create more time for themselves. We are even shown that the men have the ability to take people with them when they time jump, and yet Tim’s mother’s obliviousness suggests this was never a privilege she was privy to. But at least her husband had the opportunity to read all the books he could ever dream of…
And sure, I’m not completely immune to the film’s charm; maybe the concept of someone being so in awe of you that they would literally bend the rules of time to maintain your relationship appeals to the romantic in me, but, call me crazy, I think I’d honestly prefer that my relationship wasn’t built upon my partner consistently and eternally lying to my face.
In Defence of Time Travel, Tim and ‘Terrible’ Writing
I am by no means a Richard Curtis super-fan. I’ve also read the op-eds on the misogyny of Love, Actually and the frankly dystopian attitudes towards Bridget Jones, as, and I’m heavily paraphrasing here, a ‘plus-size’ character. For the avoidance of all doubt – yes, his films specifically and the wider genre of late nineties to mid-noughties romantic comedies are deeply, deeply flawed. And, yet.
My favourite film, for the past eight or nine years, has been the 2013 box-office success About Time – one of the more recent Curtis offerings. I am aware of the contradiction! Don’t take away my feminist card just yet; let me explain why.
The main criticism of the film is that the ‘time-travelling’ powers that protagonist Tim and his father have only extend to the men in the family. More so, the female characters are unaware of the many different lives and choices the men are able to make – including the most squeamish scenes for many, in which Tim repeatedly ‘re-takes’ his first romantic encounters with Mary, using his knowledge about her to levels of increasing success. Now, I know that this would have me running for the hills in reality; despite the swelling Ellie Goulding tunes in the background, it’s undeniably a little creepy.
However, I would argue that it is precisely the rom-com logic of the film that allows me to enjoy it. The lucid beauty of the film is that in every ‘universe’, Mary and Tim chose each other (granted, this is despite Mary not realising that she’s made the choice before). Point being, while minor changes impact the trajectory of their lives (see different meet-cutes in both restaurants and swanky house parties) ultimately, one of the fundamental rules of the time-travel of the film is that while you can change your behaviour, you cannot change the thoughts and behaviours of others. The ability to test different outcomes is undeniably an advantage, but unlike the misogyny of the previous films, I find comfort in the fact that while time travel makes for a great film, so far, it’s not real! Tim isn’t ‘lying to Mary’ as much as his character is presented to her in different scenarios, and she chooses him each time.
For me, the message is not to pursue women until they acquiesce using your super-secret metaphysical powers. When I watch About Time, I am reminded of the transcendent, not just romantic, love that it champions – to love someone so much, through everything, that just living day-to-day with them is enough. The audience is taken on the same journey with Tim, who realises that ultimately, his powers are unnecessary in his life with Mary.
The negative implications of the writing should absolutely be discussed, dissected and evolved moving forward. There are, of course, plenty of stereotypes littered throughout the film – KitKat, Tim’s manic pixie dream girl sister, is another article entirely. I am a strong believer in critiquing nostalgic media regardless, and About Time is no exception.
However, looking at the overall message of the film, to love earnestly and live presently, I can’t get fully behind the boycott. Recognise the flaws of popular media while you consume it, but I would also urge you to recognise the value of a film that champions connection above all else.
Maybe it’s a cheap argument, but intention matters, and I don’t believe that the character of Tim is intended to be on the same level of disturbed obsessiveness as Patrick Bateman. At a time when the world seems increasingly isolated and devoid of quirk, I’m still glad that hearing the opening notes of Il Mondo by Jimmy Fontana brings a smile to my face.
Another article you may enjoy: https://thebadgeronline.com/2026/04/saving-grace-project-hail-mary-and-how-it-has-hit-the-box-office/
