It's About Time again: What happened when a film critic discussed ill-considered sex in a Richard Curtis movie

Last week Ryan Gilbey expressed discomfort at a scene in Richard Curtis's new time travel rom-com About Time, and was astonished by the responses he received.

When I blogged last week about a scene in Richard Curtis’s time-travel rom-com About Time which I found morally dubious, it prompted the sort of stimulating online back-and-forth that’s useful in reminding one that internet exchanges aren’t entirely combative and disparaging in nature. (That said, I was accused of “mansplaining” and of writing “a terrible article” that should never have been published. My mother, there, supportive as ever…)

The scene with which I took issue featured Tim, the time-travelling hero played by Domhnall Gleeson, revising repeatedly his first night with Mary (Rachel McAdams) in order to emerge from the encounter with his sexual confidence intact. He has sex with her multiple times, rewinding the evening each time in order to do so, and improving immeasurably on his first rather brief attempt. However, she remains oblivious to the fact that he has effectively used her as a glorified blow-up doll on which to practice his technique. They marry halfway through the picture, but she never discovers what he did to her, and it certainly isn’t an issue to the filmmakers.

On the NS site, Mukkinese felt the point was all a bit right-on: “Good grief, talk about middle-class sensibilities run wild. Get a grip. It would only be rape if she did not consent each time she had intercourse, not each time he did.” This, though, was my problem with the film. Mary is given no such opportunity to consent to those multiple revisions. The privileged knowledge rests entirely with Tim. He gets one—no, several—over on her. Rather than focusing on the man, who has all the power in this situation, I thought we should consider the woman, who has none. It’s comparable to a man having sex repeatedly with a woman suffering from short-term memory loss, only for him to present each time as the first. If she gave her consent on every occasion, it could only be without full possession of the facts.

Still on the NS site, Graham said that Tim’s behaviour “could … be construed as him wanting to do better for her benefit.” Ron responded insightfully: “I don’t think this is entirely the case … This sequence maps onto a more general cultural discourse in which sex is something men ‘do’ to women, female pleasure is something men ‘give’ to women, and female orgasm stands as ‘proof’ of men’s sexual prowess.”

On Twitter, @amuchmoreexotic pointed out that “each version of her does know what’s being done to her” since Tim is “travelling in between realities, but in each one she consents,” though he did concede that this was “arguably under a mistaken assumption.” In other words, while she consents to each individual act of intercourse, she has no access to the bigger picture. The audience does have that access, though, which makes us complicit in Tim’s deception and increases the sleaziness of the scene. @amuchmoreexotic had a question: “so what happens to the version of her he prematurely ejaculates in? When he time travels is that one destroyed?” The answer is yes. Each new version of reality that Tim creates by time-travelling over-writes the previous one. “So he’s killing alternative versions of the woman every time he travels,” @amuchmoreexotic continued. “Murder, not rape, is the problem here.”

I liked the procedural coolness brought to bear on the whole conundrum by @StephenTHughes: “The complainant needs to have had the capacity (in this case the understanding) to make a choice about whether or not to take part in the sexual activity *at the time in question*. Tricky with two timelines! I guess with time travel you ought to need capacity to consent in both timelines. And one could argue that she didn’t have capacity to consent in his timeline because of the deception as to nature of the act. Perhaps not enough case law involving time travel to decide if rape or not?” Let’s say the jury’s out.

About Time is released 4 September.

Rachel McAdams as Mary in About Time.

Ryan Gilbey is the New Statesman's film critic. He is also the author of It Don't Worry Me (Faber), about 1970s US cinema, and a study of Groundhog Day in the "Modern Classics" series (BFI Publishing). He was named reviewer of the year in the 2007 Press Gazette awards.

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The worst Oscar-winning films of all time

How hated movies have grabbed their space in the spotlight. 

Whilst the biggest surprise at last night’s Oscars was undoubtedly the part where they weren’t sure who’d actually won Best Picture, Suicide Squad also raised a few eyebrows. The critically-panned superantihero non-classic managed to take home an Academy Award, albeit in the category of Best Makeup and Hairstyling. Which raises the question: is Suicide Squad the worst film to have ever won an Oscar?

Obviously, the quality of a film is an ultimately subjective measure. Suicide Squad is someone’s favourite movie; every film is someone’s favourite movie, except for Sex Lives of the Potato Men. But if we want to get an "objective" view, one was is to look at a measure of the critical consensus, like Tomatometer on the website Rotten Tomatoes, which counts the percentage of good and bad reviews a film has received from critics.

Here, Suicide Squad ranks at a lowly 26 per cent (with such glowing lines as the Wall Street Journal’s “an all-out attack on the whole idea of entertainment”), which is one of the lowest scores an Academy Award-winning movie has ever received. But not the lowest.

Michael Bay’s historically dubious epic Pearl Harbor, which managed a win for Best Sound Editing, has a rating of just 25 per cent. As well as its Oscar, Pearl Harbor won Worst Picture at "anti-Oscars" The Razzies, the first film to do so that also had one of the real awards.

This kind of "technical" award is a good route to unlikely Oscar glory. Middling John Lithgow-meets-Bigfoot comedy Harry and the Hendersons isn’t remembered as an award-winner, but it took home the gold for Harry's makeup job. It can sometimes be overlooked that most films are a massive team effort, and there's something heartwarming about the fact people can get still be rewarded for being very good at their job, even if that job is working on a mediocre-to-terrible movie.

Still, if no-one working on the actual film does their job right, you can always get someone decent to write a song. The not very good (score: 33 per cent) eighties "steel welder wants to learn ballet" movie Flashdance took an award home for the Giorgio Moroder-composed title theme. He would also later bring home a much better film’s sole award, when he penned Top Gun’s Take My Breath Away.

Picking the right song is how what may be the lowest-rated Oscar winner of all time did it: The Richard Burton/Elizabeth Taylor melodrama The Sandpiper has a Rotten Tomatoes rating of just 10 per cent, but win it did, for the song The Shadow of Your Smile (which isn’t even actually very good; Burt Bacharach’s What's New Pussycat? was robbed.)

Even an Oscar winner that is praised by contemporaries can be undone by the cruelty of time. One of the lowest-scoring winners is 1936’s Anthony Adverse, at just 13 per cent - not only did it win for Best Cinematography, Best Supporting Actress, Best Soundtrack and Best Editing, it was nominated for Best Picture. But however praised the historical epic might have been at the time, because Rotten Tomatoes aggregates reviews from online media, it does not appear to have dated well.

Perhaps awards can only ever reflect the critical mood of the time - Singin’ In The Rain has a 100 per cent Tomatometer score, but took home no Oscars. Best Picture that year went to The Greatest Show On Earth, now judged a 44 per cent mediocrity. Perhaps by the 2080s film critics will be stunned that the newly re-appreciated acting masterclass Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest only won for its visual effects, be baffled that the lauded classic Suicide Squad wasn’t a Best Picture contender, and be absolutely 100 per cent certain that Jared Leto was the finest actor of his generation. Maybe the apocalypse wouldn’t be so bad after all.