About Time

About Time

After seeing “About Time,” a time travel fantasy that is basically “Groundhog Day” with Brit accents, a nice bloke hero and minus a rodent (unless you count a rat of a boyfriend), I realize I have a problem.

I cannot help but fall for Richard Curtis’s rather self-indulgent romantic comedies. My level head might be crying ‘No,’ but my lopsided heart can’t help but say yes. For me, resistance is futile when it comes to his scripts for “The Tall Guy,” “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” “Notting Hill” and “Bridget Jones’ Diary” (which he co-wrote along with the unfortunate sequel that shall not be named).

Of course, ”Love Actually,” his 2003 directorial debut, is a towering multi layered masterwork that fairly oozes gooey woo and has grown into an annual Christmas TV tradition with its parade of befuddled Englishmen in varying stages of amorous yuletide desire.

I do draw the line, however, with his efforts with Mr. Bean an enterprise that is essentially Jacques Tati’s Monsieur Hulot for dummies and his unwatchable second directing effort, “Pirate Radio,” that saw the likes of Philip Seymour Hoffman and Bill Nighy (Curtis’s go-to secret weapon of mass appeal) go down with the ship amid much sleazebag behavior.

But during the course of being seduced by his current paean to the power of love and its underlying message to simply live each day as if it were your last, this thought occurred: Something about Curtis’s films allow cinematic endorphins to be released into the brain and generate a state of euphoria that is akin to absolute bliss.

To experience it, you just have to allow the analytical parts of your mind to unclench during the dodgier bits of business all these pasty well off people and their problems, oh woe is them! and go with the feel good flow.

And so I did until the last third or so with “About Time” and began to especially admire the often-impeccable casting in movies that feature Curtis’s handiwork. At 53, Hugh Grant a former mainstay has matured far beyond impersonating fluttery eyed fumblers in the throes of courtship. But the filmmaker has found a perfect replacement in the abundantly beguiling presence of Domhnall Gleeson, the son of Brendan Gleeson of “In Bruges” and Mad Eye Moody fame.

Not that you would know it from the young Irish actor’s last big role, the somber, bushy-bearded landowner Levin in last year’s “Anna Karenina.” Here, though, he is slightly more grounded than Grant (and his copper hair color provides fodder for ginger jokes, an Anglo staple) as Tim, a lawyer to be who is gobsmacked to learn at age 21 that the men in his wealthy family of eccentrics share the ability to go back in time.

That the news is delivered in the most charming off-handedly fashion by his father in the form of Nighy, who never fails to amuse at the very least and astonishes almost always whenever he is onscreen, undercuts the questions that nitpickers might have about the process.

One major caveat: You can only revisit and revise portions of your own life. Or as Nighy puts it, “You can’t kill Hitler or shag Helen of Troy.” That Tim tends to go into a Narnia-esque wardrobe to begin his detours into the past adds a quaintly homey touch that is light years away from Star Trek or even H.G. Wells.

After shock Tim decides to use his new found ability to better his love life. He moves on from a disastrous New Year’s Eve kiss but fails to get the summer girl of his dreams to give him a chance and becomes serious about settling down once he moves to London. There, he meets Mary (Rachel McAdams at her most impossibly endearing), an American in town for a night who loves Kate Moss too much, talks about her “fringe” being too short and has surprisingly great taste in stylish frocks.

During one of Curtis’ typically untypical romantic meet-cute interludes, the two first encounter each other on what amounts to a literal blind date at an actual restaurant named Dans Le Noir, where patrons dine in total darkness and are served by sight impaired waiters.

For Tim and Mary, it’s like at first unsight after a server seats them together with their not-perfect-match friends. She gives him her number quickly outside. From there, the usual relationship beats tumble by the first real date; the first sexual encounter; the sharing of living space; meeting parents; proposing; exceptional rainy day wedding sequence (you will be Googling Jimmy Fontana and his song “Il Mondo”), etc., repeated, reshaped and ever so slightly improved upon via Tim’s time travel twiddling.

Until then it’s easy enough to ignore those nagging premise what-ifs. But once babies become text-and-call emergencies and potentially sad/tragic situations start lurking around every corner complicate matters further for Tim, he can’t blithely just keep altering without unwanted consequence. At which point you will either put up with “About Time” or think it’s about time you left, especially if you have issues with a husband who thinks it OK to continue keeping magical do-overs secret from person who is now his wife. But do stay through Nighy’s awesome ping-pong pantomime at the very least.

One character does provide the true bliss litmus test for Curtis immunity: Kit Kat (Lydia Wilson), Tim’s impossibly offbeat nature sprite of a sister, who loves purple T-shirts, apparently doesn’t own a comb, gives hugs that are more like full-contact body slams, is prone to dating awful men and completely ill-equipped for adulthood. In other words: Kit Kat is a Manic Pixie Dream Girl at her worst.

But my favorite part of “About Time” has nothing to do with any love story and everything to do with Tom Hollander as a deeply nasty playwright — who briefly is Tim’s landlord and, this being Curtis World, wickedly funny. When Tim learns that the premiere of his scabrous friend’s latest play was tanked after an actor went blank on a big speech, he of course decides to fix it.

The stars here are Richard Griffiths and Richard E. Grant – in priceless cameo roles that produce some of the movie’s biggest laughs and they show once again why I think Curtis is a comedy genius. If only he knew when to step back in time himself and make a few changes.

I have a problem. I cannot help but fall for Richard Curtis’s self-indulgent romantic comedies (a fact about me that my level head is screaming “No!” while my lopsided heart keeps saying yes). For me, resistance is futile when it comes to his scripts for “The Tall Guy,” “Four Weddings and a Funeral,” “Notting Hill” or “Bridget Jones’ Diary” (which he co-wrote along with the unfortunate sequel which shall not be named). Obviously, “Love Actually,” his 2003 directorial debut, is a towering multi-layered masterwork that fairly oozes gooey woo and has become an annual Christmas TV staple with its parade of befuddled Englishmen at various stages of amorous yuletide longing.

Nevertheless, I draw the line at his flirtations with Mr. Bean an enterprise that is essentially Jacques Tati’s Monsieur Hulot for dummies as well as his unwatchable second directing effort, “Pirate Radio,” in which Philip Seymour Hoffman and Bill Nighy (Curtis’s go to secret weapon of mass appeal) went down with the ship amid much sleazebag behavior. But somewhere during my surrender to this current paean to love as drug and life force and its underlying message to live each day as if it were your last, it hit me: There must be something about Curtis’s movies that allow cinematic endorphins to be released into the brain such that they generate a state of euphoria bordering on sheer joy.

What you have got do is let the parts of your mind responsible for analysis and logic unclench during the dodgy bits of business (all these pasty well-off people and their problems, oh woe is them!) and go with it. And so I did through most of “About Time” until the last third or so, when I began to marvel anew at the often-impeccable casting in movies that bear Curtis’s imprimatur.

At 53, Hugh Grant the filmmaker’s former alter ego has aged beyond being believable as a fluttery-eyed fumbler over a cup of tea and a slice of toast during courtship rituals. But in Gleeson he has found what might be considered his current alter ego: an equally lovable but less foppish chap whose ginger hair color gives rise to easy Anglo jokes.

The son of Brendan Gleeson (“In Bruges,” Mad-Eye Moody from the Harry Potter series) was last seen on screen as Levin, the somber bushy-bearded landowner in last year’s “Anna Karenina.” Here he is slightly more grounded than Grant as Tim, a lawyer to be who discovers at age 21 that all of the men in his wealthy family are eccentric time travelers a fact charmingly revealed by Nighy (Tim’s dad) in one of those only-in-a-Curtis-film moments that blithely skate past any questions about such things.

There is one major rule: you can only go back and fix your own life. “You can’t kill Hitler or shag Helen of Troy,” as Nighy puts it. That Tim tends to start his trips through time in a Narnia esque wardrobe adds a cozily homemade touch that’s light years away from Star Trek or even H.G. Wells.

Once the initial shock wears off, he concentrates on his love life. He bungles a disastrous New Year’s kiss moment but fails to convince a pretty summer visitor to give him a chance, finally getting serious about settling down after moving to London. There he meets an American named Mary (Rachel McAdams at her most infectiously fetching) who is mad about Kate Moss, prattles on about her too-short bangs sorry, “fringe” and will turn out to have fairly good taste in stylish frocks.

Curtis has the pair meet cute during what amounts to a literal blind date at an actual restaurant called Dans Le Noir, where patrons eat in pitch blackness and are served by sight-impaired waiters.

It’s like at first unsight for Tim and Mary when a waiter decides to seat them along with their less than perfect match pals. She gives him her number immediately upon exiting the establishment. From there tumble by typical relationship moments: The first real date, first sexual encounter, sharing of living space, meeting of parents, proposal, exceptional rainy-day wedding sequence (you’ll be Googling Jimmy Fontana and his song “Il Mondo”), etc., all repeated, reshaped and slightly improved via Tim’s time-travel twiddling.

Until then it’s easy to ignore the nagging what-ifs the conceit presents. But when babies arrive and potentially sad to tragic situations further complicate things, Tim can’t blithely change his reality without consequence anymore. Here is where you either put up with “About Time” or think it’s about time you left, particularly if you have issues with a husband who thinks it’s OK to continue keeping his magical do-overs a secret from the person who is now his wife. But do stay at least for Nighy’s awesome ping-pong pantomime.

There is one character whose reaction will tell you whether or not you are immune to the Curtis effect: Kit Kat (Lydia Wilson), Tim’s impossibly offbeat nature sprite of a sister, who loves purple T-shirts, apparently doesn’t own a comb, hugs like she’s body-checking someone in hockey, dates nothing but awful men and is ill-equipped for adulthood. In other words, she is the dreaded Manic Pixie Dream Girl gone wrong.

But my favorite part of “About Time” has nothing to do with love stories and everything to do with Tom Hollander as an unrelentingly nasty playwright briefly Tim’s landlord and thus in close proximity to our hero; this being Curtis World, he is very funny. When Tim learns that the premiere of his scabrous friend’s latest play was an utter disaster because an actor went blank delivering a big speech, he naturally decides to fix it.

That is none other than Richard Griffiths and Richard E. Grant in priceless cameo roles and that they manage to provoke some of the greatest laughs of the film shows why Curtis is a genius of comedy. If he only knew when to step back in time and make a few changes himself.

Watch About Time For Free On Gomovies.