I couldn't care less about this disgusting, self-indulgent and ridiculous naftalina-smelling atrocity. Every - and I mean every - minute I noticed it kept insisting in exist I wanted to die.
A languid, lugubrious lope down memory lane, Of Time and the City is neither particularly probing about Liverpool's post-war history nor notably revealing about Davies' own overlapping story as it played out there. The voice-over, moreover, can wax ponderously florid. But as a hazy dream of a tone poem, it works. The tenor of tender bafflement and gentle regret in the face of inexorable change holds true to the end.
Considering how easily I succumb to old footage, poetic|contemplative documentaries and always ready to be influenced by music, this one was magically ineffective and bland.
my mother and grandparents were born in liverpool. it was nice to see how they would have lived.
Terence Davies' documentary portrait of his native Liverpool manages a strange hypnotic quality through its blending of archival footage, personal anecdote, and overly-poetic narration. It's not without its overwrought moments, but it manages to stay compelling throughout and has a number of inspired images.