RogerEbert.com by Simon Abrams

Our Time is even funny sometimes, albeit in the same kind of wryly mordant and cosmically alienated way as Stanley Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut.”

The New York Times by Glenn Kenny

The movie asks a lot of the viewer, but to this viewer, it gave back more.

Slant Magazine by Christopher Gray

The film elides politics in order to earnestly consider whether love is necessarily an act of possession.

Screen Daily by Jonathan Romney

A film of considerable visual poetry and, at times, grandeur, Our Time is unmistakably the work of the ambitious, visionary director behind Battle In Heaven and Stellet Licht, but as a Bergmanesque drama of emotional anguish, the solemn, militantly downbeat Our Time often makes oppressive viewing and at times struggles to justify its nearly three-hour length.

Screen International by Jonathan Romney

A film of considerable visual poetry and, at times, grandeur, Our Time is unmistakably the work of the ambitious, visionary director behind Battle In Heaven and Stellet Licht, but as a Bergmanesque drama of emotional anguish, the solemn, militantly downbeat Our Time often makes oppressive viewing and at times struggles to justify its nearly three-hour length.

The Film Stage by Ethan Vestby

While the film can be tough to endure, one does come away feeling like the artist behind it genuinely went for something instead of recycling cliches. Our Time perhaps does give one enough hope that, yes, the next one will be better.

The A.V. Club by Mike D'Angelo

However truthful or invented Our Time may be, its dynamic is tiresomely petty and small, resisting Reygadas’ occasional efforts at expressionism. It plays like therapy.

IndieWire by Michael Nordine

Nuestro tiempo ultimately feels like an extended couples-therapy session that we were invited to by mistake, with Reygadas playing both doctor and patient in a conflict of interest that goes unresolved.

Variety by Jay Weissberg

Die-hard acolytes will argue that the camerawork transcends or even complements the storyline; most everyone else will wonder what happened to an auteur whose work was awaited with such eager anticipation.

The Hollywood Reporter by David Rooney

This navel-gazing epic is maddeningly distancing at almost every turn, lacking the spiritual and existential breadth of even Reygadas’ most impenetrable work. Running a prolix three hours, it feels like being trapped in somebody else’s crisis unfolding in real time.

The Playlist by Jordan Ruimy

Our Time is gorgeously shot, naturally, and the intentions are well-meaning but far too self-serving.