Never ask about age. About the film The Time, that Never Came

Festival Newspaper Published on 24.09.2026

The Time, that Never Came, dir. Julia Rogowska

Julia Henel

There are many fledgling film genres in Polish cinema. Horror, science fiction or a well-written romantic comedy - we still approach them with a hint of wariness and suspicion. Actually, they could use some help from a walking frame and we should keep our fingers crossed and sincerely hope that their first word won’t be in our mother tongue. Because usually the attempts of moving american patterns onto our ground end up with a painful failure and cringe.

So when we learn that Julia Rogowska’s debut is a dystopian melodrama, we struggle with the temptation to turn down the invitation to its premiere. After all, the last Polish science fiction film that we widely regard as a classic is Juliusz Machulski’s Sexmission (1983). Rogowska wasn’t even born at the time. We also assumed that there simply shouldn’t be any further attempts by Polish cinema to tackle this genre - why tempt fate and waste money? The Time that Never Came proves that we were very much mistaken.

Rogowska takes us into a reality where there is no longer any place for natural ageing. A groundbreaking geriatric treatment is invented, to which the vast majority of society submits without a second thought. Those who refuse it on moral, ideological or personal grounds are instantly marginalised and confined to special centres, isolated from the outside world. One such person is Sara (Agata Kulesza). It’s through her eyes that we view this sterile world, stripped of all authenticity.

We might expect everything we traditionally look for in a cinematic dystopia: flying cars, neon-lit darkness, robots replacing humans, or the complex technology of the future that we don’t understand yet. But The Time that Never Came doesn’t try to be bigger than it needs to be. And that is precisely why it works so well.

Dystopia is rooted in something we know all too well from our own everyday lives - the fear of ageing. The fear of gradually losing our physical abilities, of wrinkles appearing, of sagging skin, and of becoming painfully dependent on others. And above all -the finality of death. So there’s no need to construct an entirely new, oppressive world or spend a fortune on CGI to create a disturbing vision of the future. All you need to do is take one of the greatest, hidden fears of our modern world and consistently push it to the extreme. Suddenly, it turns out that this distant future isn’t so distant after all.

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Throughout the film, we are unable to fully fathom the rules of this world. Is this really that ideal reality in which ‘age no longer matters’? Does the age gap as we know it cease to exist? Does a relationship between a sixty-year-old man and a twenty-year-old woman really no longer surprise anyone here nor provoke extreme emotions? And does the elimination of physical old age mean that we have also eliminated everything we subconsciously fear about it?

But the deeper we go into this world, the quicker we realise that these are not the questions Rogowska intends to answer for us. Because while The Time that Never Came may well begin with a fear of old age, it is ultimately, above all, a story of love. And a love that is exceptionally captivating, subtle and devoid of cheap sentimentality.

Sara and Oskar meet in the modern world we know so well. There is no grand cinematic destiny here that tells the characters at first sight: ‘This is the person you will spend the rest of your life with.’ Instead, there is a youthful light-heartedness, spontaneous flirtation, curiosity about the other person, and a chemistry that you can really feel between Anna Bieżyńska (young Sara) and Dobromir Dymecki. Their relationship quickly blossoms into love, and with it comes the promise of growing old together - no matter what the future may bring.

Because in the world Rogowska has created, ageing is no longer simply something one has to wait for. It’s a problem that can be eliminated. Oskar decides to undergo a treatment that stops his biological ageing. Sara, on the other hand, sticks to her natural rhythm of life. Their paths go different ways, and with that the film’s real experiment begins - what happens to love when, for one person, time continues to pass, while for the other it effectively stands still?

Years later, they meet again. Sara has lived a whole life that Oskar did not share with her. Her body bears the marks of all the years and experiences that have passed since their first meeting. He, on the other hand, looks exactly as he did when they first met at the station. For Sara, time has left a visible mark on her face and body. For Oskar - almost none at all. And it is precisely in this difference that the film finds its most human resonance. Rather than focusing solely on the technology that makes it possible to stop ageing, it asks about the cost of such a decision and whether it’s possible to preserve the body without, in the process, preserving one’s own life.

Much of the credit for this goes to the phenomenal acting. Agata Kulesza portrays Sara with extraordinary tenderness and empathy, showcasing the beauty of maturity and a genuine acceptance of one’s own fate, while Dobromir Dymecki brilliantly captures the tragedy of a character trapped in eternal, superficial youth. Visually, the film is complemented by subdued, cool cinematography and a mesmerising soundtrack, which heightens the characters’ sense of loneliness.
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The best thing about The Time that Never Came is the way the story is told - a combination of linear storytelling with a limited number of flashbacks. Because for a very long time, the film withholds what we, as viewers, want most: answers.

We know that the characters once made a difficult decision that shaped their destinies. We know that something significant happened. We know that their past is the key to what we’re watching now. But the director doesn’t give us the whole picture straight away. And you slowly start to get impatient. What happened back then? How did it come to that? How did they feel? Why did they make that particular decision? What actually happened between them?

But rather than building the story entirely around the secrets of the past, Rogowska bases it on what is happening between the characters right now. She doesn’t try at all costs to lay all her cards on the table for the viewer. She explores the emotions left in the wake of decisions made years ago. She shows that while time may pass, certain feelings don’t necessarily fade away with it. The past is ever-present, yet remains slightly off-screen. We are given small glimpses of it, and we fill in the rest for ourselves.

That is why Sara and Oskar’s story is so deeply moving. The Time that Never Came doesn’t try to prove that love is eternal through grand, lofty words. Instead shows it through the characters’ choices and their consequences. Through what remained between them as the decades passed. Through glances, unspoken words and the realisation that certain things simply cannot be undone. There is something simple and true about this story - a love that must face the inevitability of time.

Science fiction is used brilliantly here. It’s a way of telling a story about something that is by no means fiction. About ageing. About time passing by. About the fear of death. About love, and what remains of it years later.

The Time that Never Came is a film whose strength lies in its simplicity. And even a viewer who, at first, would have been most inclined to turn down an invitation to its premiere is left with the feeling that perhaps it was worth giving this fledgling film a chance to take its first steps after all.