Groundhog Day

What is Time if not a storyteller?

Indeed, without the laws of action, result, and hindsight--without intelligent beings to think and observe, to learn and grow, to bring about event and consequence--Time is but a figment, a void without texture or definition. Without time, the eternal storyteller has nothing to say...no tales to tell, no histories to save. In Time's absence, God must be mighty busy or bored; he has everything or nothing to do.

No, Time is real, but more than a wheel, it's an unrolling scroll, a record of very creature, every travail, every success and heartbreak. But there's a tragic irony inherent to its fabric--Time can't be rewound, which means victories can't be relived and tragedies can't be fixed. Though every life begins in purest possibility, these lifetimes narrow as they go and always end in cement--concluding with the remorselessness of a certain rigor mortis. Once the life is lived, once the story is told, cold determinism gets the final word. No redos, no reprieves, no more retries and extra lives…any mistakes left unfixed at death become affixed to the that lasting ledger, the final accounting. And any sins remaining there are much harder to forgive.

Alas, wouldn’t it be nice to always have another chance?

But for the arrogant and stubborn Phil Connors, he needs more than just one second chance--he needs thousands. Enough days, perhaps, to comprise another lifetime...with redemption his only hope for escape.

Phil the weatherman is forced to report on Punxsutawney's famous hedgehog--a hated annual ritual that's about to become a daily chore.

Phil poking fun at Rita, his lovely producer. He'll soon fall for the woman, but will only have a single day--albeit played again and again--to prove himself to her. Advantage or curse?

Upon first noticing the days aren't exactly changing, Phil sort of freaks out at everyone he meets, suspecting they're all participating in some kind of cruel ruse. But gag or not, it's not the folks' doing; a higher power is clearly at play...even if this being is never referenced.

The plot of Groundhog Day is well known; the very term “Groundhog Day,” more than denoting the Feb. 2 holiday, connotes the idea of drudgery, of the cyclitic nature of time, of déjà vu, of making the same mistakes again and again. And that’s the film’s premise in its most truncated form—egotistical, condescending Phil is condemned to relive the same day again and again without seeming cause, reason, or end. A perpetual purgatory, essentially. An existence extended but paradoxically condensed into one mediocre day. Groundhog Day, in this case.

Of course, there is a reason for Phil’s torment. He’s a jack-ass who seems almost compulsively compelled to drive everyone away, whether stranger or would-be friend. Left unchanged, he’s likely doomed to die alone, and worse, might find himself resigned to a worse fate of absolute flame. But something miraculous happens; after suffering that awful holiday he so despises, he awakens to it again. The same day. Same town. Same 24-hours merely rewound. To his chagrin, then horror, his life has been reduced to a quantum rerun of old opportunities made anew. Now bestowed with a trove of second chances, does he scowl at Rita, his attractive co-worker…or does he smile? Does he flirt? Does he note what she likes to ultimately seduce her? Or rather, does he opt for an easier target like Nancy Taylor, the local girl who’s much easier to please?

As Phil faces his existential dilemmas, he slowly begins to evolve, becoming more than just a curmudgeon, more than just a hedonist out for himself. As the countless days turn into countless months, countless years—countless decades?—Phil is forced to behold, like any god might, the little people who now comprise his life. The Town of Punxsutawney becomes less a snare of strangers and more a community of nobodies turned into somebodies…people that, whether Phil likes it or not, are real…are more genuine than him. Folks with real hopes and pains and struggles. People with souls purer and more deserving than the “illustrious” Phil.

The film’s genius is in Phil's slow realization of this very fact; it’s not a sudden epiphany so much as a slow metamorphosis. Like the litany of days Phil has relived, the "Phil" who exists at the end is less a man than a collection of them—several generations of Phils melded into one skin. This Phil is the ultimate version because, less than one, he’s everyone.

Phil tests his cyclitic predicament by breaking a pencil the night before...only to find it fixed (rewound) when he awakens in the morning.

Phil, in desperation, finally confesses to Rita his loopy, time loop of a problem. It's a vulnerable moment for the man who, despite bearing his soul, still doesn't escape the next morning.

Groundhog Day is a nigh-perfect film that, as if needing its own series of minor repeats, still suffers from a few tattered ends. By the conclusion, Phil Connors has essentially graduated into being the town’s resident guardian, its all-knowing god. But for everyone he helps, it’s a shame a few, like the neglected Nancy or pitiful Larry, Phil’s lonely cameraman, never receive their own restorative blessing. Moreover, it would have been fitting to also see Phil step into a church—utter a prayer—if only to acknowledge that, for all Phil has been shown, there’s another who sees more.

Nevertheless, Groundhog Day’s tale of a fallow man receiving a hallowed redemption will resonate forever—will become its own perpetually spinning wheel of wisdom for every proceeding generation. For, beyond depicting a singularly selfish man, the movie is a tableau of the human experience writ wide and wild. The human race, whether big city or small town, cute and humble or loudly proud, can be understood through the lens of him, Phil Connors…

A person more like the rest of us than we’d ever care to admit.--D

In a few scenes, this bartender is occasionally seen smirking to the side. In a lesser movie, someone like him would be the "angel" or special somebody existing to mentor poor Phil. But here, he's just another bystander. Or is he?

Clockwise from the upper left (or from top to bottom), Phil handles his temporal imprisonment through various phases of denial, acceptance, and despair...before finally striving for self-improvement and learning the ultimate lesson: Life isn't about him. It's everyone else.

Although essentially the perfect movie, Groundhog Day still contains the odd moment or cut. Here, Phil is shown going to a Clint Eastwood movie with a woman that apparently only exists for this one brief scene (she never appears elsewhere). Who is she? Why is she dressed like that, where does she come from, why is she there at all? The scene makes little sense, but might be a reference to Phil's "Does Phil feel lucky?" line from his morning coverage.

Almost everyone in Punxsutawney benefits from Phil's long-standing involvement. Except for, that is, Nancy and Larry, who never really seem to find happiness or achieve anything during the 24-period. Phil ditches Nancy early on, and doesn't have much to offer Larry beyond a few friendly words. Hopefully, Phil will think to do more for these two as his life now resumes forward.