The movie’s charms are worthy of long, rambling discussion, but in the interests of brevity, all that really matters is that it’s a warm, outrageously funny film layered with pathos and many a life lesson.
Live in the now.
Take your chances when they come.
Be good to others and you'll be treated the same.
Actually, fuck brevity. More about the film. Many of us can relate to Connors. It's human nature to have had a gutful. When everything’s cloyed and tedious, the me-versus-them card invariably pokes its head out. Take, for example, Connors’ response to Rita’s fondness for the traditional groundhog ceremony.
"I think it’s a nice story," Andy McDowall's character says. "It comes out. He looks around. He wrinkles up his little nose. He sees his shadow, he doesn’t see his shadow. It’s nice. People like it."
Connors: "You know, people like blood sausage too. People are morons."
Seems Connors – or Connors' creator – captured the frustrations of the internet’s trolling illuminati long before they had a platform to act like illuminati. This was, of course, in 1993 – before Mister WWW snared us all. The movie has shaken the space-time continuum in other ways, too. Sonny and Cher's "I Got You Babe" hasn't sounded the same since; vermouth, Rita’s tipple of choice, received a kick-along that’s still resonating today; and geekism copped a warm nod in the form of 'Needle Nose' Ned Ryreson. If you don’t see the world in a brighter shade after revisiting the Ryreson scenes on YouTube – in particular the fourth meeting, when Connors decks the unsuspecting insurance salesman – then you may never be cleansed of the grey-smudge.
"Hey, Phil? Phil! Phil Connors? … Phil Connors, I thought that was you!”
Phil, of course, eventually learns his lesson; to respect his fellow man, to utilise his powers for the good of society. It’s calculated that it took him 10 years to do enough good to shake off the witch’s spell. Imagine being gifted the opportunity to rectify oneself? How long would it take some of us to get there? It could quite reasonably be argued that many just wouldn’t. The world is littered with the listless, the lazy, the laconic and, bless them, the love-what-they-have-and-don’t-want-nothin'-to-change. It’s also littered with scum. The worst, if jinxed similarly to Connors, would do all manner of vile shit; and with the thousands of surrounding people – and the millions of variables – they’d never get bored.
There are, of course, some that would lap up the opportunity: they'd learn music; get that degree; read the impossible novel; eat and drink themselves silly; go on spending sprees, even if it’s their last $100, because they get it back the next day. They’d say what they wanted to those they disliked; act on impulse in beautiful ways. They'd steal cars; steal hearts.
Of all the movies involving time travel – or travelling on a different time parallel than the present – Groundhog’s premise is the most fascinating and enticing. Sure, Grays Sports Almanac wouldn’t be much use, but because each day is a reset, there’d be no frayed lines in said space-time continuum. But even with the boundless possibilities, you can't help but suspect that most of us would simply fall into routine because even though we bemoan it, it’s what governs us. Returning to what we know – even if gets us down or makes us itchy – keeps us snug.
It’s the drinker of 100 hangovers a year, 30 of those really bad, going back for more.
It’s the reformed smoker of weak lungs, lighting up in a social capacity.
It's staying in a relationship whose final embers died out years ago.
We grow to not necessarily like, but rely on, that office job; that drab suburb; that car. Phil, eventually, falls in love with small-town Punxsutawney and we, like with all our favourite films, watch it a tenth time, because of the marvellous acting, the classy script and its warm, snug familiarity.
