February 12, 1993 | In synopsis, Groundhog Day sounds like some lesser episode of The Twilight Zone. In coming attractions trailers, it looks even less promising — more like Caddyshack 3.
So it comes as a most welcome and satisfying surprise that the movie is so intelligently written, so consistently amusing and, ultimately, so winningly sweet-natured. Groundhog Day is a Bill Murray comedy for people who have outgrown Bill Murray comedies, who have been waiting to see this immensely talented comic actor in a role that calls for something more than his usual smart-alecky star turn.
Credit director Harold Ramis (National Lampoon’s Vacation) and co-screenwriter Danny Rubin for concocting a clever scenario that allows Murray to play to his strengths and expand his horizons. And credit Murray, who pulls off something very tricky here, something he failed so resoundingly to do in Scrooged — he hits the perfect balance of wise-guy sarcasm and warm-hearted sentiment, and makes it look easy in the bargain.
As Phil Connors, a snide weatherman for a Pittsburgh TV station, Murray gets ample opportunity in the early scenes to trot out his trademark shtick: condescending wisecracking, aggressive fake-sincerity, cocksure heckling. With a laughably misplaced confidence in his own star power, Connors constantly grouses about his workaday assignments, much to the chagrin of his producer (Andie MacDowell) and cameraman (Chris Elliott), and insists he’s ready for bigger and better things. The last place on earth he wants to be is Punxsutawney, Pa., to cover the annual Groundhog Day festivities. But on Feb. 2, that’s just where he is again.
And again. And again. And again.
Very early in Groundhog Day, Connors realizes he is stuck in some sort of cosmic time loop, forced to repeat every detail of his tediously mundane day. Time and again, he awakens at the same hour, deals with the same small-town types, steps in the same curbside puddle, gives the same videotaped report, faces the same delay caused by the same unexpected blizzard. And only he is aware that each new day is an instant replay of the last.
First, Connors panics. Then, he gets mad. Then, he takes advantage.
He quizzes a woman about details of her past, all the better to seduce her during the next day (which, of course, is the very same day, only different). He knows just when guards won’t be looking, so he swipes a money-stuffed sack from an armored truck.
Connors also gets multiple opportunities to practice smooth moves on his producer. (MacDowell makes a most endearing straight woman for Murray.) Each time he tries to coax her into bed, he gets to know a little more about her. Only after repeated rebuffs, and quite a few face slaps, does it finally dawn on Connors that, thanks to the time loop, he can learn a lot more about himself.
Groundhog Day is very funny as it offers multiple variations of Connor’s fateful day, and gets a respectable amount of mileage by essentially repeating the same gag again and again. Things take a slightly more serious turn when Connors starts to question the whys and wherefores — “I think I’m a god! Not the God, but a god!” — and the comedy turns a few shades darker as Connors repeatedly attempts suicide, only to reawaken after each attempt to begin Groundhog Day all over again.
But then, just when you may begin to fear the filmmakers have painted themselves into a corner, Groundhog Day sets out in a different, equally funny and far more intriguing direction. More than that, I cannot say without spoiling some surprises. Suffice it to say that this is a hugely enjoyable comedy with some seriously provocative questions percolating beneath its madcap surface. For example: Is being a better person, a decent human being, simply a matter of finding the time to do so?
And what if, by some strange magic, you gained the time?
