The real-world ‘Groundhog Day’
When the receipts were tallied at the end of 1993, Columbia Pictures’ quirky “Groundhog Day,” which had been released that February, just missed placing in the top 10 films for box office earnings.
The movie, starring Bill Murray, was no “Jurassic Park,” nor was it a “Mrs. Doubtfire.” Both of those ’93 films sold more tickets — and one of them made a mint on attendant dinosaur toys.
I know because we bought all of them.
“Groundhog Dog” didn’t have much in the way of toy tie-ins (neither dinosaurs nor lunchboxes nor even adorable stuffed rodents), but the story of a cynical weatherman who finds his soul became a kind of classic, anyway. It followed a tried-andtrue film formula, with Murray’s Phil Connors as a disconnected, angry man who is in need of a new attitude. Rather than visitations by ghosts like Ebenezer Scrooge, Phil revisits Feb. 2 day after day after day. Every morning, he wakes up to “I Got You, Babe” on the radio and the rest of the day unfolds as predictably as, well, a movie script. That kind of repetition could be meditative, but Phil resists. Instead, he realizes that if the cosmic script must be adhered to, then it follows that there are no consequences to his actions; Phil frees his inner nihilist. Hilarity ensues.
When Phil decides to make a play for his producer, played by Andie MacDowell, the movie turns redemptive. Phil discovers doing nice things makes his life better and through that — and the love of MacDowell — he breaks the loop.
So here we go (Again. Still.). We are starring in our very own pandemic “Groundhog Day,” and it’s been difficult to find the redemption. For a moment, we who vaccinated thought we’d moved on to Feb. 3 and that we, too, had broken the loop. We went back to attending parties, and not just outside ones. We bought tickets to plays and concerts and when the announcer onstage said, “Welcome back,” we applauded furiously. Yes! We’re back! We boarded planes and went to movies, excited at the thought of filling up on popcorn with way too much butter.
Some of us saw our grandchildren for the first time, and we couldn’t hug them hard enough. It felt as if we’d been in a hole, and here we were, crawling out into the sunshine.
In fact, we were only enjoying the sun of the afternoon of Feb. 2. We just didn’t know it. The lack of medical complicity on the part of too many of our fellows has locked us into the same, dreary day that is Sonny and Cher on the radio, and Ned “Such as Heckfire” Ryerson trying to sell us insurance. Every day, we step into the same icy puddle, and every night, we tuck ourselves in hoping for a change, only to have the same day awaiting us at dawn. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. It’s maddening.
The first time we hunkered down, we reassured ourselves that this would be a short (couple of weeks, right?) and fruitful (let’s learn a new skill!) time. We perfected our piano-playing, our ice-sculpting. We expanded our recipe box. We started exercising. We tried yoga for the umpteenth time, and bought comfy stretch pants. We posted our latest creations on social media and bowed to the kind comments.
This holiday was going to be near-normal, and then omicron reared its ugly head, as it was bound to do when too many people don’t believe science. They believe, instead, that the pandemic won’t come calling, that Tucker Carlson is more than just a box of hair, and that their natural immunity will ... I can’t even finish that sentence. It makes me too mad.
It can start to feel as if you’ve wandered into Punxsutawney with Phil and the groundhog, and you don’t have the proper papers. For the fourth time in this pandemic, last week I watched a woman in line at the grocery store remove her mask so she could sneeze. I didn’t have time to tell her how ignorant that was. Three people beat me to it.
Our positivity rate is higher than it’s been in months. Yale New Haven Hospital is expanding its emergency room to handle patients, yet I can’t get a COVID test scheduled until a week from now. Good luck finding home tests.
If I went looking for a metaphor from “Groundhog Day,” it would be that kindness rescued Phil from his broken life, and it can rescue us, too. Here’s my kindness pledge to you: I will get however many shots are necessary to keep us healthy. I will wear a mask. I will socially distance, and at the first symptom, I’ll stay home until I get a negative test result. That’s not “being afraid.” That’s me being “caring.” For people who confoundingly remain unvaccinated, I will hope your better angels prevail, because I am out of words for you.
We shouldn’t have to be in this loop, but in the words of the great immortals: I got you, babe.