Groundhog Day is here again – February 2nd – and unless your name is Phil Connors, and you are the luckless Pittsburgh weatherman who serves as protagonist of Harold Ramis’s 1993 film Groundhog Day, tomorrow should be February 3rd for you. Yet Ramis’s cinematic story of a man who is mysteriously condemned to repeat the same day, over and over, struck a chord with the moviegoing public, and unexpectedly became one of the biggest critical and commercial successes of the early 1990’s – and Ryan Gilbey conveys well his sense of the reasons for the film’s ongoing power and influence in his 2004 book Groundhog Day.
Gilbey, who writes regularly on film for British publications like The Guardian and The Independent, wrote Groundhog Day as an entry in the British Film Institute’s BFI Modern Classics series. The series’ editor, Rob White, states that “The series gathers together snapshots of our passion for and understanding of recent movies”; and aficionados of various films from the past 30 years, from Blade Runner (1982) to Women on the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown (1988), can find in this series a concise appreciation and analysis of a number of recent films.
In the case of Groundhog Day, Gilbey begins by providing insights into the creative genesis and production history of the film. For instance, screenwriter Danny Rubin, who co-wrote the film with director Ramis, explains why, while writing the film, he originally did not see Groundhog Day as an appropriate project for the film’s eventual star, Bill Murray:
I wanted it to feel whimsical, but real. I think in the end it felt a little less real than I expected….I wanted a Kevin Kline – someone like that. The studio wanted a big comedian in the centre role. I was sceptical. I like Bill Murray’s work, but I didn’t think he had the acting chops to make it work. Harold told me that [Bill] would be right for the part, and he was right. At that time Bill was starting to take on more meaty roles as an actor, and it came at a good time for him. (p. 26)
Gilbey then leads the reader on a detail-rich, scene-by-scene rhetorical analysis of Groundhog Day. We learn, among other things, how many times Phil Connors is shown repeating Groundhog Day in the Pennsylvania town of Punxsutawney that is home to the annual Groundhog Day ritual – and how much screen time each of these repetitions takes up. Gilbey also places a helpful emphasis on audience reaction to the events of the film.
In considering Phil Connors’s fourth repetition of Groundhog Day, for example, Gilbey reminds the reader of how, each time Phil leaves his hotel, he is accosted at a downtown Punxsutawney intersection by an obnoxious former high-school classmate, Ned Ryerson (“‘Needle-Nose Ned’? ‘Ned the Head’? C’mon, buddy! Case Western High! Ned Ryerson! I did the whistling-belly-button trick at the high-school talent show? Bing!”). On Phil Connors’s “Groundhog Day #4,” Gilbey suggests, the audience becomes complicit in Phil’s response to his annoying former schoolmate:
Then we hear that voice, that ingratiating voice. “Phil? Hey, Phil?” Phil looks elated. “Ned?” he calls out, and throws a punch that spins Ned around in a spectacular 180-degree pirouette, so that his gobsmacked, goggle-eyed face is now pointed toward the camera for the few glorious seconds before he hits the ground. It’s the moment we have been waiting for: a literal punchline that releases the anxiety hoarded by Phil, and by us, over the “previous” three days. To hear the euphoric response to that scene in a packed auditorium is to comprehend how tightly the film has got us coiled at this point. (p. 50)
At the heart of Groundhog Day is the emotional and spiritual redemption of Phil Connors. The rude and self-obsessed Pittsburgh weatherman, upon realizing that he is condemned to repeat Groundhog Day in Punxsutawney over and over and over, at first seeks out selfish pleasures (violence, consequence-free sex, robbery); then, in despair, he tries repeatedly but unsuccessfully to take his own life.
Eventually, Phil Connors comes to understand that focusing upon himself – whether in search of self-gratification or self-destruction – is not doing him any good. Rather, each of his repetitions of a single day gives him a chance to start making a positive difference in the lives of others; and the beginning of his transformation is signaled when he brings coffee and breakfast to his producer Rita (played by Andie MacDowell) and his cameraman Larry (played by Chris Elliott), greets them cheerfully, and makes a helpful suggestion for the crew’s filming of Punxsutawney’s Groundhog Day ritual.
PHIL [arriving at Gobbler's Knob with coffee and pastries]: Who wants coffee? Get it while it's hot.
RITA [surprised]: Thanks, Phil.
PHIL: Larry? Skim milk, two sugars.
LARRY [surprised]: Thanks, Phil.
PHIL: Pastry?
RITA: We're just setting up.
PHIL: Take your pick.
LARRY: Thanks. Raspberry! Great!
PHIL: I was just talking with Buster Green, the head groundhog honcho. He said if we set up over here, we might get a better shot. What do you think?
RITA [still surprised, but pleased]: Sounds good!
PHIL [to Larry]: What do you think?
LARRY [visibly pleased]: Let's go for it!
RITA [to Phil]: Good work!
PHIL: Maybe we'll get lucky. [to Larry] Let me help you with the heavy stuff. You got your coffee. I'll get it. - You know, we never talk. Do you have kids?
It is such a small thing - a few moments of ordinary kindness - and yet it lifts my heart every time I watch that film.
One kind deed leads to another, and another, and another; kind deeds, like cruel ones, can become a habit, a self-perpetuating continuum. One of the pleasures of reading a film-production study like Gilbey’s Groundhog Day consists in hearing about roads not taken, ideas left unexplored, scenes considered but not filmed. Viewers who remember the montage of Phil racing from point to point to help people – catching a boy who has fallen from a tree; fixing a flat tire for a group of older ladies whose car has broken down; saving the life of Buster Green, who is choking on a piece of food – may be interested to know that the original screenplay for Groundhog Day went even further in that regard:
Rubin’s first revision [of the film’s script] included even more examples of Phil’s good deeds – pumping the stomach of Janey, a lovesick girl who has attempted suicide; removing an old lady from the path of a truck – but the real ingenuity comes when he devises some short cuts to help maximise his limited hours. He places a rock in the road so that the lorry carrying the fish to the restaurant – the fish that Buster will later choke on – will not make its delivery. He tells Janey that the object of her affection has feelings for her. And he puts chewing gum on the pavement to delay the old woman on her way to the road. (p. 76)
In less than 90 pages, Gilbey conveys what makes Groundhog Day a uniquely cinematic experience, one that “could not be rendered in any other medium” (p. 88). Any fan of the film is likely to appreciate Gilbey’s thoughtful and thorough look at Groundhog Day, a film about repetition that invites and rewards repeat viewings.