We Could Rent to Start

In a review of the second-greatest movie ever made, I mentioned that I found it fascinating that the script never attempts to answer the most obvious question of the film: How and why did Jeff "The Dude" Lebowski become such good friends with Walter? They seem to have nothing in common. But the contrasts in their relationship, and how they responded to various events, are the meandering story's principal point of interest. By not even attempting to explain that, we're able to get lost in the plot. Brilliant.

And that brings me to the greatest movie ever made: Groundhog Day. Why is Phil Connors transformed from a mid-market weatherman into a time-traveling existential savant? Was it a meteor? A wrinkle in the time-space continuum? Was it Jesus wondering how someone else might respond to such situations?

We never find out, and I think it is one of the many things that make this movie so compelling. Rather than trying to convince the audience that a passing black hole could create a repetitive gap in what we call time, we are left to wonder how we would respond to the challenges faced by our hero—or at least our protagonist—Phil.

Even that is a bit strong. Phil is written as a Shakespearean lead – full of fatal flaws and human imperfections. Sort of the opposite of modern heroes like modern Star Wars characters Finn and Rey. Rather than exemplifying diversity-inspired perfection, Phil is presented almost like a mirror—we all see our own imperfections in him. This makes his struggles with his situation more interesting.

Finn and Rey were, quite literally, perfect. So their struggles were the result of systemic problems that needed flawless champions to overcome. Not their fault, so not their problem. Luke Skywalker made lots of mistakes, and needed help to improve himself before he could help anyone else.

I hope my kids will notice this important distinction.

Since they were small, I’ve repeatedly told my little girls that if you have a problem that cannot be fixed, then it is no longer a problem. It is simply reality. And reality is something that you just figure out how to manage. Work with it. Work around it. Work through it. But you do not try to change it. It cannot be changed. So don’t try. You can't make reality better. So make yourself better.

That is the brilliance of Groundhog Day. How did an idiot like Phil find himself in such a situation? Who cares? The question is about how he responds to it. Now that is an interesting question…

At first, he tries to use all the knowledge he has gained from living the same day over and over to romance Rita, his producer (Andie McDowell). This gets him nowhere. She still hates him, as does everyone else in the charming small town. So he gives up, and starts treating everyone well—doing favors that he knows will never be repaid, and he does them over and over again, for hundreds of days, and perhaps hundreds of years.

Then, and only then, does the story start to turn out the way he wants it to.

It just starts to turn out the way he wants it to. More brilliant insight into the human condition - as he starts to gain entry into The Promised Land, the movie concludes with Phil saying:

"We'll rent to start…"

So, so brilliant. That's human nature, right there.

And that was just a movie. When reality starts to resemble an outstanding movie, we should at least pay attention.

This last election was bad. For anyone who appreciates Western Civilization, it was close to catastrophic.

Heck, perhaps it was catastrophic.

How did we get here? How did it get this bad?

It's an interesting question. And I don’t know. But really, it doesn’t matter. Here we are.

All we can do is the best that we can do. Treat people well. Make life better for as many people as possible. And then, perhaps things will start to improve.

Or, perhaps, they won’t.

But then, even then, we will still have had the opportunity to make life better for everyone that we could. It’s all good.

Rey wouldn’t understand, obviously. But I think that Phil would. Perhaps even his real-life alter ego, Donald Trump, would. Perhaps. I don't know. But really, who cares?

Please don't fill the comments about Trump. This isn't about him. It never was, really. He and Phil are not as important as they—and all of us—tend to think they are.

How did we get here? It really doesn't matter, does it? Here we are. So there you go. It's a problem that cannot be fixed. So it's no longer a problem. This is not about fixing something.

This is about us. It's not about them. I'll be interested to see how we respond.

Perhaps we could rent to start.