Why I’ve Been Thinking a Lot About ‘Groundhog Day’ Recently

I’VE BEEN THINKING about the 1993 comedy Groundhog Day a lot since the beginning of the second Trump presidency. Like Bill Murray’s disgruntled TV weatherman Phil Connors, who’s forced to relive Feb. 2 on an unending loop, many of us feel like we’re reliving a nightmare. We find ourselves taking steps backward from progress we thought was permanent. Like Phil, we’re battling the feeling that no matter what we do, nothing will change.

However, being stuck in a moment you want to leave behind is only Groundhog Day’s setup, not its message. In a world where our individual actions don’t seem to change anything, Groundhog Day reminds me why helping others still matters.

When we meet Phil, he’s whining about making the annual trip from his station in Pittsburgh to Punxsutawney, Pa., to cover the groundhog festival. The trip is beneath him, he thinks. When a snowstorm strands Phil and the news team in Punxsutawney overnight, it seems like the ultimate insult — until Phil wakes up the next day and discovers he’s reliving events all over again. And again.

Phil reacts with denial, then despair, then hedonism when he realizes his actions have no consequences. He binges the entire menu at a local diner and robs an armored car. Those activities are diverting, but ultimately empty. It’s only when Phil’s producer, Rita (Andie MacDowell), suggests he could make productive use of this infinite repeated day that Phil starts on the path of self-improvement and altruism that breaks him out of this time loop.

Phil’s emotional journey hits home for me. In the days leading to Trump’s inauguration, I saw versions of despair, burnout, and dissociation in myself and people around me. But now we’re relearning how to use our time and resources in service to our communities. Phil does this by knowing where to be so he can fix a flat tire or save a man from choking on a piece of steak. We do it by practicing radical hospitality and seeking ways to make our communities more inclusive and equitable.

Phil starts Groundhog Day with an inflated sense of self, believing he should call the shots. He ends it understanding that he’s one little cog in the huge machine of the universe, finding fulfillment in small kindnesses, not grandiose achievements. Witnessing injustice on a grand scale following the 2024 election has been disheartening and infuriating. But I know that local activism and everyday acts of kindness matter more than ever. When the world’s pain feels suffocating, Groundhog Day reminds me that I can still help in small ways, and those small ways, over time, have the power to break the cycle of despair.