By Doug Cummings
Arizona Daily Wildcat
It was a startling realization the day I first became aware of the groundhog.
I had reluctantly agreed to watch the movie "Groundhog Day" with several friends. They were adamant that it was both an idealistic and hilarious film that displayed the need for people to break down emotional barriers in order to relate to other human beings.
But I suspected the movie of being sugarcoated sentimentality, and I eyed it with skepticism, seeking to spotlight its Hollywood-induced, money-grubbing intentions.
The movie depicted a stuffy weatherman (Bill Murray), who became trapped in a recurring time vortex that made him repeat the same day over and over again. The idea was that he'd have to come to some moral realization or perform some dramatic action in order for time to recommence.
In trying to predict the film's conclusion, I became convinced that the being controlling the weatherman's temporal misery was, in fact, the groundhog that was scurrying about and reappearing in the film's recurring time cycle. Perhaps my subconscious was supplying memories of the devious gopher that tormented Bill Murray in "Caddyshack," but nevertheless, I knew the groundhog was up to something.
As it turned out, the movie never claimed this angle, which only solidified my suspicions. If the groundhog was Master of Time, how can one silly Hollywood movie stand up against it? The groundhog placed its paw on the trickle of time, trapping Murray's character until he conformed to the groundhog's wishes. And the last event of Murray's ordeal, the implied consummation of physical love with his professional colleague, was the event that appeased the groundhog. It wanted Murray's icy character to loosen up and bed down with someone, and once he did, things could continue.
It was then that I shuddered at the implications of my insight. I realized that "Groundhog Day" was not the only film that was controlled by an all-powerful force determined to enact its will upon the characters of a film. For years, Hollywood has been criticized for pandering to the popular, sentimental desires of lowbrow American moviegoers, uniting lovers whose only connection is their existence in a film. It's a virtual given that any movie casting a single male and a single female in major roles will have them come together by the film's end, riding off into the proverbial sunset.
But it doesn't stop there. American audiences have been bamboozled into accepting the results of the groundhog's long-standing schemes. They accept the fact that "good" always defeats "evil," that unattractive heroines must be "prettified" in order to earn the right to fall in love, that villains may be viciously killed (by their own greed, of course) so long as the hero offers to save them first, and so on. The list is endless. The groundhog is a busy rodent, conforming plots to the uncritical adoration of the viewing public, reaping millions of dollars by selling viewers the same underhanded misconceptions of life handed down from film to film.
The groundhog's unseen presence is its true power. Like Murray's character in "Groundhog Day," audiences never make the connection between the popular fluff they're being sold and the devious animal selling it. The groundhog hides underground, laughing at the poor saps, who file into theaters and react according to the uninspired images they're given, accepting the values invested in them and feeling all good inside because things just seem "right." "Groundhog Day" is a cute movie, they think. It's a family movie. There's no profanity or nudity zapping at impressionable minds. Who cares if the entire point of the movie is to get Murray to invite a woman to spend the night with him? It's rated PG.
It is the rare film that directly addresses the groundhog, throwing light on its snickering form beneath the cinema. One of the best is Woody Allen's "The Purple Rose of Cairo," a film that unabashedly mocks the groundhog, showing how unrealistic movies are despite their inspirational idealism and beautiful irony. But movies such as these are few and far between, and Mr. Allen was made to suffer for his indignation Ÿ his film died at the box office. The groundhog will not be mocked.
So it is to this phenomenon that I direct your attention. When was the last time the groundhog manipulated a movie you watched? How have its amazing distortions tricked you into believing in the fantasies that perpetuate the Hollywood engine and subtly influence your philosophy of life? So long as the groundhog is ignored, its power is complete. Murray's weatherman never understood the harbinger of doom, who eradicated his life through the manipulation of reality; he merely accepted his new-found idealism. What values are you accepting?