Review
Culture
Film & TV
7 min read

Perpetually present in Palm Springs

A movie's time loop explores the meaning in the mundane.

Beatrice writes on literature, religion, the arts, and the family. Her published work can be found here

A young couple lounge on floating rings in a swimming pool.
Cristin Milioti and Andy Samberg ponder time.
Hulu.

I first watched Palm Springs on the evening of my wedding day. It was the very beginning of what would be a peaceful and relaxing honeymoon, sandwiched in-between planning a pandemic wedding and finishing graduate degrees, and planning a move across the Atlantic to Canada, where my husband had just got a job – which was quickly followed by getting pregnant for the first time. Those two weeks were the only restful time we got in the whole of 2021 -- and arguably to date! It felt like time stood still for a while. We walked on Cornish beaches, talked about our future, ate ice-cream. It’s the closest I’ve ever felt to a deep sense of peace.  

It’s quite fitting that, at such a quiet moment in our lives, we watched a film about getting stuck in a time loop at a wedding. Palm Springs’ time loop premise is familiar from cult classics like Groundhog Day. Tala and Abe are getting married on 9th November. An earthquake opens up a strange cave that traps any unwary visitors into a time loop. Nyles, one of the wedding guests and the boyfriend of Tala’s friend Misty (yes, these are their actual names), enters the time loop by accident. Every day, Nyles wakes up in Palm Springs, and every day is 9th November, again, and they’re celebrating Tala and Abe’s wedding, again. He can leave Palm Springs and travel anywhere he likes. But if he falls asleep or dies, the time is reset to the morning of the wedding.  

An undetermined amount of time passes, until two more guests get stuck in time: Abe’s cousin Roy, a middle-aged, disillusioned family man, and later Sarah, Tala’s sister. Roy takes revenge on Nyles by torturing and killing him every few ‘days’; he was lured into the cave by a Nyles high on drugs and is furious that he’ll never get to see his kids grow up. In one iteration of the wedding day, Roy finds Nyles and shoots him with a crossbow. As Nyles re-enters the cave to make the day reset and escape another gruesome death at Roy’s hands, Sarah follows him in, not heeding his warning to stay away. She gets stuck in time, too. 

And here is where the story actually begins. All of this we find out as a shocked Sarah, having woken up on her sister’s wedding day for the second time, goes to Nyles for answers. For the rest of the film, the sci-fi premise is fairly incidental. Palm Springs is really about Nyles and Sarah coming to terms with their brokenness and their longing for permanence as they get stuck in time – and stuck in love. At first, Nyles acts very cynically. He’s been in the time loop for quite a while and fails to see the purpose of his existence. ‘Today, tomorrow, yesterday, it’s all the same’, he says. His advice to newly stuck-in-time Sarah is to simply ‘embrace the fact that nothing matters’. Sarah accepts the invitation, beginning to act erratically. She and Nyles drive around Palm Springs aimlessly, spend their time choreographing an 80s dance, and she even throws him a ‘millionth’ birthday party. In a darker moment, she intentionally gets run over by a truck, hoping – to no avail – to finally escape. They see their lives just like the lost souls in Dante’s Inferno, condemned by sin to relive the same punishment over and over and over again, for all time.  

Love reenchants the aimless and the mundane for them. They’re no longer stuck in hellish infinity. 

But something happens in the process. Because they know they can’t leave, Nyles and Sarah lower their defences. Their relationship essentially works as a marriage: they are stuck in it for the long term, and so they become honest. They get to know each other more deeply than they have ever known anyone, and they come to love each other deeply, too. Suddenly, they are no longer waking up dreading more of the same, but excited to see each other again, and spend another day together.  

Nyles’ disenchantment slowly disappears. When he first met Roy, drinking at the wedding bar, he cynically quoted from T. S. Eliot’s Four Quartets, ‘What might have been and what has been/ Point to one end, which is always present’. But Eliot’s poem is not actually about the dull, hellish, infinite repetition of time. Rather, it’s about our desire to reach out to God’s eternity in heaven. It reminds us that, when we receive God’s grace, we stop experiencing our lives in a linear way, always looking ahead to new experiences and greater achievements, and instead start finding joy in the mundane. Nyles is finally learning this. He now enjoys Eliot’s perpetual ‘present’, because loving Sarah has allowed him to regain a childlike wonder at the world. As G. K. Chesterton argues in his wonderful book Orthodoxy, ‘Because children have abounding vitality’ they do not tire of repetition, but rather ‘want things repeated and unchanged’: 

They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.  

Roy has learnt this, too. He stops trying to torture Nyles, and rather starts appreciating being able to spend every day – albeit the same day – with his wife and children. When Nyles visits him at his family home, it’s clear that Roy no longer sees repetition as a punishment, and that he’s found a sense of peace.  

Finally, Nyles and Sarah realise that the time loop has instead given them the chance to mend their wounds, and come to terms with their mistakes. In a moment of despair, Sarah runs Roy over, causing him several injuries. ‘Nothing matters’, she tells Nyles as an excuse. But Nyles no longer agrees. ‘No. Pain matters!’, he tells her. ‘What we do to other people matters…It doesn’t matter that everything resets and people don’t remember. We remember. We have to deal with the things that we do.’  

That’s exactly what Sarah spends the rest of the film doing. She deals with the consequences of her actions and attempts to repair her relationship with her sister Tala, whom – without giving away exactly what happens – she had deeply hurt and betrayed.  

I won’t spoil for you whether Nyles and Sarah ever manage to escape the time loop and return to ‘real’ life, but that’s almost besides the point. But I will tell you that they stay together through it all (this is a rom-com as well as a sci-fi film after all…).  

Love reenchants the aimless and the mundane for them. They’re no longer stuck in hellish infinity, but are rather looking ahead to the kind of eternal peace we hope to find in heaven, just like I did on my honeymoon.  

I recently rewatched Palm Springs, a newborn baby girl in my arms, and it reminded me of when my other child, my son, was first born back in 2022. I remember walking down the street in downtown Toronto, where I was then living, and telling my mother that I felt like I was experiencing a taste of eternity. She was understandably confused by my sleep-deprivation-induced philosophical musings, but there was a reason I said that. Just as time had expanded on my honeymoon, each day feeling like everything stood still, and yet each day so full of variety, so the newborn days of my first experience of motherhood were both very busy and very quiet. But while my honeymoon had decidedly felt like a foretaste of heavenly peace, motherhood has been more complex than that. Sometimes it’s so repetitive that it can seem aimless – ‘how is his nappy full again?’ I often ask myself – and in this it can appear as static as Dante’s hell. As adults, it is very difficult to recapture the kind of joy and delight in repetition that Chesterton writes about. It can really feel like you’re stuck in a loop, every day bringing more of the same, more nappies, more bath time, and more baby food thrown at the wall. But motherhood is also full of the endlessly new little joys. When my son says a new word for the first time, or when my newborn daughter looks at me and smiles, I think that I’d be happy to relive this day forever, just like Roy.  

Although I’m not actually stuck in a time loop like Sarah and Nyles in Palm Springs, it can sometimes feel that way. But perhaps it’s good thing. Perhaps that’s what reminds me that being a good parent means getting tired of your kids by the end of the day, then waking up the next morning, and loving them all over again. That’s what being a parent means, and that’s what marriage means, too. As Nyles says to Sarah right before they enter the cave for the last time, unsure if they’ll see each other, and whether their relationship can survive the mundane reality of domestic life, ‘We’re already sick of each other. It’s the best.’ 

Review
Books
Culture
Digital
Leading
5 min read

How a card game, going off-grid, and a great teacher, shaped Bill Gates

A new biography explores the man who shaped the digital decades

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

Bill Gates talks from behind a table with a small sign bearing his name.
Bill Gates.
European Parliament, CC BY 4.0, via Wikimedia Commons

It is hard to find Bill Gates the man behind Bill Gates the tech billionaire. The founder of Microsoft is consistently portrayed in the media solely through the lens of wealth, influence and innovation, and with good reason. For decades he has ranked one of the richest men in the world with a net worth of around $113 billion, and his most recent operating system running on over 400 million devices around the world.  

But in the first instalment of his planned three-volume biography Bill Gates reveals something of his personal story - of the rituals, coincidences and relationships that have shaped the man who, like it or not, is shaping all our lives

As someone who grew up riding the wave of the technological revolution of the 1970s, 80s and 90s, I found Bill Gates’ deeply personal portrait particularly fascinating. But the themes of his book resonate even wider - the way he talks about relationship and risk, inclusion and inspiration, memory and morals, are poignant however much time you spend on your computer and however much money you have in your pocket.  

Hearts with Grandma shaped Gates’ childhood 

The powerful influence of Gates’ family, particularly his grandmother, is unmistakable. The biography opens and closes with the woman who called him “Trey,” recognizing his place as the third William Henry Gates in the family. Their close bond developed over the card table, where Gates sat in awe of her mental sharpness. Even into old age she regularly beat him at her favourite game, Hearts. It’s likely not a coincidence that this game made it into Microsoft’s early operating systems: Gates’ way of sharing something of his grandmother with the world. But Hearts was more than a card game. It symbolises the space Gates was offered to learn strategy, logic and focus. It was a levelling of the playing field across generations and an opportunity to discover and refine his sense of identity, competition and connection.  

I found myself reflecting on my own childhood, and those long dark evenings playing Carrom and Rummikub with my mum, at least until I was seduced by Pacman and Elite on my microcomputer. Then I thought about how that played out with my own children who I once taught to play Uno and Connect 4 and who have subsequently introduced me to the challenges of Catan, Carcassonne, Codenames, Ganz Schon Clever, and so on. Card and table games have had their own mini-revolution since the days of Hearts and Patience: they continue to be the school where early learners develop strategy, connection, and identity.  

Off-grid and online life shaped Gates’ young adult life  

Gates’ childhood, as portrayed in his biography, feels like it belongs to a completely different era. It makes me feel uncomfortable as he describes the way he used to disappear as a teenager on a nine-day hike through the Cascade Mountains in Washington State with friends—no mobile phones, no contact with home. In one remarkable story, his parents managed to reach him by phoning a random stranger in a town along his route. That stranger successfully relayed the message that his family’s planned rendezvous had changed. It’s an image from a different world, one of off-grid trust, risk, and adventure—far from the always-on, hyper-connected digital culture Gates would go on to help create. How ironic that the skills Gates needed to become one of the central architects of digital transformation were formed in the middle of nowhere. The infrastructure of today’s information age—its fluidity, reach, and depth—was birthed in mountain walks, wild camping and lake swimming. 

The image of a young Bill Gates forging resilience and perspective far from the digital world is both nostalgic and instructive. Perhaps the next great innovators won’t emerge from the data diet or coding camps but from tents under the stars and homes where screens are conspicuously absent.  

Gates’ neurodiversity is his superpower 

One of the most important influences that emerges during Gates’ school education was Mrs Blanche Caffiere, the school librarian at View Ridge Elementary in Seattle. She not only managed the library but also invited young Gates to work as her assistant—a role that empowered him, nurtured his curiosity, and profoundly shaped his sense of belonging at school. Socially awkward but intellectually gifted, Gates was given a position of responsibility, and that act of trust and inclusion gave structure to his experience of school as well as a place where he could flourish. It’s a powerful reminder of the transformative role teachers can play—especially those who go beyond the curriculum to draw out the unique gifts of each student.  

In the book’s epilogue, Gates reflects on his neurodiversity:  

“If I were growing up today, I probably would be diagnosed on the autism spectrum… During my childhood, the fact that some people’s brains process information differently from others wasn’t widely understood.” 

 His parents seemed to respond to his difference with patience and ingenuity. While they clearly struggled, they also invested in his education and in supporting his mental health. Instead of framing neurodiversity as a deficit, Gates’ family recognised it as a form of untapped potential. And, on reflection, Gates agrees. Seeing the world differently, he has said, is something he wouldn’t trade. 

These three themes come together in one story that really struck home to me. As a child Bill Gates attended church with his sister, and on one occasion this church issued a challenge: any young person who could memorize the entire Sermon on the Mount would earn a meal at the city’s iconic Space Needle in its lofty rotating restaurant. With his agile brain, his family relationships and his growing resilience Gates memorized the entire passage verbatim, passed the test, and earned his reward.  

Memorising 150 verses is no mean feat, but it wasn’t the end of the story. That challenge sparked a deeper interest, and Gates went on to read the entire Bible from cover to cover. He recognized that discovery as a vital part of his journey toward adulthood, forming part of the moral and intellectual foundation that would shape his later life. 

Gate’s story, as told in this first volume, isn’t just a biography of a tech mogul - it is a window into the formation of a complex human being. What emerges is not just a tale of one success, but a testament to the quiet, often overlooked forces that shape a life, a community, and a moral framework. The time spent with a grandmother, the vision of a school librarian, the stillness of a night spent under the stars, the power of a sacred text:  perhaps here is the true source of the man who is Bill Gates.  

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