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.’ 

Explainer
Creed
Old Testament
Politics
Weirdness
6 min read

Lady Mary's guide to Old Testament gangsters

How the weirdest characters in the Bible's ancient story apply to today's politics.
A renaissance picture depitcs Jacob and Esau, in contemporary clothing, around a table
Jacob and Esau.
Matthias Stom, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

Have you looked at the Old Testament lately? In terms of how much better it can make you feel, I mean – particularly in the face of modern politics? No, me neither. Or at least not until a few days ago. Having not been a Christian for most of my life, I’d fought shy of the Bible rather, and the oldest bit in particular. Too remote, too ferocious, too weird, it seemed to me. Full of unpronounceable names and lists of strange rules. How could those be applicable? And then I made the mistake of going to evensong with my friend Alice, an agnostic animal lover, and we got a reading from the book of Judges about that heroic strongman Samson tying foxes together, setting fire to their tails and letting them loose in the Philistines’ crops. Which sent us both running out of the service and finished off Alice’s church career, terminally I think! 

But as always in life, exploring new territory can be made enjoyable or otherwise by who you go exploring with. And a couple of weeks ago in a second-hand bookshop, I found a thin volume entitled Unread Best-seller: Reflections on the Old Testament by someone called Mary Stocks, which looked interesting. So I bought it and started reading it that day. I finished it that day. Then I read it again the next day, and I might read it again this week actually.  

Mary Stocks, it turns out, was extremely posh (she became a baroness eventually, and a life peer in the House of Lords); extremely scholarly (she did a whole series of talks for the BBC in the 1950s, when not many women did such things), and extremely funny. She also adored the Old Testament. Not only is it full of glorious language she said, but it also offered great emotional resonance and satisfaction – particularly since she was writing during the Second World War, and finding many parallels between her own time and the fierce and far-off past. ‘Deborah was, I think, the Winston Churchill of her people’, she said of one outspoken prophetess, who inspired dispirited Israel (‘a remnant against the mighty’) to new efforts – and ultimate victory – over the King of Canaan. The battle of Megiddo that they won was the very same Megiddo fought over by General Allenby in the First World War, alongside some of Lady Mary’s own family. Echoes upon echoes. Elsewhere she described seeing a young serviceman, clearly not a regular church goer, listening to the Song of Deborah during ‘one of the blackest weeks of the war’ and saying ‘quite loudly, because he couldn’t help it, “Splendid”.’ ‘People are not often provoked to behave like that in Church’, she continued. ‘But there are lines in the Bible which, coming suddenly right at one, might prompt that sort of outburst.’ 

With all that as precedence, it doesn’t half shed a different light on the awful new sorts we’re coping with at the moment. 

From my point of view though, the most thought-provoking insight I gained from Lady Mary was centred around how dreadful a lot of the Old Testament heroes were. Jacob, for example. Jacob – the founding father of the tribes of Israel! He swindled his brother Esau out of his birthright, by pretending to be him in front of their poor old father Isaac, who was blind. ‘Esau was an hairy man’, we are told. So smooth Jacob magically became an hairy man too, by strapping sheepskin to his arms, which Isaac fell for and pronounced his blessing upon him, the cheating git. And Samson, cruel to foxes as we saw above, was also vain, selfish and violent to boot. Not to mention David. Shiny King David, glorious poet, heroic defeater of the giant Goliath and ancestor of Christ himself, was first a voyeur (spying on beautiful Bathsheba while she was washing) then a date rapist (seducing same Bathsheba) then a murderer (seeing off Bathsheba’s husband Uriah by ordering his comrades to abandon him in battle). Even Noah, who I’d assumed to be a good sort (seeing as he’d rescued all of creation from the Great Flood in his ark) was given to drunkenness, and behaved very badly to his grandson who’d seen him flopped on his bed without his clothes. 

In fact from the time that Adam and Eve disastrously ate the forbidden apple onwards, the whole book contains a litany of cowardice, lying, stealing, cheating, bullying, fighting, stupidity, killing and I don’t know what else. But this is where it’s got weird for me. Suddenly, I can see Lady Mary’s ‘emotional resonance’ – because our world today also contains exactly that: a litany of cowardice, lying, stealing, cheating, bullying, fighting, stupidity, killing and I don’t know what else.  

But the point is that God doesn’t seem to mind this terribly: he engaged directly with all those awful old sorts – and despite their flaws, they became the heroes of the Old Testament and the agents of his will upon the earth. Moses might have murdered an Egyptian overseer and run away and hidden because of it, but he also was chosen by the Lord to lead the Israelites to the promised land. God’s actual game plan didn’t get corrupted, just because the pieces on the board were bent and chipped. 

So with all that as precedence, it doesn’t half shed a different light on the awful new sorts we’re coping with at the moment. A menacingly orange person with a foul mouth and an unpleasant attitude towards women need not be a source of dismay – even as the new president of America. A friend once described Mr Trump as ‘God’s wrecking ball’, which made me roll my eyes. But perhaps that’s exactly what he is. If David could be ‘a man after God’s own heart’ as the book of Samuel calls him, sexual misdemeanours notwithstanding, there is no reason why Donald couldn’t be a force for good, when wielded by the Lord. Bad manners and a felony conviction are small beer compared to other things God has tolerated in his servants. 

‘Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid,’ says Jesus in the New Testament, about a thousand years after David’s death. Having been keeping company with Mary Stocks and seeing the big picture of what the Old Testament has to tell us, I might now manage not to be so troubled – at least not by Mr Trump. And the Bible has some tremendous stories about what happens to the seriously wicked. King Saul killed himself when he realised the battle was lost. Well, you know, so did Hitler. And the appalling dictators of Romania in the 1980s – Nicolae and Elena Ceaușescu – came to an end not unlike wicked Queen Jezebel’s, who was thrown from the windows of her palace and trampled by Jehu’s army. Bad King Nebuchadnezzar ‘was driven from the sons of men; and his heart was made like the beasts, and his dwelling was with the wild asses’, says the book of Daniel. Which makes me remember Saddam Hussein being dragged out of a muddy sort of burrow at the end of the Iraq War in 2003, looking completely dishevelled. And come to think of it, didn’t Osama bin Laden – architect of the Twin Towers attack – also spend a lot of time hiding in caves in the wilderness of Swat before he was eventually caught?  

Mr Putin, Kim Jong Un and the other bad hats of the world might like to watch themselves: it is odds on that the Lord ‘shall also blow upon them, and they shall wither, and the whirlwind shall take them away as stubble’. It says so in the Old Testament.  

‘Splendid!’ as Lady Mary would say. 

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