What is surprising: I felt weirdly melancholy about this objectively happy ending. Palm Springs was intended for a theatrical release, not a straight-to-streaming one, and under any other circumstances, it’d be the perfect movie for a hot afternoon. But with theaters closed due to Covid-19, it went to Hulu, where people can watch it while stuck in their own quarantine time loops. With shelter-in-place orders warping so many peoples’ perceptions of time this spring and summer, watching a movie about people learning to enjoy the present and not stress about the future feels like receiving some pretty sage advice. Couldn’t Sarah and Nyles have simply stayed in their safe and immortality-conferring never-ending day?
In Groundhog Day, Phil’s time-stuck existence is lonely and miserable. He falls in love, but his romantic interest is outside of his loop, and even when he does win her over, he knows it will only last until he wakes up again. (And, well—he’s in a mediocre hotel in small-town Pennsylvania in wintertime.) In Russian Doll, Nadia and Alan have each other for company, but the universe degrades each time they reboot. Their pets disappear, flowers die, and their bodies begin to betray them. If they can’t find their way out, it means annihilation. In Palm Springs, though, they have a cushy setup. The sexy layabouts have access to not one but two in-ground pools, and one of them’s in an empty mansion at their disposal. They’ve got an open bar, no responsibilities, and, crucially, one another. Yes, they both wake up each morning with people they can’t stand and a wedding to ditch, but they have no shortage of options for places to hide and chill, from a friendly dive bar to the majestic scenery of Joshua Tree. They even joyride an airplane!
When Sarah gets frustrated by the lack of stakes in their perpetual-wedding-weekend life, Nyles—wisely, I think—argues that the true stakes lie in accepting powerlessness and impermanence. “The only way to really live in this is to embrace the fact that nothing matters,” Nyles says. “Well, then, what’s the point of living?” she shoots back.
“We kind of have no choice but to live,” he replies. “So I think your best bet is just to learn how to suffer existence.”
In its back half, Palm Springs goes on to paint Nyles’ acceptance of his circumstances as a sign that he is stunted, more playboy than Zen monk, and that he needs to mature. But, honestly? “Learn how to suffer existence” is good advice!
Can you blame me for wondering, for a good stretch of the movie, if Sarah and Nyles might also actually just stay in their loop? (Since their memories are preserved even though their days reset, they would’ve still been able to deepen their relationship and live within the confines of the looping universe, after all—it might’ve been like Black Mirror’s “San Junipero” episode, where the lovebird characters find happiness in a universe which is artificial and untethered from reality but within which they can achieve a meaningful relationship.) At its halfway mark, it seemed possible Palm Springs was going to turn out to be a sort of vaguely existentialist treatise on the beauty of focusing solely on living in the now.
Maybe the filmmakers agree with me, at least a little. The last thing that happens after Sarah and Nyles finally make it back to their original timeline? They get kicked out of the pool. Vacation’s over. Are they sure what comes next will be better?
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