March 14, 1993 [Groundhog Day]
I was happy watching Bill Murray's Twilight Zone dilemma unfold on Groundhog Day, even with the multiple suicide attempts--until the learning-to-play-piano montage. By the end he's cookin' with gas with the jump-swingers and sporting the requisite sunglasses and that patented Murray smirk--somehow never disdainful of anyone in particular while laying low the ego of everything in general; but all I could think of was the years he'd spent in the time-trap--years long enough to go from wince-inducing scales to chopsticks to finger exercises to bee-bop-a-ree-bob at the Community Center. And that was only a little tiny piece of time with the same day. I suddenly felt as though the theater's air had thinned--or that the walls had inched closer. For a moment, it was the scariest movie I'd seen in a long time, despite--no, in part because of--the happy faces all around.