The trend in pop culture of time loops (or, in Watchmen’s case, the ability of a single “man” to experience time spanning multiple epochs all at once) has fittingly come at a moment in the collective’s life when we all seem to be trapped in one. And it isn’t even as revelatory or eye-opening as, say, the Winden time loop of Dark, but rather, completely mundane and prosaic. Something to be accepted with complacency rather than bothering (ironically, “wasting infinite time”) to fight against it. As usual, the mantra is “Surrender Dorothy.” Particularly for Nyles (Andy Samberg) in the Max Barbakow-directed, Andy Siara-written Palm Springs.
As a title, of course, it’s utterly forgettable–but that’s perhaps the point considering how days blend into months with as much ease as Bob Ross’ paint hues in the place that often serves as a backdrop for either going on or recovering from a bender. After all, there isn’t much else to do around there if you’re not going to a “wellness spa” (read: plastic surgery) or Coachella (RIP). Bret Easton Ellis did his best to make Palm Springs look like the ultimate hub of debauchery for a scene in Less Than Zero, and yet, his true aim was what he achieved overall throughout the book: to underscore the nihilism of existence in such a milieu (though, in Ellis’ case, it was all of Los Angeles). Time is always irrelevant there anyway, regardless of being trapped in the loop that Nyles has found himself in. Doomed to repeat the same day at a wedding for Abe (Tyler Hoechlin) and Tala (Camila Mendes) that he’s been invited to by non-virtue of being his girlfriend Misty’s (Meredith Hagner, best known for her role in Search Party) plus one at the event, the blasé attitude Nyles has adopted is apparent from the start. For, it seems to him, maybe there are worse fates than drinking to oblivion on a pizza float in a picturesque pool every day.
At the same time, there is no one with which he can share his secret, therefore no one he can truly connect to. Unless one counts the violent and vindictive Roy (J.K. Simmons), the only other being Nyles has accidentally brought into the loop after the fellow wedding guest off-handedly remarked in the midst of a cocaine binge with Nyles that he didn’t want the night to ever end. So it is that Nyles takes Roy to the cave where the loop originates. Once sucked into it, he, too, is now damned to wake up every morning in the same place where the day of the wedding–November 9th–began for him: back in Irvine, before he drove all the way–ninety-two miles–to that Riverside County desert to partake of a wedding that would be his psychological undoing. Even the time of year that the wedding takes place in appears to be a comment on how nothing ever really changes in Palm Springs no matter the season; it is always hot, always desolate, always both a simultaneous oasis and inferno.
That is, until Sarah (Cristin Milioti, who looks like the distinct relative of Kate Micucci), the sister of the bride, is also “accidentally” brought into Nyles’ world after he flirts with her at the reception. With their imminent sexual encounter on a rock near the cave interrupted by one of Roy’s vendetta fulfillments, Nyles is shot with an arrow, retreating to the cave to reset the day so he can stop feeling the pain (for, as he says, pain is still very real in spite of immortality). Sarah then follows him in despite his protests not to. Of course, some would say there are no “accidents” when it comes to destiny having its way… and its way seems to be to bring Nyles and Sarah–each hopelessly cynical when it comes to “believing in love”–together to live in this Palm Springs eternity.
Indeed, both of them have more fun than they’ve ever had in their entire lives while spending perpetuity in this inexplicable purgatory with one another. Comforted by the mantra that “Nothing matters,” the two pursue every reckless behavior from crashing a plane to getting arrested (granted, it’s Sarah who is more keen on the latter). Yet Nyles is crushed when Sarah seems to take his neo-“hakuna matata” philosophy too far by shrugging off the fact that they finally, after so many days and months, had sex. While, for Nyles, this has already happened a thousand times during the days before Sarah was part of the time loop, for her, it is the first time actually being able to remember that they did. Thus, it’s a cruel blow to his hard-won happiness that she plays it off as though it’s just another meaningless experiment they conducted.
As the tenseness between them rises, Sarah vows to find her own way out of the time loop–and that looks to Nyles to be exactly what she’s done when he wakes up over the course of the next few weeks to find that she’s nowhere amid the wedding party. With his Palm Springs eternity suddenly rendered even more meaningless than it was before, Nyles is forced to reconcile whether or not his complacency and comfortableness in wanting to stay within the confines of this purgatory/paradise are worth the tradeoff of losing the only person he’s ever felt a genuine bond with. In short, the only person he’s ever truly been in love with. While some would argue all relationships are eventually forced to feel like time loops as you spend each day with the same person, performing the same routine, the question remains: is it better to be trapped forever alone in this time loop called banal existence (whether marooned in Palm Springs on November 9th or not), or to attach to another person who at least “gets it” the way you do?
The answer, of course, is contingent upon how codependent one is. And Nyles, self-admittedly, is very fucking codependent. In an era of lockdowns and quarantines–of government-mandated isolation–it must be said that such a character has never been more representative of such “lonely island” (yes, a reference to Samberg’s parody band) times. Thus, Palm Springs is undeniably the time loop rom-com (at least, so far) responding to the COVID-19 age.
