Okay. My brain is just… scrambled. Like, I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years in the last two hours. It’s 2:31 in the morning and I just finished *Palm Springs* on Hulu and I don’t know if I need to laugh or cry or just start the whole thing over again. My cat, Leo, is giving me the side-eye from his cat tree because I’ve been muttering to myself for the last ten minutes. He’s not wrong.
I didn’t know what I was getting into. I was just scrolling, you know? The endless scroll of doom. The Hulu algorithm, in its infinite wisdom, was like, "Hey, you like quirky comedies and people who look vaguely tired. Here's this." So I clicked. I was settled on the couch, under my favorite grey blanket, ready for something light. Something to forget about the fact that I have to be at work in… six hours. Oh god.
And it starts. Wedding. Cringey toast. Andy Samberg being Andy Samberg. Cute girl. I'm into it. It's fine. It's a perfectly fine, predictable rom-com setup. And then it happens. The cave. The loop. And my entire brain just tilted on its axis. I physically sat up straight. My blanket pool of comfort was suddenly a trap. I was no longer just watching a movie; I was in it.
There's this one moment. It's not even a big, dramatic moment. It's after they've been in the loop for a while, and they're just… bored. They're sitting on the side of a road, throwing rocks at a sign. And Nyles says something about how they've done everything. They've read every book, learned every language, mastered every skill. And he says it with this complete, soul-crushing emptiness. And I just… I felt it in my bones. That feeling of being so utterly, cosmically bored that you start to forget who you are. It's the most terrifying thing I've ever seen in a comedy. I had to pause it. I just hit pause and stared at my wall for a solid minute. My living room felt too small. My life felt too small. It was like the movie was looking directly at me and my own repetitive, stupid routines. Wake up, work, eat, scroll, sleep, repeat. Am I in a time loop? Am I just too dumb to notice the cave?
Honestly, I thought I loved the nihilism of it all. The complete and utter giving up. It felt… freeing? In a weird way. But now that I'm typing this… was it actually kind of depressing? I mean, their solution to existential dread is just… more nihilism. More self-destruction. I thought it was hilarious when they were just blowing things up and dying in increasingly creative ways. But now, at 2:30 AM, it feels a little… dark. A little too close to home. I don't know. Maybe I'm just overthinking it. It's a comedy, right? Right?
It made me think of this one time I went to a wedding a few years ago. Not a friend, really, more like a friend of a friend. I didn't know anyone. So I just… drank. A lot. And I found myself in this weird, repetitive loop of my own making. Go to the bar. Get a gin and tonic. Stand in the corner. Nod awkwardly at people who walked by. Pretend to check my phone. Go back to the bar. I swear, I did that for like, three hours straight. It was my own personal, tiny, miserable time loop. I remember looking at the dance floor and seeing everyone having this seemingly authentic, joyful experience, and I just felt like I was behind a pane of glass. Never mind. It's not the same. At least I got to go home the next day.
The whole experience of watching it at home was so weird. I had the remote in my hand the whole time, like a weapon. Like I could pause their reality whenever I wanted. It felt like a god complex. I paused it to go to the bathroom. I paused it to see if my pizza rolls were done. I even paused it to Google "how many days were they stuck in the loop palm springs" (spoilers: don't do it, it's better not to know). This power, this ability to just step out of their infinite hell to check on my carbs, felt so wrong and so hilariously modern. I'm watching these two people grapple with eternity, and I'm worried about my pizza rolls getting cold. The disconnect is just… wild.
And that scene with the dinosaurs. THE DINOSAURS. I was not prepared for that. One minute they're having a sweet, existential moment on a hill, and the next, a giant, terrifying bird is swooping down. I literally yelped. Leo the cat shot straight up in the air, hissed at the TV, and then glared at me like I'd personally summoned a prehistoric monster to ruin his sleep. It was so out of nowhere, so completely bonkers, but it worked. It was the perfect metaphor for their lives. Just when you think you've found a moment of peace, a giant f*cking dinosaur tries to eat you. That's the movie. That's life.
The ending, though. The ending. I thought I loved it. I really did. The sacrifice. The choice to break the cycle together, even if it means facing an unknown, finite end. It was romantic. It was hopeful. But now… I don't know. Was it too easy? After all that talk about infinite being for eternity, not just a really long time, their solution is to… what? Die together? Is that the big takeaway? I thought it was beautiful in the moment, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder if it was just a neat, tidy bow on a beautifully messy problem. I feel like I'm betraying the movie by even thinking this. It felt so right. But my brain is a jerk and it won't stop asking questions.
So yeah. I'm a mess. I feel like I need to re-evaluate all my life choices. I feel like I should learn Portuguese or take up knife-throwing or something. Anything to break the monotony. I'm sitting here in the dark, the glow of the Hulu menu slowly fading to black, and I just feel… seen. And weirdly hopeful? And also deeply, deeply unsettled. I'm probably going to have dreams about being chased by a dinosaur while "Never Gonna Give You Up" plays on a loop.
Okay. I need to sleep. Or try to. Before the sun comes up and I have to do it all over again.
9/10. - solid
-alex