Palm Springs

I remember exactly where I was when I first hit play on Palm Springs. It was July 2020, and the world had effectively stopped. I was sitting on my couch, wearing the same sweatpants I’d worn for three days straight, while my roommate’s cat spent the entire ninety-minute runtime trying to eat a crinkly plastic grocery bag in the corner. That background noise—the repetitive, annoying, yet oddly comforting sound of something going nowhere—felt like the perfect overture for a movie about being stuck in a time loop.

At the time, we were all living our own version of a Groundhog Day scenario, but Andy Samberg and Cristin Milioti managed to make the existential dread of repetition look like a hell of a lot of fun. Released as a Hulu original after a record-breaking Sundance sale, Palm Springs didn’t just join the ranks of "time loop" cinema; it hijacked the genre, did a line of coke, and drove it into a swimming pool.

Nihilism with Better Pool Floats

The setup is familiar if you’ve seen the Bill Murray classic or Edge of Tomorrow (the one where Tom Cruise dies a thousand times), but director Max Barbakow and writer Andy Siara tweak the formula by giving our protagonist company. Andy Samberg plays Nyles, a man who has been stuck at a desert wedding for so long he’s forgotten his original job, his life before the loop, and quite possibly his own last name. He’s transitioned from panic to a state of enlightened, Hawaiian-shirt-clad apathy.

Things get weird when Sarah (Cristin Milioti), the cynical sister of the bride, accidentally wanders into the glowing cave that serves as the loop’s "reset" point. Suddenly, Nyles isn't alone in his eternity. Watching their chemistry is the highlight of the film. While Samberg brings that "sad clown" energy he’s perfected, Milioti is the true engine of the movie. Her Sarah is jagged, messy, and rightfully pissed off at the physics of the universe.

The film's central "what if?" isn't just about how to escape; it asks whether we even want to. In an era of franchise dominance and movies that feel like they were written by a committee of marketing executives, Palm Springs felt like a breath of fresh, tequila-soaked air. It embraces a specific kind of modern cynicism—the feeling that the world is burning, nothing matters, and we might as well have another beer.

The Legend of the Fifty-Nine Cents

One of the most legendary stories surrounding this film involves its premiere at the Sundance Film Festival. It sold to Neon and Hulu for $17,500,000.69. That extra sixty-nine cents wasn't a typo; it was a deliberate move by the producers (including Andy Samberg and his Lonely Island crew) to break the previous festival sales record by the smallest, most immature margin possible.

That prankster energy permeates the script. Take the character of Roy, played by the legendary J.K. Simmons. Roy is a fellow looper who blames Nyles for his predicament and spends his eternity hunting Nyles down for sport. It’s a role that could have been a throwaway cameo, but J.K. Simmons turns it into something oddly poignant. His "family man" monologue is probably the most grounded moment in the film, reminding me that even in a sci-fi comedy, the stakes are always human.

The production itself was a bit of a desert gauntlet. They filmed in the actual Palm Springs area during a massive heatwave, with temperatures regularly hitting triple digits. Apparently, the crew was constantly swapping out sweaty shirts, which is hilarious when you realize the characters are supposed to look perfectly preserved in their wedding attire for the entire movie. It’s indie filmmaking at its most masochistic, and it pays off in the way the heat seems to radiate off the screen.

A Modern Cult Classic in the Making

While Palm Springs didn't have a traditional box office run due to the pandemic, it became an instant digital cult classic. It’s a "word-of-mouth" movie for the social media age. I recall my Twitter feed being nothing but screenshots of the dance sequence in the dive bar for three weeks straight. It resonated because it managed to be a "high-concept" sci-fi flick without getting bogged down in the pseudo-science.

The "science" of the cave is never fully explained, and honestly, I don't care. The film understands that the mechanics of time travel are boring; it’s the psychological toll of immortality that’s interesting. For a contemporary audience, this felt like the ultimate "mood" for the 2020s. We are a generation obsessed with representation and breaking formulas, and Palm Springs gives us a romance that isn't about "fixing" each other, but about finding someone whose brand of broken matches your own.

I’ve rewatched this movie three times since that first night with the plastic-eating cat, and it holds up remarkably well. The soundtrack, featuring everything from Hall & Oates to deep-cut synth-pop, is a masterclass in setting a vibe. It’s a movie that invites you to pour a drink, stop worrying about the future, and just enjoy the ninety minutes you’re in.

Palm Springs is that rare gem that manages to be smarter than it looks and heartier than it acts. It takes a tired trope and injects it with enough wit, nihilism, and genuine chemistry to make it feel brand new. Whether you’re a sci-fi nerd looking for a clever twist or just someone who enjoys seeing Peter Gallagher look handsome in a suit, this is the kind of movie that earns every second of your attention. It’s a reminder that even when the world feels like a repetitive loop, the right company makes it worth living.