WHEN I learned that Harold Ramis died last week, I reacted the way I’m guessing many others did: By queueing up “Groundhog Day.”
The 1993 movie about almost-eternal life, which Ramis co-wrote and directed, is the deepest light comedy of all time, variously held up as a parable of Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, Kabbalah, Nietzsche, Camus, the Sisyphus myth, the practice of yoga, the process of recovery.
It’s less celebrated — though it should be — as a theory of love. Because it turns out that Ramis’s true genius was making “Groundhog Day” into a romantic comedy, when it easily could have been something else.
Read the rest of my Boston Globe column here.