TWISTERS and The End of American Hegemony or:

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Glen Powell

Before this week’s newsletter, a bit of housekeeping:

1. I enjoy writing very much. I also would love to make a living doing it. If 2% of my subscribers (on Substack) pledged $8 a month or (the bargain, the steal) $80 a year, I would have enough to pay a lot of my rent (not all of it). But it would make a big difference. I will turn pledges on if we hit around that threshold. It’s something you can do. And it keeps it free for everyone too! Yay!

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Without further ado, here is this week’s piece:

How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Glen Powell

I am sitting in a movie theater in Williamsburg which is half full, depending on who you ask. I had to change my ticket because I rolled the dice on the wheelchair companion seating (I’m sorry, I bought these thirty minutes before the showing…I’m sorry) and it turned out the way the layout works, I would be the third wheel on a set of three seats. As much fun as the prospect is to sit next to a couple with an empty space next to us, I have determined I do not want to do this, so I instead move, begrudgingly a little closer to the screen.

Anyways,

I am here to see TWISTERS. This is not simply an adventure-packed sequel to the 1996 classic Twister. It is, if anything, its spiritual successor, a broken and shallow one that is perfectly emblematic of the age and moment in which we live. And I’m pretty sure it’s not even on purpose. And that makes it even better.

Reanimating the spirit of its predecessor, TWISTERS is laden with iconic symbols of American patriotism: fluttering flags, roaring pickup trucks, rodeos, country music, and of course fireworks launched into the heart of a tornado. These images inside the narrative of the story reflect the current state of American identity—deeply rooted in the symbols of power and resilience but increasingly disconnected from the realities they once represented. And let’s not ignore that even at a past time this represented a false reality. Isn’t that fucking great? These symbols are part of a spectacle designed to evoke nostalgia and pride but ultimately ring hollow in the face of genuine crisis.

In Jean Baudrillard's terms, TWISTERS functions as a simulacrum, a copy without an original. The film’s disaster sequences, though visually spectacular, feel like hollow echoes of a more genuine awe and fear evoked by the original Twister. The tornadoes are hyperreal, more vivid and terrifying than ever (there’s a fire tornado), yet they exist in a narrative that feels absurdly contrived. This mirrors the broader cultural landscape, where patriotic displays are more about spectacle than substance, more about maintaining a facade than confronting underlying truths. Where bigger problems, like climate change, are simply not part of the conversation. Because, honestly, they kind of ruin the vibe.

Twister was already what might be considered a “first-order simulacrum,” a nostalgic representation of something deep in the American psyche. Our desire to fight and control nature, to take risks, to do the impossible. To have complete domination over nature which will always be inherently indomitable because our relationship with the world is a symbiotic one that requires balance more than absolute control. This representation of reality feels more like a caricature than anything else. And sure, why shouldn’t it? It’s a stupid fucking disaster movie with mooing flying cows and silly punch lines.

Don’t hassle him, he’s local.

Perhaps then, TWISTERS, nearly 20 years later, by its very nature is a “second-order simulacrum,” a form of transition into an even more distorted reality. We are moving away from something even remotely rooted in reality. Glen Powell’s truck that sits at the bottom of a tornado by digging itself into the ground for the purpose of shooting fireworks into the fucking tornado to put on a dazzling display for social media, for example. Absurd? But doesn’t part of you almost feel like, sure why not? I could imagine it. These social media people will do anything, they’re sickos!

But maybe it’s more than that, too.

The film’s protagonist, Kate Carter (played by Daisy Edgar-Jones in a bit of an uninspired performance), is a former storm chaser turned cautious data analyst. Her journey back to the plains to face the storms symbolizes a reluctant engagement with the chaotic realities of the present. Similarly, Glen Powell (a demon sent from hell, this I am sure) plays Tyler Owens, a social media superstar, embodying the commodification of heroism in the digital age. His adventures are curated for maximum online impact, reflecting how modern American heroism is often more about image than action. Even Powell himself is a sort of simulacrum, a Tom Cruise homunculus (in other words, a demon sent from hell).

Pictured: Glen Powell

The characters' efforts to "fight back" against the tornadoes with their research are set against the backdrop of a world where climate change—never mentioned in the film—makes storms more intense and destructive. This omission is telling. It reflects the broader societal tendency to ignore or downplay the root causes of systemic issues, opting instead for superficial solutions and heroic gestures. Like, as an example, purportedly progressive politicians speaking out about environmental action while approving tens of thousands of drilling permits or massive oil and gas projects. In the film, those who "come to the rescue" are mostly incompetent action junkies and social media gurus. At one point, a character offers to help a woman whose home has been destroyed by handing her a photo album. My theater’s laughter at this moment highlighted the absurdity and impotence of such a gesture in the face of real devastation. It felt like a microcosm of how the American government often responds to crises: with token efforts that fail to address the underlying causes or offer meaningful solutions.

The film’s climax, where characters take shelter in a movie theater only to have the screen ripped off by a tornado, reveals a meta-moment of hyperreality. The audience is reminded of their own position, sitting in a theater, watching a movie that is itself a copy of something else. This scene poignantly illustrates Baudrillard’s idea of the hyperreal—where reality is replaced by its representation, and the boundary between the two dissolves. The destruction of the movie screen, revealing the real tornado, symbolizes the collision of hyperreality with genuine, unmediated disaster. As we sit watching this unfold, we are totally safe because this is a film for our entertainment. The stakes are never in doubt, for us or the characters. We know they will succeed. Our own prospects are much more dubious. But we let it wash over our beautiful brains. It’s the fuckin’ movies, baby!

Also worth noting is that the film is entirely nonsexual, as if to signal to us that we are impotent as well. While Glen Powell has a blast shooting fireworks up the tornado’s hole, we are treated to no such other payloads. There is not even a simple kiss between our romantic leads. It is a truly sexless film. This is important, because we are reminded that we are neutered now. We are not virile. We are cultural eunuchs. Or, maybe not. I don’t know. I just wanted some freaking smooching.

Walking out of the movie theater I thought to myself, it would have made the film even better, perhaps the highest form of art, if moments after the climax passed a silhouette of a man walked into the fictional theater and shot all the characters dead in a mass shooting. Then I would have bought it. Admittedly, I do not think this would test well with audiences.

TWISTERS is a reflection of a nation grappling with its identity and place in the world. Through its hyperreal spectacles and hollow patriotic symbols, it offers a meditation on the state of America and the performative nature of modern patriotism and political action. Did they do it on purpose? Fuck if I know. Probably not! But Glen Powell (a demon sent from hell) is fun to watch. As we watch him suddenly and inexplicably sport a tight crisp white t-shirt during a rainstorm, we have to ask ourselves: is this the essence of our times, hyperreal spectacles that keeps us from facing the true challenges ahead?

Maybe so. Either way, I love the movies.