Tornadobilly elegy

The new disaster film Twisters has been described as a “stand-alone sequel” by its producers. Meaning, I guess, that it is not a sequel to 1996’s cult classic Twister in the sense that its events do not continue from those in the previous film, nor is it a “reboot” that rehashes the same events. Rather, it exists in the same universe, one in which tornadoes strike the American Great Plains, somewhat without explanation, and a group of plucky heroes has to survive and sort of fight the tornadoes. Conceptually, it doesn’t make a lot of sense, except in a world in which Hollywood tends to put money behind only those projects that are connected to some existing “intellectual property,” the better to feel confident that there will be some audience with a reason to go see whatever the studio is spending millions on CGI to make. Perhaps it’s best not to think about it too hard, which is also the best way to approach this extremely fun movie — the sexiest tornado-science-slash-survivors-guilt-action-dramedy probably ever — and its nonsensical, delightful plot. 

“I love Oklahoma,” Kate, played by Daisy Edgar-Jones (Normal People), mutters to herself in the opening scene, looking up at the big, broad sky as an enormous storm cell forms over an open plain. In this movie, tornadoes, which are extremely common and only getting more frequent and destructive as part of the “outbreak” that sets off the plot, are to be both admired and feared. As things kick off, Kate and a crew of her young friends are a group of self-funded student scientists out to “tame” a tornado by getting one to suck up moisture-absorbing chemicals, theoretically causing it to die off spontaneously. But they select one that’s too big, and they are overwhelmed. Three of the five of them are sucked heavenward and killed. Kate, wounded and bleeding, survives. Fast-forward five years, and Kate is no longer in the Southwest, a weather-chasin’ country girl, but is rather a New Yorker looking at computer screen data. It will take the other survivor of the opening scene, the data guru Javi (Anthony Ramos of Hamilton and In the Heights), to draw her back in — and back to where it all began, in Oklahoma. 

In the universe of Twisters, there are three powerful forces: God, capitalism, and pickup trucks. The main plot is about our heroes using the third one to defeat the first two. But first, our team of heroes must assemble. As Javi and Kate reunite, Javi has set up a tornado-tracking radar data collection company, Storm Par, and he needs Kate’s preternatural weather instincts to help him predict tornadoes and get its radars in the proper place. But a lot has changed in five years. Now, in tornado season, when the storms start blowing, YouTube-famous storm chasers descend on the region to stream their exploits. Enter the most famous storm chaser, Tyler (Glen Powell), who styles himself a “tornado wrangler.” As tornado chasers go, Tyler’s team are fun-loving good guys, with modified Dodge trucks equipped with built-in anchors (you know, to secure them to the ground when they drive straight into tornadoes) and dreadlocks, juxtaposed by Storm Par, the doctorate-having, pen-pushing sticks in the mud. 

Despite Javi having been one of Kate’s oldest tornado-taming friends, it turns out his new company is actually collecting storm data for evil. When one twister wipes out a town, we see Javi’s team cross-reference its storm damage data against information about who is underinsured, and then we see his funder descend on the survivors to make them cut-rate offers on their ruined land. It is extremely unclear why better predictive storm radar would improve this predatory business scheme, given that it is already public information where a tornado has touched down after the fact. But anyway, that is how the movie establishes that some people are into chasin’ for the right reasons and that Storm Par, with its nice pickup trucks, is in it for the wrong ones. 

Kate, learning she’s teamed up with the bad tornado guys, is crestfallen. And so, with her faith in everything she knew shaken, she allows the YouTube tornado cowboy played by Powell to take her to the rodeo, where he explains that he used to be a regular cowboy and the two bond over their mutual folksiness and concern about tornadoes. Then, inevitably, the entire place is destroyed by a tornado. The two survive by hiding in an empty pool and are now incredibly attracted to each other — this being the natural consequence of two hot people sharing an experience of the proximity to death, and also of bull riding. Back home at Kate’s estranged mother’s farm, where country music plays over scenes of people who live simply but proudly, Kate and Tyler stare meaningfully at each other and say big science words while he learns of her younger plan to tame tornadoes. With some fancy computer modeling, they determine what went wrong back when Kate’s friends got killed. It was missing one thing: pickup truck-launched fireworks. A new plan is hatched. 

Twisters seems to exist in the same universe as The Fast And The Furious, at least as far as the logic and the vibes go: No problem can’t be solved by a crew with the right cars driving at it enough while making quips. It’s inconsequential but entertaining, which seems to be breakout star Powell’s forte. (See also such recent films as Hit Man and Anyone But You.) The tornado chasers have their own lingo. “You chasin’ again?” they’ll ask. Or: “I gave up chasin’ a long time ago.” Their equipment has corny names such as Scarecrow and Tinman. They have a little handshake, which ends with a two-fingered twister motion. They drive beautiful fast trucks for stupid reasons. And, if there were 20 spinoffs, I would watch every single one of them. 

Kara Kennedy is a freelance writer living in Washington, D.C.