So up to a point, ““Twister’’ is fun. An army of high-tech wizards spent a good chunk of this $85 million movie creating virtual tornados, tall slim dervishes pirouetting madly across Oklahoma, Cuisinarting everything in their path. The stormchasers drive after twister A. They drive after twister B. After a while you’re overcome by twister ennui. True, the debris changes, chunks of houses fly by, whole cows go zooming aloft like Okie Chagalls. But essentially it’s just one damn blow after another. Wide-eyed guys spotting a storm on their radar screens and gasping: ““It’s an F5!’’ won’t do it. Part of the problem is the absence of evil. A tornado isn’t an alien with galactic goo dripping from its mandibles, it’s not Darth Vader hiding his bad hair under a phallic hat. Tornadoes are just doing their job. There’s hardly any lethal carnage in ““Twister.’’ At one point a storm approaches a drive-in movie. Goody, we’re going to see kids, cars and Dairy Queens blown all over the place. But director Jan de Bont (““Speed’’) shortchanges our healthy lust for destruction.
Theory: although ““Twister’’ lists about 500 producers, the one that counts is executive producer Steven Spielberg. It may be that after his experience making ““Schindler’s List,’’ Spielberg doesn’t want his imprimatur on gratuitous violence, of which there was plenty in the Indiana Jones films. Yes, there’s a death in ““Twister,’’ because no tornado can be a total wimp. One of the chasers describes Bill as a far-out guy who once walked up to a twister with a bottle of beer, said, ““Have a drink!’’ and tossed the brew into the whirlwind. Why tell it? Show it. Spielberg has invented a new genre, the make-nice thriller.
