I Think About Bill Paxton’s Fiancée in Twister a Lot

You may think Twister is a fun natural-disaster popcorn flick, but it is in fact a horror movie about a nightmare third-wheel scenario.

One of the most exciting moviegoing experiences of my youth involved thrilling tornado chases, aggressive sexual tension between Helen Hunt and Bill Paxton, and flying cows. I left the theater where I saw Twister for the first time on a buzz, the kind you get only from one of the ultimate summer blockbusters. So it came as a surprise when rewatching the movie this year — now as a 30-something, recently engaged woman — that I couldn’t stop hyperfocusing on its most tragic element, and no, I’m not talking about when Cary Elwes gets sucked up into a funnel cloud. I’m talking about Bill’s (Paxton) fiancée, Melissa, whose simple quest for a quick wedding leads her on a horrifying third-wheel nightmare of a day trip.

You may think Twister is a movie about facing natural disasters and personal demons, but it’s really the story of how one woman is emotionally, physically, and psychologically tortured because a man with super-heightened tornado senses can’t read women’s emotions. Let’s face it: Former storm chaser turned weatherman Dr. Bill Harding was totally wrong for Dr. Melissa Reeves (Jami Gertz), and the signs couldn’t have been clearer from the get-go. Melissa, a kindhearted career woman with a mild, southern charm, is more than accommodating and gracious while accompanying Bill to collect divorce papers from his estranged wife, Dr. Joanne “Jo” Harding (Hunt). This is already a bit sad and awkward for three Ph.D. holders. Before they even arrive, Melissa picks up on Bill’s nervous excitement about seeing his ex, and neither of them is sure that Jo will even (a) be there or (b) sign the papers at all. Red flag No. 1.

Shortly after meeting up with Jo and her team, Melissa is surprised to learn from affable weirdo Dusty (the late, great Philip Seymour Hoffman) that her fiancé’s nickname is “The Extreme.” Red flag No. 2. Turns out Bill filled her in on his storm-chasing past, but not on how far he used to take it (we learn later he once drunkenly taunted a tornado buck naked). Does Melissa even know the man she’s marrying? Then, Bill sends her away to learn about the “suck zone” from Dusty while he locks in on Jo, taking in her new operation and asking about the divorce papers — in the process revealing that he didn’t even tell Jo he was bringing Melissa there. Jo is then forced to introduce herself to Melissa while Bill stands there doing nothing. (Red flag No. 3, but let’s stop counting or we’re going to run out of flags.)

Here, the cringey sizing up begins: Jo, effortlessly cool, like Lara Croft in a tank top with windswept hair, talks shop about tornadoes and jumps off the back of a pickup truck with ease. Meanwhile, Melissa is overdressed in a cream-colored pantsuit and outs herself as a reproductive therapist (it’s the ’90s, so this is not cool) and takes the first of several client calls on an obnoxiously large cell phone. Then we finally learn why Jo asked Bill to meet her there: Dorothy, their tornado-studying invention that might as well be the embodiment of their unresolved baggage, is on the verge of taking flight. “Show me,” Bill says, practically salivating at this point.

You get the picture. But Bill’s instantly superior chemistry with Jo is just the first of many humiliations for Melissa. Here’s a sampling of the rest:

Mercifully, that’s the final straw before Melissa says, “I’m out” and tells Bill she’s going home because she can’t compete with this. You might remember that this breakup scene has the feel of someone rejecting a job offer after several rounds of interviews; polite, almost apologetic, with a tone of “This is the best decision for both of us.” What you might not recall is that the entire thing lasts less than a minute (!) — about 42 seconds — and Bill leaves without so much as a tear. She was going to marry this man! He was more upset earlier about being called a weatherman (which is his actual job)!

One minute, you’re about to make a life-changing commitment to someone who’s clearly in love with his ex, the next, you’re essentially replaced in the movie by a golden retriever that the crew rescues from Jo’s aunt Meg’s house. Melissa, with no clear way of getting home since their truck was destroyed, leaves the movie at the top of Act 3, never to be seen (or even mentioned) again.

That nightmare may be over, but the movie’s ending hit me as sadder than I remembered. Yes, we finally get to see our now-unburdened former couple achieve their destiny together with Dorothy taking flight — it’s like watching their child take its first steps (into a tornado). But it’s just like the end of a horror movie when you think the killer is dead. Sure, Bill and Jo are happy now, in the afterglow of tornado chasing. What happens when the adrenaline wears off? Both their relationship and professional partnership failed before for reasons that are never addressed, and based on how we saw Bill treat Melissa, will probably fail again. Jo deserves way better, just like Melissa — who we can only hope got home okay. At its core, Twister draws on a universal truth: Some people refuse to see when they’re in a bad situation, even if all the signs are there — violently whipping through the air in 70-mph winds, threatening to decapitate you. They’re still gonna chase that high.