jaime brooks delivers a startling thesis: the collapse of the global superhero boom isn't about bad scripts or tired actors, but about a fundamental shift in American energy policy that severed the cultural tether to the rest of the world. By linking the rise of hydraulic fracturing to the decline of Hollywood's international appeal, the piece reframes a box office slump as a symptom of a nation turning inward, literally and figuratively. This is not just film criticism; it is a geopolitical diagnosis of why American culture no longer travels.
The Domestic Turn
The author begins by establishing their own credentials as a die-hard fan, noting that while they loved the early Marvel Cinematic Universe, "very few of the superhero movies that have been released in the past five years have been bangers." Brooks acknowledges that some recent films, like Shang-Chi and Spider-Man: No Way Home, succeeded by focusing on character depth or subverting tropes, but argues that the franchise's overall momentum has been blunted. The core of the argument, however, pivots to a specific anomaly: why are movies that audiences actually like failing to reach billion-dollar status?
Brooks writes, "The answer is China. Chinese moviegoers are not going to see any of this shit." The author points out that while domestic numbers for films like Superman and Fantastic Four: First Steps are respectable, international returns are soft. This isn't because these characters are uniquely American; rather, it reflects a global shift where other nations are consuming their own stories. As Brooks observes, "They have their own film industry now, which is perfectly capable of satisfying the wants and needs of the Chinese audience without outside assistance." The evidence here is compelling, citing the massive success of the Chinese animated feature Ne Zha II over Hollywood tentpoles. This suggests that the era of a single, monolithic global pop culture is over, replaced by regional silos.
From one hemisphere to the other, there is fracking as far as the eye can see.
The Economics of Inwardness
The commentary then shifts from the screen to the stars, using actress Sydney Sweeney as a case study for this new economic reality. Brooks notes that Sweeney's heavy reliance on domestic advertising campaigns for brands like Ford and Dr. Squatch stands in stark contrast to the global luxury endorsements of previous generations. The author argues that this isn't a personal failing but a structural necessity: "What if the more conventional, glamorous path to fame and fortune that she seems to be deviating from just isn't an option for someone in her position anymore?" The piece posits that the prestige required to sell aspirational luxury products to the world has evaporated because the world is no longer watching.
This framing is sharp, connecting the mundane reality of a celebrity's Instagram feed to the macroeconomics of global trade. Brooks writes, "What if accumulating the sort of prestige that used to allow American celebrities to sell aspirational luxury products to the rest of the world's most strident clout chasers has become pointless?" The argument holds weight when considering that the target audience for these ads is now strictly domestic. Critics might note that Sweeney's career choices could simply be a matter of personal brand strategy or a lack of high-end offers, rather than a macro-trend, but the sheer volume of her domestic endorsements makes the structural argument difficult to dismiss. The author effectively suggests that the "global celebrity" is a dying breed, replaced by the "domestic influencer."
The Shale Revolution
The most provocative leap in the piece connects these cultural shifts to the "shale revolution" of 2008, which unlocked vast domestic oil and gas reserves through hydraulic fracturing. Brooks argues that this technological breakthrough allowed the United States to achieve energy independence without needing to compromise with global climate goals or foreign partners. "The shale revolution kind of fucked that up by making it possible for America to achieve 'energy independence' by doubling down on fossil fuels instead," Brooks writes. This energy self-sufficiency, the author contends, created a psychological and economic environment where the U.S. no longer needed to court the world, leading to a culture that is increasingly insular.
The piece draws a direct line from the fracking boom to the current cultural moment, asking, "What is culture downstream from?" and answering with the geography of energy. The author notes that even progressive icons like RuPaul have engaged in fracking, symbolizing a society where the consensus on climate action has fractured under the weight of cheap domestic energy. "Everyone is fracking," Brooks asserts, using the metaphor to describe a culture that is drilling deep into its own resources and ignoring the global consensus. This is a bold, deterministic argument that ties together environmental policy, economic isolationism, and pop culture fatigue.
Andrew Breitbart used to say that politics is downstream from culture, which begs the question: what is culture downstream from?
Bottom Line
jaime brooks offers a brilliant, if slightly deterministic, framework for understanding the current malaise in Hollywood and American culture. The strongest part of the argument is the connection between the U.S.'s energy independence and its cultural retreat from the global stage, a link rarely made in mainstream analysis. However, the piece risks oversimplifying the complex reasons for international box office declines by attributing them almost entirely to the shale revolution, potentially underestimating the role of geopolitical tensions and the genuine rise of competing film industries. Readers should watch for how this "domestic turn" plays out in the next decade of American media, as the era of the global blockbuster may well be over.