John Carpenter’s Escape from L.A. is no mere action flick. Beneath its campy veneer and leather-clad rebellion lies a prophetic descent into the darkest corridors of American identity—one that reflects not only the future, but the rotten underside of our present. It’s a sequel, yes—but it’s also a mirror held up to the face of a decaying republic.

The film revives the ghost of morality laws—those rigid codes long buried during the Obama and Biden eras, when personal freedoms had, for a brief moment, tasted daylight. But in Carpenter’s future, those laws are exhumed, dressed in patriotic flesh, and marched across the land under the banner of a born-again Moral America. This New Theocracy doesn’t just enforce religious values—it legislates them. No more gay marriage. No more abortion. No more personal liberty. “Moral Majority” isn’t a slogan anymore. It’s a verdict.

And don’t bother clinging to the Constitution—it’s still there, somewhere, scribbled on parchment, but the machine has outpaced it. Carpenter doesn’t ignore it—he scoffs at its weakness. Amending it, as he reminds us, is nearly impossible when 3/4 of Congress can’t agree on the day of the week. The government in Escape from L.A. doesn’t wait for amendments—it overrides them with fear. It crowns a President for life. Not elected. Enthroned. Sound familiar?

Then there’s the casual horror of deportation camps for Americans. Yes, you read that right. Not undocumented immigrants—citizens. It happened before, during World War II, to Japanese Americans. It’s happening now, in spirit if not in headline. And in Carpenter’s future, it’s systematized. Think you’re free? One wrong belief, one wrong religion, one wrong haircut—and you’re shipped off.

The film reminds us the border issue is never about borders. It’s about control. It’s about who gets to belong, and who gets disappeared.

And just when the viewer starts to feel grounded, Carpenter drops deep fakes and holograms—Tupac-style illusions, projected lies so real they overwrite truth itself. Freedom? It’s just another illusion, a dying echo in the mouth of a tyrant-president who bellows “Freedom!” as though he didn’t strangle it in its sleep. Snake Plissken doesn’t bite. He just sneers, “In America? It died a long time ago.”

Nuclear mini-batteries power more than weapons—they power surveillance, drone wars, and suppression. Progress? Or apocalypse with a USB port?

And then—perhaps most chillingly—freedom of religion is reduced to a joke. In South Dakota, a Muslim woman named Taslima exists as a criminal by birthright. Not because of what she’s done, but because of who she is. In this America, faith itself is an act of rebellion. God help you if you pray to the wrong one.

In the end, Escape from L.A. is not a warning. It’s a requiem. Carpenter’s future isn’t fiction—it’s just America, with the volume turned up and the mask ripped off. Snake Plissken doesn’t save us. He watches it all burn. And maybe, just maybe, that’s mercy.