Can we stop the 'Die Hard' Christmas debate?

Turning the movie into a novelty overlooks its greatness.

Illustration by Carlos Lerma

This weekend, I had the opportunity to cross an item off my movie bucket list: I finally saw Die Hard on a big screen. A local repertory theater was playing it as part of their Christmas lineup, so some friends and I gathered to watch John McClane deck the Nakatomi Tower. 

I’ve seen Die Hard countless times, but there’s really nothing like seeing it with a crowd. Every explosion rattled the walls, applause greeted Alan Rickman and Reginald Vel Johnson’s first appearances, and everyone broke out into a sing-along of “Let it Snow” as the credits rolled. It was a perfect viewing of one of my all-time favorite films. 

And, of course, the theater and the emcee leaned into the festivity of the event. T-shirts proclaimed “Die Hard is my favorite Christmas movie,” the film’s poster was surrounded by Christmas lights, and the emcee declared it the “greatest Christmas story ever” several times, backed up by rowdy applause. 

It’s become a pop culture tradition to pull out the “Die Hard is a Christmas movie, actually” discussion each year. Some people still think they’re being clever when they suggest it as one of the great holiday traditions, never mind that film geeks have watched it each Christmas since its release (I was wrapping gifts while watching it back when I was in college). Others roll their eyes and declare that Christmas movies must have a holiday parable baked within or a festive spirit.

The beauty of the debate is that there’s no real answer. If your idea of a Christmas movie is only warm fuzzies and lessons learned, I can get why Die Hard might not fit your idea of a Yuletide staple. But if your definition of a Christmas film is one that includes holiday music, festive trappings, a Christmas setting and family reunions, then I’d argue the movie fits just as well as Gremlins, Lethal Weapon and many others. For me, Die Hard is a Christmas movie; for my wife it isn’t — but she’ll still sit and watch it with me each December. 

Honestly, I kind of find the debate annoying. Not only is it unoriginal, it risks turning the movie into only a Christmas movie. It becomes a novelty. It’s the same problem with It’s a Wonderful Life, which is too often only discussed as a Christmas movie and not unpacked as the masterpiece it is. Each year, I hear more discussion about whether Die Hard is a great Christmas movie and less about how Die Hard is just great, period. 

And that’s a shame. Because Die Hard truly is great, no matter the time of year. It’s John McTiernan’s finest hour as a director, and a sly rebuke to the steroidal actioners that filled megaplexes in the 1980s. So, take off your shoes, make fists with your toes, and let’s talk about the greatness of Die Hard. 

Yippee-kai-yay, moviegoers 

Die Hard is so iconic that it too often gets judged based on the drek that came in its wake. There are plenty of very big, loud and dumb movies featuring one man trapped in a single location taking down bad guys — including the growing number of Die Hard sequels. The film set such an easy-to-replicate template that we eventually got “Die Hard on a bus/boat/train/hockey stadium/Alcatraz” movies, and Bruce Willis was apparently once pitched “Die Hard in a skyscraper,” which seems like a joke until you realize they actually also did that. And, like Jaws, Halloween, Alien and any number of trend-setters before it, Die Hard came to be judged based on its imitators, dismissed as another blow ‘em up, bash the baddies, dunder-head actioner. 

Watching it again, particularly on a big screen, shows just how wrong that decision is. Die Hard isn’t dumb; it’s remarkably smart and self-aware. It doesn’t cut corners and it doesn’t take the easy way. While I don’t think Die Hard is quite as great as Raiders of the Lost Ark, that comparison played in my head several times during this viewing. It’s a remarkable bit of craftsmanship that works like gangbusters; it’s highly entertaining without ever succumbing to a “guilty pleasure” mindset, and the reason it works so well is because McTiernan, Willis and everyone involved bring their A-games and do career-best work. 

Let’s start with the script by Jeb Stuart and Steven E. de Souza. It might not be the tightest screenplay, but it does the legwork. The exposition is brilliant; with just a throwaway line at the beginning and a shot of McClane’s holster on the plane, we know he’s a cop and that he’s prepared. The limo ride with Argyle, the early confrontation with Holly, and the brief talks with Takagi and Ellis tell us all we need to know about the tension between John and his wife, McClane’s stubbornness, and the under-construction Nakatomi Building. 

The story itself is fairly straightforward — stop the bad guys, get the girl —but there are twists, turns and mysteries throughout. There’s the matter of the explosives on the roof, which become a more pressing concern as the film continues. There’s McClane’s attempts to gather intel, gain his bearings and stay a step ahead of Hans. And there’s the brilliant reason for getting McClane out of his shoes — seeded less than two minutes into the film — which not only makes him extremely vulnerable, but has its payoff later on in the fantastic “shoot the glass” sequence. Die Hard is never in a hurry, but it’s never spinning its wheels. The script constantly feeds the audience information or sets up the next hurdle for McClane to think or fight his way out of. Watching it for the umpteenth time, it was noticeable how none of the action sequences feel like set pieces; each is organic to the story, spinning out of the characters’ decisions. It’s a remarkably smart movie. 

Die Hard is, of course, based on Roderick Thorpe’s novel Nothing Lasts Forever, which was a sequel to his novel The Detective. While it’s a suspenseful and entertaining read, with several sequences that show up in the finished film, it feels nothing like Die Hard. Its villains aren’t robbers, they’re actual terrorists. The story seethes with bitterness and cynicism, and its ending is bleak, mean and hard. It’s difficult to read it and imagine “Ode to Joy” anywhere on the soundtrack. 

Perhaps the greatest triumph of the Die Hard script is how it takes that dark material and turns it into something fun. Key, of course, is veering away from the all-too-real terrorists element and making it a heist. But there’s also a sly element of satire in the film’s back half (we’ll talk about that in the next section), plus the film’s endlessly quotable dialogue. “Yippee-kai-yay, mother***er” is the famous line, but you could easily pick a dozen more. “Did I sound like I wanted to order a pizza?” “Sprechen ze talk?” “It’s Christmas Theo, it’s the season of miracles.” “Hans, bubie.” The movie gets a lot of deserved credit for being an action classic, but the comedy helps it all go down easier. 

Cowboys and Grubers 

Bruce Willis, of course, raised eyebrows when he was paid a then unheard-of sum to be an action star; up until then, he had been a comedic actor and sometimes singer, best known for Blind Date, Seagrams commercials and the TV show Moonlighting. But his comedic chops are a feature, not a bug. It’s the pain-in-the-butt stubbornness and wiseass streak that make McClane relatable; he’s a smart cop, but he’s also the buddy who probably always has a good joke over beers. His tenacity and impatience make him a fly in the ointment to Hans, but it’s clear how this also makes him a frustrating husband. Willis acquits himself well in the action sequences, but it’s the humor and vulnerability that turn McClane into an indelible hero, and the loss of that as the franchise continued is a big reason for its diminishing returns. 

I know it’s factually correct that Die Hard is Alan Rickman’s feature debut, but my brain just doesn’t believe it. The instant Hans Gruber walks on screen, the film goes into a higher gear. Rickman has a calm cruelty that served him well throughout his career, and Hans is an effective villain not because he’s a physical threat but because from the first time we see him, we know he’s poised, intelligent and one step ahead of everyone. There’s an unflappability to Hans that gives him an extra dose of menace, and the sequence in which he adopts an American accent to fool McClane is possibly the movie’s best scene. In that scene, we get the full glimpse of Hans’s cleverness, and the only hope we have is that McClane is on his toes; brute force won’t get him out of this. But Rickman also knows when to let some of the air out of Hans, and he’s often very funny, particularly in his scene with Ellis. He showcases how ruffled Hans gets the more unstoppable McClane seems to be; by the end of the film, his composure is almost completely lost and he’s defending himself as “an exceptional thief” because he knows his plan is collapsing around him. Rickman is a fantastic foil for Willis, and you can see his future career being secured in his work here. 

It’s a shame that Bonnie Bedelia only returned to the franchise once more, as Holly is the emotional anchor for John. Bedelia brings a strength that not only allows her to go toe-to-toe with Rickman, but that also makes it believable that she might be the only person who can put up with McClane. Reginald Vel Johnson may have typecast himself forever as Powell, but he’s tremendously effective as McClane’s sounding board, even if the “thank you John, I can kill again” moment at the end has aged poorly. The bond between John and Al is one of the film’s most memorable threads, and it’s also a shame that Vel Johnson was only invited back for a brief cameo in Die Hard 2. Each supporting character is also memorable, from William Atherton moving on from being a dickish EPA agent in Ghostbusters to being a dickish reporter here; Atherton has a knack for creating some of ‘80s cinema’s most punchable characters. Hart Bochner gives great ‘80s scumball as yuppie trash Ellis, Clarence Gilyard Jr. brings amped-up energy to his role as tech villain Theo, and De’ voureaux White earns some of the biggest laughs as limo driver Argyle. Even the henchmen have personalities; the merciless Karl might be the most famous, but I love the guy who steals a Nestle Crunch bar while waiting to take on the SWAT team. 

Behind-the-camera brilliance 

John McTiernan deserves to be mentioned alongside John Woo and Walter Hill as one of the great action directors. With Predator, Die Hard and The Hunt for Red October, he delivered three of the great genre movies of the 1980s. Working with cinematographer Jan de Bont — who would later direct one of the best Die Hard-inspired films, Speed — and editors John Link and Frank Urioste, he crafts one of the most visually clever and well-paced action films ever made. The film unfolds patiently but efficiently; it’s nearly 30 minutes before the siege is under way, and everything before it helps set the stage and draw out the suspense. From there, the film never feels rushed or drags; it’s a methodical, relentless barrel to the top of the Nakatomi Tower. 

Credit is, of course, due for the film’s iconic action sequences, where McTiernan shows he’s a master of geography. That first half hour is crucial to giving audiences the lay of the land in the Nakatomi Tower, and by the time McClane is playing cat and mouse through its ducts and elevator shafts, we know exactly where he is in relation to the terrorists. When the film goes big, such as McClane’s leap from the top of the building, the film ratchets the suspense until the last possible moment and then gives a glorious shot of Willis in mid-air, flames billowing behind him — and gives just enough time for the audience to breathe until McClane has to face his next obstacle, as the fire hose’s anchor threatens to drag him down to the street. 

And while the action is expertly choreographed and edited, there’s not enough praise lavished on Die Hard’s visual storytelling. From that shot of McClane’s sidearm on the airplane, the movie is constantly doling out exposition visually whenever possible. De Bont films the Nakatomi building looking up early on, letting it engulf John as he enters its foyer, the security gate looming above him in one shot like a prison. The camera often captures McClane’s state of mind to show what he’s thinking; as the villains begin their siege, we see him looking down the hall and the camera adopts his POV, looking at the would-be terrorists, shifting to an emergency exit, and back. McTiernan does something similar late in the “shoot the glass” sequence, the camera capturing an exit sign, looking down at the shattered glass on the floor, and then reminding us of McClane’s bare feet. 

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There’s one repeated visual McTiernan uses that has a fantastic payoff, and I just noticed it this time. Throughout the film, he captures something off to the side in the foreground, out of the main subject’s sightline, highlighting a threat. It happens early when Al Powell walks into the Nakatomi lobby and we see a gun around the corner, which he avoids when he decides to walk back to the car. Later, we get a similar shot with Hans’ gun hidden off to the side as he’s trying to fool McClane. Both times, the threat is there and then deflated. Then, late in the film, during the brutal beatdown of Karl, the henchmen walks into a room chasing McClane and we get the shot again, only it’s McClane who’s the one hiding; and this time, we get the payoff, with McClane delivering a decisive kick to the villain’s face. 

We don’t discuss these things when we talk about Die Hard; we talk about the one-liners, stunts and explosions. But behind all of those, maybe unconsidered by many, is incredible craftsmanship. Die Hard is an exceptionally made film. But its biggest secret might be that it’s also an incredibly smart one. 

The antidote to the macho movie 

Although I’ve seen Die Hard dozens of times, watching it this year came with a bit of internal tension. I live in the Detroit area, only about an hour south of Oxford, Michigan, where early last week a young man took a gun to school and killed four of his classmates. It’s yet another tragic story, and a reminder of the distaste I have for guns. It made me wonder whether I was hypocritical for my love of a movie that hinges so much on one man saving the day by shooting bad guys in an enclosed space. 

There’s definitely a nuanced, thoughtful conversation to be had about whether action movies contribute to America’s gun problem. While no studies have conclusively shown a link between on-screen violence and real-world mass shootings, I do think there’s a link between the way action movies lovingly linger on guns and Americans’ fetishization of them. There are a number of people who carry concealed weapons because, in their hearts, they imagine they’re all capable of being John McClane should the situation warrant. And none of this is helped by the scourge of movies that show dozens or more being mowed down by guns but walk away with a PG-13 rating because they don’t contain any evidence of bloodshed or the harmful work of bullets. 

Die Hard could be seen as a movie rife for cancelation with its extended shootouts and lone wolf hero. But it’s remarkable how the film feels more like a response and corrective to those movies. Made in the age when Arnold Schwarzenegger and Sylvester Stallone (both of whom the movie namechecks) regularly dispensed onscreen justice as larger-than-life brutes, Die Hard’s charm was the everyman nature of its hero. But McClane’s vulnerability also underscores the brutality of gun violence, robs it of its glamour (save from the unfortunate end of Al Powell’s arc) and punctures a hole in the macho facades not only of the big screen action movies but of those waiting for their chance to run into the fray. 

Key to John McClane’s appeal is that he does not want to be John McClane. He doesn’t want to be the guy to run in with guns blazing; his initial response is to try to contact the police, and he only fights back when he has no choice (it’s also worth mentioning that while McClane is an everyman, he’s still a professional police officer, not an average Joe with a CCW and delusions of being a hero). “All things considered, I’d rather be in Philadelphia,” he jokes to Powell late in the film, and it’s true; Willis portrays McClane as constantly frustrated and scared. He’s not overly confident, and he doesn’t have the upper hand. And he doesn’t escape unscathed; John McClane goes through the wringer in this movie, and suffers so much damage that his wife grimaces when she finally sees him again. 

And the film doesn’t shy away from the fact that bullets do damage. Die Hard has become so ingrained as a fun bit of escapism that I’m constantly shocked every time I rewatch it and remember how bloody it is. Bullets tear through flesh in this movie, blood sprays from wounds, John is wounded and carries those wounds with him throughout the movie. Don’t get me wrong: it would be absurd to claim Die Hard is an anti-violence movie, and McTiernan often punctuates action sequences with jokes or visual grace notes that lighten the mood. But there’s always the reminder that guns kill, bullets destroy and that McClane is paying a toll for playing the hero. 

And he’s the only one who seems to realize that. The film takes great joy in poking fun at the people who are all too eager to wade in and join the fight. There is, of course, Ellis, who never picks up a gun but tries to wheel and deal Hans, only to be on the wrong end of the negotiations. There’s Powell’s superior (Paul Gleason), who can’t wait to send his tactical team after the perceived terrorists, growling “kick ass” before they go; one of the movie’s great visual jokes finds the gung-ho team approaching the building, only for one of the supposed badasses to be pricked by a thorn on a rosebush. Then there’s the FBI agents, who can’t wait to man a gun and get into a helicopter (“Just like Saigon!”) and “can live with” losing 25% of the hostages, so long as they can wipe out the terrorists. The script knows what it's doing when it gives both of the dick-swinging Feds the surname Johnson.

Die Hard has badass action, but it’s a decidedly unmacho movie. Its hero is a bloody wreck by the end and there’s a scene where he tearfully asks a friend to pass along his apology to his wife. The people most willing and ready to be heroes either die or end up embarrassed. And while the film’s final shot might feature a tender kiss between a husband and wife, its most emotional moment is an embrace between two men as McClane and Powell find each other after the building is safe. Die Hard still feels dangerous and exciting because vulnerability, not aggression, is baked into it. 

Is it all probably a tad too much by the time “Let it Snow” plays? Perhaps; Die Hard does feel a bit overstuffed in the second act (I wouldn’t cut Atherton’s role, but the cutbacks to the news broadcast are entertaining but unnecessary). But if anything, it’s just too much of a good thing. Sure, Die Hard is a Christmas movie. But that’s because Die Hard’s a great movie, full stop. There’s never a bad time to watch it. It’s a classic; I think that should be the conversation we keep having about it.