July 15, 1988 | Die Hard is a hard-driving, pulse-pounding, high-velocity action-thriller, the wild rollercoaster ride we’ve been waiting for all summer. Better still, beyond the blood and thunder there is heart and soul, thanks to the bold, full-bodied lead performance by Bruce Willis.
Directed with state-of-the-art pizzazz by John McTiernan (Predator), and ingeniously written by Jeb Stuart and Steven de Souza, the movie is all about the right man in the wrong place at the right time. John McClane (Willis), a veteran New York cop, flies to L.A. on Christmas Eve, for a reconciliation with his estranged wife, Holly (Bonnie Bedelia), and their two children. Holly moved West several months earlier, for a career-building promotion in a
multinational corporation. She, too, is hoping for a happy holiday. But it won’t be a silent night.
Shortly after John and Holly have a not-so-warm reunion at her office Christmas party, all hell breaks loose in the high-rise building. While John unwinds in his wife’s office, stretching his bare toes on the plush carpet and regaining his lost temper, a group of terrorists storms out of the elevator. And, mind you, we’re not talking about your garden-variety bomb-throwers. No, these terrorists are dressed like GQ fashion plates, and they’re more interested in capitalism than class struggle. In short, they want a crack at the loot inside the Nakatomi Corporation safe.
Led by the ice-cold Hans Gruber, played by Royal Shakespeare Company veteran Alan Rickman (Les Liaisons Dangereuses ), the terrorists have prepared for every eventuality: They have secured the bottom floors, booby-trapped the roof, recruited a computer genius to access the safe’s security systems. But, of course, they haven’t counted on dealing with a trained New York cop, armed only with his service pistol. John tries to arrest a terrorist, and winds up killing him. That’s the opening gambit, and the cat-and-mouse game begins.
In synopsis, this might sound like Rambo in the Towering Inferno. But Die Hard, despite a few familiar elements, is very much an original. For one thing, McTiernan and his scriptwriters are very deft at spiking their thrills and chills with some sharply honed satire. Sensationalistic TV newscasters get some particularly nasty jabs, as the audience cheers.
And when the time comes to play hardball, the moviemakers pull off the sort of hairpin curves and bravura flourishes that can bring the house down. Die Hard is one slam-bang movie you must see on the big screen, in a crowded theatre with a lot of responsive people, with the sound turned up real loud.
Willis, heretofore best known as the naughty-boy David Addison of TV’s Moonlighting, is perfectly cast against type as a reluctant man of action with a vulnerable streak. Indeed, McClane is extremely vulnerable — he has to run across cut glass in his bare feet — even when he’s most ticked off. His cocksure tenacity can easily rattle the normally unflappable Hans. But deep down, McClane just knows he’s no match for all the well-armed bad guys. As his panicky desperation mounts, however, his guerrilla campaign against the terrorists becomes ever more inspired.
Die Hard is a slick, sleek excitement machine, burnished to a high-tech gloss by the fluid cinematography of Jan De Bont and the crisp editing by Frank J. Urioste and John F. Link. Working in concert with stunt coordinator Charles Picerni, McTiernan makes the action sequences as relentlessly harrowing as anything to appear in a movie since Sigourney Weaver tangled with Aliens. And like Aliens, Die Hard often enhances the ferocious white heat with bracing black humor. As he prepares to leap from the high-rise roof, hoping a fortuitously placed firehose will prevent his free fall to the streets below, McClane, unabashedly terrified, moans: ”If I get out of this, I promise I will never even think about going up in a tall building again!”
That’s the beauty part of Willis’ performance: He plays John McClane not as a recycled Schwarzenegger, but rather as a life-size tough guy who would rather not have to play hero.
When he’s not shooting at people, or being shot at, Willis spends much of his time on screen alone, thinking aloud or communicating with a sympathetic L.A. cop (Reginald VelJohnson) only through his walkie-talkie. For long stretches, Willis more or less delivers soliloquies — exploding into rage one moment, sinking into tearful despair the next, then revving himself up again to handle the dangerous business at hand. It’s an impressive performance by any standards, and downright amazing in the context of a genre movie. Willis skillfully fleshes out the conventional action hero, giving the character depth and quirky texture. The writers can be credited with providing the sharp dialogue, and the producers should be commended for their savvy off-beat casting. (If someone ”safe” would have played John McClane — say, Stallone or Schwarzenegger — would there ever be any doubt about the hero’s ultimate victory?) But Willis is the one who takes the concept and runs with it, carrying the audience along for the wild ride.
Up and down the line, Die Hard is impeccably cast. As Hans, the sartorially splendid terrorist, Alan Rickman makes his movie debut with the self-assured authority of someone who knows he was born to take the camera. Reginald Veljohnson plays Sgt. Powell, John’s only ally, with engaging humor and professional grit. Bonnie Bedelia brings a strong-willed intelligence to Holly, creating a human being out of the screenplay’s rough sketch.
Also notable: Hart Bochner as a smug corporate whiz who makes the mistake of moving and shaking with terrorists; William Atherton as an amoral TV reporter who nearly causes tragedy with his sleazy showboating; Paul Gleason as an officious L.A. cop; Robert Davi as a condescending FBI agent; Alexander Godunov, the ballet star, as a bloodthirsty terrorist who saves his best scare for last. There’s not a weak link in the chain, and scarcely a dull moment in the movie. If you’ve become jaded with routine action movies, Die Hard is certain to recharge your batteries.
