how to live
with a mistake
by Douglas Messerli
Steven E. de Souza and Jeb Stuart
(screenplay, based on the novel Nothing
Lasts Forever by Roderick Thorp), John McTiernan (director) Die Hard
/ 1988
I never think of myself as a
moviegoer even slightly interested in what is generally called “action” movies.
I abhor violence, I am a firm believer in gun-control, and have never been
interested in what I perceive as the macho-boy-American shoot-em-up, beat-em-up,
kick-butt genres of American film-making that seems to do just fine at the
box-office despite my inevitable indictments. Clint Eastwood’s early “make my
day” moxie and Arnold Schwarzenegger’s rustling muscle-headed Austrian accented
insinuations have left me cold.
How to explain, then, my delight in films such as John McTiernan’s Die Hard or Wolfgang Petersen’s Air Force One, both motion pictures
which I have watched numerous times with intense pleasure. I might explain away
the second as a kind of political thriller—which I may explore in another
essay— but the first….? There are always exceptions when one loves movies! Perhaps
even my title of this essay might explain it, “How to Live with a Mistake,” a
line from the film itself.
In fact, every single figure in this tautly written film about a
seemingly “terrorist” takeover of a high rise tower in Los Angeles’ Century
City—a building I daily glimpse from the street behind my condominium—must
ultimately ask that question, from the failed man at the center of this film,
New York cop J. M. McClane (Bruce Willis), to the wizard terrorist-thief Hans
Gruber (the wonderful Alan Rickman), from the Twinkie-loving (please note: I
did not say “twink-loving), perceptive black-and-white policeman, Sgt. Al
Powell (Reginald VelJohnson), to the idiotically blind, manual-reading LA
policeman and F.B. I. agents!
Certainly the “story,” as in many such films, is of little importance. A
group of pretend German terrorists takes over the 30th floor—the offices of the
Japanese Nakatomi Corporation, where the staff is busy celebrating Christmas
Eve—in order to steal the corporations’ 600,000 million in bonds in its safe.
What does very much matter, however, are the intense details of the plot the
team has hatched in order to accomplish the task, and part of the joy of this
movie is the precision in which the villains employ their complex machinations
as they move from simple takeover, to the involvement of local L.A. police
authorities, to the appearance of F.B.I. agents—all calculated with evil relish
in an attempt to capture the complex codes to the safe, in the end, by forcing
the governmental agents to close down the entire electrical gridwork to the
Westside Los Angeles neighborhood—on Christmas Eve nonetheless!
Of far greater background significance is the fact that the New York
policeman McClane has determined to come “home” for the holidays to his
estranged, super-capable executive wife, Holly Gennaro-McClane (Bonnie
Bedelia), whom he has, in a standard 1980s sexual stand-off, refused to
comprehend as the superior income producer, preferring to remain entrenched in
his New York police activities. McClane, in short, is an outsider visiting what
he perceives as a very strange new world of Los Angeles—a man feeling
completely incapable of fitting into that new world he encounters. But, of
course, once all hell breaks loose, with the terrorists-thieves imposing
themselves upon this alternative space, he feels right at home, determined to save
the day, and finally coming to the realization through his involvement with the
local authorities—particularly with the personable hometown cop—that is needed
and belongs.
The cop, like McClane, has made a mistake: Sgt. Powell has accidentally
killed a 13 year-old boy, and consequently has never been able to use a gun
again. Every last one of the authorities and individuals of this film, in turn,
share McClane’s dilemma: all are men who make ridiculous mistakes. Only he, as
the film’s hero and the local former street cop get the opportunity to correct
their ways. And that is, quite obviously, the center of the film’s frenetic action.
Throughout most of this work, McClane, playing out a kind of Roy Rogers
cowboy sensibility while dressed as a barefoot, white tee-shirted tortured
Christ—growing more and more bloodied as the scenes progress—finally redeems
himself. Willis plays the role with a kind of macho sarcasm that is so
endearing that you’d have to be a Grinch to hate the man. And he is, in the
end, a true hero, along with his slouching beast of a limo driver, Argyle,
waiting in the building’s underground garage to carry his fare to Bethlehem.
Along the way, the film shows that not only the terrorists, but local news
reporters and even phone police responders are equally incompetent—none of them
having been prepared for the evil intrusion upon holiday events.
But the truly important elements of this film have little to do with
those interesting plot resonances. For at its heart McTiernan’s film is an
abstract portrayal of a single man against the industrialized complex. Even the
company head, Nakatomi executive Joseph Yoshiobut Takagi (James Shigeta), shot
to death early in the movie, has no control over the company computer codes nor
the dark computerized controls of the spaces of the building in which his
company is housed. In fact, no one—employees, the cop McClane, the local
police, nor F.B.I agents—seems to comprehend the extensive limits of the world
they are facing. Only the so-called terrorists have recognized the extent of
the inhuman forces the society has created, and they easily make use of this in
their attempts to close it down and control it. What McClane must
single-handedly discover is just how dark that world is and to
discern a way to turn it into a
situation which he might, as a single human being, control.
I watched this film, this time around—I’d previously seen the film on
the large screen and on television several times—on a Netflix DVD played on my
computer. Every time I stopped the film for a bathroom break, a glass of wine,
or a telephone interruption, I came back to a scene that was hardly
recognizable: a shadow of a being spread across the space of a concrete wall,
an eye peering through a strange concrete structure of a horizontal slit,
McClane staring down the shaft of an endless elevator well. Time and again,
individuals are placed along a corner of descending steel walls, cornered
against cascading electrical cables, forced to propel themselves against panels
of glass. At other times McClane even uses his symbolic penis (his stolen
machine gun) to pinion himself along a strap dangling, spider-like, into what
seems like interminable space. Bodies are spewed from crashed-through windows.
Entire floors of empty offices neatly set up in rows of computers are
machine-gunned down into the glass components of their capsuled entities. As
much as this is a battle of man against man, this film portrays—far more
effectively—a world in which man is at war with the societal constructs he has
created, a world of concrete, glass, and fiber-optics.
The actual encounter with the enemy, McLane
and his wife against the evil Gruber, is a comic one, the ridiculous “Roy Rogers”
facing off his evil opponent with an absurd Christmas greeting, his wife
finally loosing Gruber’s grip so that he falls from that 30th floor into empty
space. Film lore recounts that McTiernan let Rickman fall several moments
before the time he was to have been released, the shock of that early
abandonment clearly registered on the actor’s startled face.
Most of the film, accordingly, has not been just a battle of man against
man, but a man against an environment he might never have expected—a high-rise
creation that has been made to operate by itself, systems perverted by clever
manipulators. In a strange sense, Die
Hard is a kind of prelude to the attack of Taliban-captured planes on The
World Trade Center. Everybody—the C.I.A, the F.B.I, the entire American
government—had not perceived the possibility of such an immense attack; they
had made a vast mistake with which we still must live today, which explains,
perhaps, the three other sequels of this masterful film. We are still surely
haunted by such a grand mistake.
McClane, strangely enough, is a quite innocent hero. His only real
failure was to have given up a relationship with his wife out of generational
male role preoccupations. In McTiernan’s fantasy, he saves the day—and saves
his relationship in the process. But in real life, the Grubers of the
world—both real terrorists and Wall Street robber barons—can easily destroy our
societies, through the very constructions pre-determined to control the world
in which we live.
Los Angeles, December 13, 2014
Reprinted from International Cinema Review (December 2014).
