German guys don’t bluff. Ever.

Say what you will about Hans Gruber - at least he is a man of his word. He will tell you when he is going to kill you, which makes him both cold-blooded and a helluva honest guy. He shot both Takagi and Ellis in the head, and would have done the same to McClane had the gun actually had bullets (nice going, McClane - that Bill Clay bullshit didn't fool me, either). He even pointed the gun at Takagi's face and counted to three, and the dumbass STILL didn't unlock the safe for him. I'm sure insurance probably would have covered every loss he incurred. Dolt.

Anyway, the lesson I took from this was that German guys don't bluff. One night I was playing cards with this German guy, and the asshole kept winning every hand. Know why? Because EVERYONE was scared to death. If he bet big, we figured that he had the cards to back up his outrageous bets - German guys don't bluff. Well, I decided to nut up and actually call him on a hand, and the freaking guy had a full house, aces over kings. I lost the deed to my house Chevy Astro.

No real point to that story, except that Die Hard was right, yet again. I did have my revenge, though, when I defriended that German guy on Facebook and then told him this buddy of mine slept with his sister. He was real pissed and said he was going to kill the bastard. I laughed and thought he was bluffing. It turns out he wasn't bluffing, and now my friend is dead. Whoops.

...For a Security Guard...

So clearly Hans Spared no expense when it came to equipping his team with state-of-the-art hardware. A giant drill, rocket launcher, metal-cutting chainsaw, and last but not least, a bunch of hockey puck grenades. I, for one have never seen such a device, so I don't actually know what the hell it is. But it's sweet, right? Well, kind of, anyway. I still can't figure out what it actually does.

We're introduced to Karl's little toy during the opening seconds of the Nakatomi takeover. We know right off the bat that he's an excellent shot, as he tags that desk clerk between the eyes at point blank range. Then when he goes after guard number two, the stakes go up. Recall if you will, the 80's pornstar looking security guard who's enjoying a smoke break over by the elevators. Best I can tell, he was distracted, unarmed, and completely harmless. You'd think Karl would want to make it quick and easy. But, I suppose that if you dissect the name of this film, a couple gunshots just doesn't cut it sometimes. No, Karl chose to utilize one of his little flashbangs just to make sure this guy's last seconds on earth were spent in annoyance in confusion. Overkill is the name of the game, I suppose. And while the rest of the guys were on their way upstairs to crash the office Christmas Party, I guess he figured that 31 hostages wouldn't be much more effective than an even 30.

In retrospect, it could have been a simple weapons test. Maybe he didn't know what it was going to do, and didn't have time to test it on the neighbor's cat before taking off for the Nakatomi heist. Even if it turned out to be an ACTUAL hockey puck that didn't actually do anything, he still had his trusty pistol as a backup. Whatever the case, he was clearly satisfied with the results. When Karl and Hans have McClane pinned down in a sea of broken glass, he uses it again with even less of an effect. At least the security guard threw his hands up and squinted slightly, making for an easy kill. All it really did to McClane was made him run a little faster.

Perhaps, if Karl had survived to see Die Hard 2, he would have graduated to ACTUAL grenades. They might not have the same hypnotizing roll or sliding capabilities, but they get the job done. Shit, even a Molotov Cocktail will usually at least knock a guy down.

Takagi would not buy crappy Walmart NFL replica jerseys

Joseph Takagi only wears the nice, expensive shit. Know how I know? Because Hans Gruber, Mr. German Fashion 1986 says so - twice. Once in the elevator, when Hans remarks that he has two of the same suit from John Philips, London (notice how he didn't say Men's Wearhouse, downtown mall - you know you buy your suits there, cheap ass). Then, before he shoots Takagi in the head, Hans flippantly mentions how it would be a shame to ruin that nice suit. Well, mission accomplished. The last time I brought in blood-stained clothes to my dry cleaner with brain residue on the collar, she wasn't too pleased with me. Neither were the police, but there is no point in rehashing the past.

Where was I? Oh yeah, Takagi knows that if you want to be successful at anything you gotta give 100%. Which is why if he were a sports fan, he would NEVER buy those cheap as shit NFL replica jerseys from Walmart. You know the jersey I am talking about - it looks nothing like the real jersey. The colors are slightly off, there are probably a few stripes missing, and the thing gleams like a piece of effing Kryptonite. What, you say? It is only 30 bucks? Woohoo - I'll take it! Nevermind if I go the game or parade around town I am basically broadcasting the fact that I am a hobo.

Seriously, you'd be better off stealing a real jersey from Foot Locker than buying the imitation Tony Romo jersey seen below. Actually, do neither, because Tony Romo sucks, loser.

There is always time for the ladies...

McClane could have gotten his head blown off at any moment while weaving through Nakatomi Tower. If he lost focus for just one second the wall would have been painted with his brain. Yet, the man still found time to ogle pornography that was pinned to an electrical box of some sorts. This is a man that has his priorities in order.

I took McClane's advice and sneaked a copy of Hustler into my SAT exam. Hey, if McClane could spare one second to leer at some broad during the most intense sequence of his life, why couldn't I? Whenever the questions got exceptionally mind-numbing (like bubbling in my social security number - how the ef am I supposed to know that?) I would take a look at the magazine and remember exactly why I was taking the SAT: to one day have the chance to get hammered with busty coeds. Needless to say, I finished the magazine and not the test. If I ever do get my GED I hear the chicks at my local community college are smoking hot. Thanks, McClane.

1980s ethnic stereotypes are okay if the movie is awesome?

Action flicks are typically 90 minutes of cliched nonsense, but if done right they are damn enjoyable. Die Hard managed to take all of the nonsense out of the previous statement but still left some of the cliches (most notably Karl returning from the dead and being shot by the guy from Family Matters, but that will be covered in a future post). Despite being the crescendo of the entire action genre for breaking the rules and writing new ones, Die Hard still abided by the time-honored element from action movie story structure: you know everything you need to know about a character from the first 2 minutes that person is on screen. Sure, Die Hard is tits awesome because it actually possesses characterization and has emotional story arcs for every major character, but it still told viewers who the character is in a nutshell in those first 2 screen minutes:

McClane: Socially indifferent/loose cannon that plays by his own rules (a gun on a plane???)
Holly: Stone cold business woman/late 80s hotness
Guy from Family Matters: Good-natured lard-ass/perennial underdog
Ellis: Groveling douche bag/possible sexual predator
Hans: Calm and collected/Nazi-type level of neurotic fashion perfection
Argyle: Happily clueless/likes rap music
Theo: Fan of Los Angeles Lakers/egghead that can solve Rubik's cubes while blindfolded using nothing but salad tongs (he is smart because he wears glasses)

Argyle and Theo stand out the most, if only because of the reinforcement of 1980s African American film stereotypes. Lets see, we meet Argyle and he immediately puts on Run DMC Christmas music (I am mildly surprised the filmmakers did not put an over-sized boom-box on his shoulder). The first words out of Theo's mouth had to do with basketball. So, when we meet the first African American characters in the film, we immediately learn they like rap and basketball. Hmm.


Look, I grew up on the whitest block in the whitest subdivision in the whitest part of town. My primary access to learning about other ethnicities and cultures was film. I learned a lot of important lessons - Nazis were buffoons, anything from the future was sent back to kill me, and anyone living south of the Mexican border was a guerrilla terrorist. I eventually grew out of all of these assumptions (that nice young lad from Guatemala changed by mind - he was just a guerrilla and not a terrorist), and thankfully Die Hard had the foresight to make the African American characters in the film intelligent, compassionate, heroes, or all of the above. In other words, the complete opposite of Germans. They are all assholes.

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Slowly

Karl wants blood. He wants it so badly, in fact, that he's willing to flip over a desk and be slammed up against the wall by his employer and not retaliate against him with a hail of gunfire. But honestly, who can blame him? If I had to read a hilarious christmas card off my dead brother's sweatshirt, I wouldn't be very happy about it, either. We don't know exactly how close Karl and Tony were at the start of the movie, and I'm not entirely sure that the little gag with the chainsaw and the phone lines was all just fun and games. But still, brothers are brothers. Ever since Tony became the first casualty of Hans' crew, Karl's professionalism took a back seat to his lust for personal revenge and the hunt for McClane became priority number one.

Or perhaps priority two. I think the FIRST thing on Karl's mind throughout the Nakatomi siege was looking like a badass. After McClane's position on the roof is revealed, Karl has a chance to redeem his brother's death, and makes it pretty clear to Fritz and Marco; must have made for a fun elevator ride, huh? But once they're ON the roof and McClane is cornered like a rat in a trap, Karl suddenly slows his role - literally. He's got the perfect opportunity to cut off McClane at the pass, not to mention the higher ground (thanks, Obi Wan). But what does he do? He strikes a pose and walks IN SLOW MOTION to the edge of the platform. Gun poised, hair blowing in the wind, it really is quite the sight. And here's the worst part - McClane didn't even get to see it. If he had, maybe he'd have just surrendered at such an awe inspiring sight.


I've already questioned Karl's wardrobe choice on this blog, but let me see if I can sucker punch that dead horse one more time. A sweatsuit should allow for maximum agility, right? I mean he should have been running labs around McClane. But, as I learned from Mr. Karl, what's the point of doing ANYTHING if you can't look cool while doing it?

Jokes require an audience of one; screw everyone else

You know those douchebags that work in your office? The guys that respond "reply to all" to those all-office emails with quips they deem to be hilarious? The source email says "Meeting at 2:30" and Phil from three cubicles to your left replies to all with:

"I'll be there - but I won't be sitting next to Steve. That leaky pen proved to be a problem for your new khakis at the last meeting, wouldn't you say, Steve?"

Not to be outdone, Steve replies to all with:

"I'll make sure to bring the red pen and sit right next to you, Phil. It will go great with your ketchup stain from lunch!"

HAHAHAHAHHA! What a couple of clever assholes! Meanwhile, your Inbox is now cluttered with Abbot and Costello's back and forths while you sit there imagining a sequence of events that involve those two comedic wizards somehow being hit by a train. You know the douchebags I'm talking about, right? Well, if these guys worked in the same office as John McClane, McClane would break their necks with his bare hands and remove their balls with a butter knife, and not necessarily in that order.

McClane showed us all that you don't need to broadcast your jokes to everyone within a two-block radius. All you need is yourself, and if YOU think you are funny, who the f*** cares what anyone else thinks? Remember when McClane was crawling through the ventilation shaft while being hunted by bad guys with guns?

MCCLANE: Now I know what a TV dinner feels like.

He was alone, in a life or death situation, and he still was able to reel off a one-liner that was not said simply to gain the admiration of his peers. Nope, McClane's joke was strictly for McClane, proving that true jokesters don't need to share their thoughts with eighty people at work via the wonder of electronic mail. McClane wouldn't like email, anyway. As far as he is concerned, progress peaked with frozen pizza.