Monday, December 25, 2023

Die Hard

...is not a Christmas movie. Now that we've gotten that out of the way, we can commence discussing this legendary 1988 action flick. Set in five-hundred-foot skyscraper called the Nakatomi Plaza, terrorists take over...wait, wait. I can't simply leave it at that, can I? It's true that lots of folks genuinely (and passionately) argue about whether or not Die Hard, the action-packed thriller directed by John McTiernan based on the novel Nothing Lasts Forever by Roderick Thorp that reframed Bruce Willis into an iconic action star, is a Christmas movie. 

What arguments are made for the film being considered a Christmas one? I'm still don't totally sure. There's a few Christmas songs in there, and the characters mention the word Christmas about six or so times in the first twenty minutes (before the heist starts). But it seems to me that with that shaky reasoning, you might as well consider Goodfellas a Christmas movie. "Holly!" they shout. "His wife's name is Holly! Like the Christmas trees!" Not sure that would hold up in court.

If Christmas stories revolve around themes of love, family, generosity, and the spirit of giving, it's a bit of a stretch to say that the content of Die Hard relates to any of those. Christmas movies are to me about the redemptive and rebirth quality of the holiday season; at the very least, the protagonist learns some sort of lesson, one in which they are made better because of it. This is true of A Christmas Carol and How the Grinch Stole Christmas! and It's a Wonderful Life and A Christmas Story; it is also true of the newest Christmas classic: this year's wonderful film, The Holdovers. None of that exists in Die Hard. It is true that the first twenty minutes or so of the movie (again, before the actual heist starts) flirt with these notions. There is the estranged marriage of John McClane, a New York cop played by Willis, and his wife (Bonnie Bedelia); a quarrel between the two at a Christmas party held by her employer, Joseph Yoshinobu Takagi (James Shigeta), the head of Nakatomi, takes places just before the action starts.

Once the film really becomes the Die Hard we know and love—the jump from the building, the cat-and-mouse games, "yippie-ki-yay, mother fucker" and all that—it more or less stops tip-toeing its way to holiday themes. McClane kills one of the thieves and taunts the others with a cryptic message ("Now I have a machine gun—ho ho ho"), he uses Christmas tape to hide a gun on his body, and the film concludes with "Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow" I'm still not totally sold on these scenes qualifying the movie as a holiday film.

Thanks to the debate over this, some concerns of Die Hard tend to be glossed over or forgotten, like the film being sort of peak-cop worship and its almost excessive violence, not to mention its arbitrary, gazy (yet brief) nudity. Lots of the film is praiseworthy, though, particularly the exceptional talent of McTiernan and his team for creating such a tense, fun action flick. And Willis is especially worthy of praise as McClane, the bare-footed, cigarette-chomping, muscular rogue cop molded like a cowboy who is also vulnerable and often on death's door but usually one step ahead of the bad guys. Willis' charm and energy on the screen is incredible, and it's impossible to envision any other actor in the role. 

Could someone other than Willis have found their way into the film? It nearly came to be that way. It may come as a surprise to many (including me), but Die Hard is technically a sequel (in the way that The Silence of the Lambs is technically a sequel to Manhunter). Thorp had written a novel called The Detective in 1966, which was released as a motion picture two years later by 20th Century Fox with Frank Sinatra in the lead role as Joe Leland (the protagonist's name in both The Detective and Nothing Lasts Forever). The studio was contractually obligated to offer the role in its adaptation of Nothing Lasts Forever to Sinatra, who felt he was too old at the time. The role (eventually changed to John McClane) was then offered to just about every major Hollywood star at the time one would think of for a project like this: Clint Eastwood, Sylvester Stallone, Harrison Ford, Richard Gere, Mel Gibson, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Al Pacino, and others. A major chance was then taken with the hiring of Bruce Willis, who at that point was known more as a comedic actor in television, and he had only been in six previous films. 

The filmmakers found quite an equal for Willis to play the villain Hans Gruber: Alan Rickman, who made his film debut here after about a decade of theatrical work. I would guess that Ricman's German accent isn't the most accurate in the world, but what he delivers as Gruber has become renowned for being an exceptional movie villain.  Hans Gruber is on virtually every list of the best movie villains of all time, including Collider's, Business Insider's, Empire's, the AFI's, Watch Mojo's, and USA Today's. "I'm going to count to three," he warns Mr. Takagi after he and his group of thieves have stormed the plaza and demanded the code for the vault. "There will not be a four." These are some cinema's most chilling threats. As John and Hans participate in this cat-and-mouse game in the skyscraper, they take turns with who has the advantage over the other. John rings the fire alarm, and the criminals override it. He calls the police, and the criminals impersonate security guards and convince the officer that everything is fine. The variety of thrills felt during these scenes (the loud ones and the quiet ones) are terrifically augmented by Michael Kamen's almost operatic score. 

Willis and Rickman lead a mostly competent cast, with a whole host of characters showing up along the way: There's Reginald VelJohnson in a very VelJohnson role as Sergeant Al Powell (a role he would reprise in Die Hard 2), a beat cop assigned to investigate the disturbance at the plaza, only to get roped into the mess and be basically the only man McClane can trust; Paul Gleason in a very Gleason role as the argumentative LAPD deputy chief who tussles with Powell and often makes the mess messier; and Robert Davi in a very, very Davi role as one of the FBI agents ("the other one," he deadpans into the radio because both FBI agents are named Johnson). Other effective performances include William Atherton as a reprobate TV reporter and Alexander Godunov as Gruber's menacing second-in-command. Two performances that are noticeably obnoxious, however, are Clarence Gilyard as the tech specialist in Gruber's crew (who literally chews up the scenery) and Hart Bochner as a sleazy Nakatomi exec who thinks he can schmooze his way out of trouble with the bad guys. Both performances are distracting.

Released in July (which I guess is Christmas season to some people), the film performed better than expected, ultimately becoming the seventh-highest grossing film of 1988. Who could blame audiences for being attracted to such a motion picture? In a year dominated by comedies (Coming to America, Big, Twins), Die Hard was able to fill the vacuum of lackluster action flicks like Rambo III with Sylvester Stallone and Red Heat with Arnold Schwarzenegger (Willis' co-stars in The Expendables) with a funnier brand of action. The blend of action, comedy, and drama in the initial script and rewrite by Jeb Stuart and Steven E. de Souza, respectively, mesh such genres in a way that few films have been able to do since, despite all the copycats. Notable instances of such combination include McClane and Gruber (disguising himself as a hostage named Bill Clay) finally coming face to face and McClane jumping from the building with only a firehose strapped around him while slowly being dragged towards the ledge.   

You know, in the course of writing this article, the more I think of it, the more I can tolerate it being considered a holiday film. The Nutcracker is an important tradition for many during the holiday season, and it too takes place during a Christmas party and features far fewer Christmas tropes than Die Hard does. If watching Die Hard during the Christmas season brings people happiness, then who am I to tell say they're wrong? One rationalization for considering it Christmas canon that does make sense to me (and one that is hardly ever mentioned) is the film's frequent use of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, particularly when the final (4th) movement ("Ode to Joy") is beautifully played as Hans (Alan Rickman) and the other thieves finally break into the vault. Fans may or may not know that in Japan, for example, this music is considered an important Christmas tradition. This is perfectly fitting, given the film's setting at the Nakatomi Plaza. Christmas movie or not, Die Hard has stood the test of time all these years later and has spawned four sequels (with some being better than others). At this point, I'm a little exhausted of the odd debate over its status as a Christmas movie. Call it a Christmas film if you want or don't. I just hope you enjoy it as much as I do.  

Saturday, December 16, 2023

Stop Making Sense (and a List of My Favorite Talking Heads Songs)

There's a perfectly eccentric start to the concert, a concert that would be part of Talking Heads' final tour, with frontman David Byrne strolling onto the stage to the sound of adoring fans as he gently places a portable cassette tape on the ground. "Hi," he says. "I've got a tape I want to play," and then he begins strumming the famous opening notes of "Psycho Killer," the band's first hit, accompanied by a beat provided by the player (or, in reality, a Roland TR-808). This is the dawn of Stop Making Sense, the renowned concert film directed by Jonathan Demme of Talking Heads performances in 1983, which appeared a lot this past year as the film was remastered and the four members of Talking Heads reunited to promote it. The irregular opening should not be unexpected, but it is just as pleasant as one can imagine, as equally pleasing as it is to see these four apparently on good terms again.

As exceptional as "Psycho Killer" is, and as awesome as the the funky, calmer rhythm heard here than the version on Talking Heads: 77, it may be controversial to point out that Byrne's voice is weak is certain moments of this opening. (He did, at one point, claim that he didn't feel he had a great singing voice, and his school choir teacher rejected him for the choir for being off key.) Regardless, it's an unbeatable start, and you would be challenged to avoid bobbing your head along with him. Fortunately, there is not a bad song included for the remaining part of the show. The big ones are there, too—"Burning Down the House" and "Once in a Lifetime" being obvious examples—and whatever issues there are with Byrnes' singing voice, his writing skills more than make up for them, as he is the writer or co-writer of almost all of the songs featured in the concert. 

One by one, Byrne is joined by other musicians. First, bassist Tina Weymouth joins him to sing "Heaven" in perfect harmony. Then, Chris Frantz and his energetic drumming show up for "Thank You For Sending Me an Angel." Next, Jerry Harrison comes out for "Found a Job." Once the four members are finally assembled, they are eventually joined by backing singers Lynn Mabry and Edna Holt, guitarist Alex Weir, keyboardist Bernie Worrell, and percussionist Steve Scales. The viewers, whether in the actual concerts or viewing at home or in the cinema, will all witness the large amount of fun everyone is having on stage; it is evident that all the performers are having a blast. Indeed, it seems like it was all a great cardio workout, as they're moving about and running in place so much that they're drenched in sweat by the end. It's a miracle none of them (particularly Byrne) collapsed halfway through the show. 

There are other highlights worth praising, as well, chief among them Byrne's eccentricities, which are hard not to pleasantly smirk at. Another high point is when he takes a break, allowing Weymouth and Frantz to take the stage as their side project, Tom Tom Club, and their hit 1981 song "Genius of Love." This show is dripping with euphoria, despite what came after for the group. Talking Heads split up in 1991, about eight years after these filmed concerts. Weymouth recently discussed the pain of some of the band members' fights, saying, "Families do that. They don't just bite each other. They take chunks out. The beauty of it is, well maybe you don't forget, but you forgive." If there were tensions or fighting behind the scenes at the time of this tour, though, there is no evidence of it on stage.

One cannot discuss Stop Making Sense without mentioning one of the most joyous moments of the documentary: the big suit. This is the image of the film, the Kabuki-inspired suit that swings about as Byrne prances around the stage in an absurdist style to "Girlfriend Is Better" (which is where the lyrics "stop making sense" come from) that has likely lasted the longest and, one could argue, helped make it such a cultural success. Stop Making Sense was a undoubtable hit upon its release, with critics like Pauline Kael calling it "close to perfection." Future Oscar-winner Demme would go on to do two more concert films, with the other two featuring Neil Young and Justin Timberlake. The film was recently restored, remastered, and re-released by A24 this past September. This re-release marked the band's first reunion since they were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2002.

There are individual moments that I quite liked, which I've already mentioned. Holistically, it stayed with me less than I had hoped it would have. Concert films are among the kinds of films that provoke the least amount of interest in me, as I always prefer to simply listen to the music of the performers than watch a recording of their concert, and I've never been a concert-goer. (As a matter of fact, I think only the second concert film I ever saw was the 2020 Spike Lee-directed American Utopia of Byrne's Broadway concert.) Therefore, I can only say that I wasn't in love with Stop Making Sense as a film experience, just as I wasn't in love with American Utopia or BeyoncĂ©'s Homecoming or probably any other future concert film I will see. One complaint I have is that Demme didn't seem to add much or a personal voice to the project as Lee had with American Utopia

I don't mean to criticize this approach too much. Demme never had a specific consistent voice like Lee has had, and his camera helped capture so many different emotions and elements to the successful show. But the film is credited as a film by Jonathan Demme and Talking Heads, and yet the latter comes across as more of the auteurs in command. (Byrne even designed the stage lighting himself.) These complaints are a bit of nitpicking. Those who do adore concert films will likely love this one, as it is commonly regarded as one of the best, and it goes without saying that it is required viewing for fans of Talking Heads. It is also that good of a show that those who are unfamiliar with their music will likely enjoy the ride. 


The Best Talking Heads Songs
Note: I made this list in 2020. Some of the numbering would likely be different if I were to do it again today.

50. Big Daddy
49. Totally Nude
48. People Like Us
47. Dream Operator
46. No Compassion
45. Papa Legba
44. Moon Rocks
43. Paper
42. Mr. Jones
41. Girlfriend Is Better
40. Puzzlin' Evidence
39. Swamp
38. Television Man
37. The Girl Wants to Be with the Girls
36. Ruby Dear
35. Drugs
34. Two Note Swivel
33. Cities
32. Air
31. Radio Head
30. Found a Job
29. The Good Thing
28. The Great Curve
27. First Weak/Last Week...Comparison
26. Don't Worry About the Government
25. Making Flippy Floppy 
24. Blind
23. Heaven
22. Thank You For Sending Me an Angel
21. Happy Day
20. Tentative Decisions
19. Mind
18. Crosseyed and Painless
17. Slippery People
16. City of Dreams
15. New Feeling
14. Houses in Motion
13. Hey Now
12. Born Under Punches
11. I Zimbra
10. Burning Down the House
9. Uh-Oh, Love Comes to Town
8. (Nothing But) Flowers
7. Take Me to the River
6. This Must Be the Place (NaĂŻve Melody)
5. Wild Wild Life
4. And She Was
3. Psycho Killer
2. Once in a Lifetime
1. Road to Nowhere