A Good Day to Die Hard

A Good Day to Die Hard is barely worth talking about. We're twenty five years removed from the Moonlighting guy trapped in The Towering Inferno; Bruce Willis' screen persona has irreparably mutated. We've gone from a fairly regular guy stuck in a dreadful situation to an insufferable bald maniac driving stolen product placement over poor people. There's always been an underlining tension to Bruce Willis the movie star. A key aspect of this is that he's consistently employed to essay arrogant pricks. The original Die Hard cemented this persona, but tempered it with a deep self-loathing and an inability to connect with those around him in small, consistent ways. This emotional dissonance is core to Willis' screen identity. So many of his films have played with this idea that apparently it no longer needs explaining. We're now at a point were Willis, like Stallone or Schwarzenegger, is not called upon to do much more than a vulgar caricature of his greatest successes.

Whereas before negative traits were balanced by dramatic scenarios and character writing to create something resembling a well-rounded hero, here we're in Hyperspace Hoopla territory. Cultural icons trotted out in limp costumes and made to dance and cavort for our amusement. John McClane in Die Hard 5 looks like he is gravely unwell; made to look small and physically infirm by the oversized weapons he's forced to handle. Dramatically Willis plays second fiddle to Jai Courtney's John McClane Jr, a character who actually gets a storyline. McClane Sr's personality is locked. He's not here to grow or change, he's here to broker a franchise handover. This is why we're stuck with endless sequences of Willis annihilating other motorists whilst chasing his child around Russia. This McClane is a bigoted amalgamation of The Terminator and Mr Magoo; a sociopath that quips and pulls faces as he crushes screaming housewives with a Mercedes Benz 4x4. It's like an annoying neighbour sitcom idea blown up to surreal, satirical, levels. We're about as far away from a guy crying and pulling glass out of his feet in a executive bathroom as it's possible to be.