Die Hard: The True Story Behind the Bruce Willis Classic
Die Hard #DieHard
Now considered a pioneering example of the modern action blockbuster, Die Hard was an underdog. None of the now-household names were stars, groundbreaking techniques were invented on the fly, and a musical crooner was offered the leading role. The film’s humble journey lies primarily with two men: Jeb Stuart, a husband and young father whose screenwriting career desperately needed a win, and Lloyd Levin, the development executive at 20th Century Fox, a studio in want of a guaranteed summer hit.
In order to trace back the film’s roots, let’s rewind our VHSes to the cinema landscape of 1968. Fox had already scored a sizable hit that year with The Detective, a neo-noir mystery based on the bestselling book of the same name by author Roderick Thorp. Rat Pack member Frank Sinatra starred as hardened detective Joe Leland, and the film was applauded for its mature depiction of the hazards of procedural work. It wasn’t until 1979 that Thorp published the sequel, titled Nothing Lasts Forever, but Fox owned the rights and Levin knew the story had strong bones. The potential for an action movie was especially excellent given the plot followed a now-retired Leland fighting a group of terrorists while trapped in a 40-story building, rather than The Detective’s more pensive criminal investigation.
Levin and Stuart Combined Forces to Solve Their Respective Dilemmas
Initially, Stuart was unsure how to translate the book’s dire atmosphere into light popcorn fare (spoiler alert: Forever ends with Leland’s daughter, Stephanie, falling to her death from a skyscraper window). Stuart was also overworked and stressed trying to provide for his family with limited pay. The elusive emotional hook clicked in the aftermath of an argument with his wife: as he drove angrily down the interstate, Stuart realized she was in the right, and an apology was in order. As a writer of thrillers, he knew the key to any work of suspense was investing the audience in the characters. Rather than following an already divorced and bitter Joe Leland with a narrative culminating in tragedy, Stuart shifted Leland 30 years younger and into a man, renamed John McClane by necessity, who realized he’d done wrong by his wife. That slice-of-life spark could plausibly translate into a relatable emotional core and provide the audience with a compelling relationship to care for.
Stuart submitted his first draft within weeks. Fox greenlit the project that same weekend with Joel Silver, whose success behind other ’80s hits like Commando, Lethal Weapon, and Predator, spoke for itself. Fox wanted the newly christened Die Hard to mimic the same highly violent one-man army style. The movie’s elevator pitch morphed into “Rambo in an office building” after the Sylvester Stallone-starring First Blood.
Famed Directors Kept Passing on the Project
Ironically, therein lay the hiccup: after a decade of profit, Rambo wasn’t a style the industry creatives flocked to. Robocop director Paul Verhoeven turned down an offer, as did Predator’s own John McTiernan — several times. But Fox executives were insistent, and he agreed on the condition the terrorists become thieves instead, as from his perspective Die Hard needed “some joy” to set it apart from others of its ilk.
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Famed directors weren’t the only talent to pass. Sinatra, now 70, rejected the script, alongside a veritable roster of revenue-making who’s whos: Sylvester Stallone, Clint Eastwood, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Harrison Ford, Paul Newman, Al Pacino, Richard Gere, and Burt Reynolds. Fox aimed to cast an actor with bankable star power, but with production on a fast track, they turned to the only interested no-name: Bruce Willis.
Casting Bruce Willis Made Die Hard the Talk of Tinseltown
At the time Willis was only known for co-starring in the romantic sitcom Moonlighting, and transitioning from the world of television to film was far from an easy leap in the 1980s. (Serving as the singing spokesman for Seagram’s Golden Wine Coolers didn’t count, more’s the pity.) Fox offered Willis five million dollars, an unheard-of-sum for anyone who wasn’t a long-established legend. Intentionally or not, that sizable paycheck made Die Hard the talk of Tinseltown. All eyes were waiting to scoff at Fox’s risk blowing up in their faces as spectacularly as, well, an action movie explosion.
After rounding out the supporting cast with fellow unknowns (who the heck was this stage actor Alan Rickman anyway?), production took place inside the Fox Plaza building on the Fox lot. It was important to both McTeirnan and director of photography Jan de Bont to keep the film grounded in a sense of reality, which meant using locations instead of sets designed on a studio backlot. The crew was granted full access to several unfinished floors but filmed everything else after business hours, since the Fox lawyers and executives proceeding with their days as normal didn’t take too kindly to the frequent and rambunctious commotion. Screenwriter Steven e. de Souza (48 Hrs. and Commando) came aboard to expand the supporting characters so that Willis, still contracted on Moonlighting during the day, could snag some rest after multiple 24-hour days. De Souza also injected Willis’s signature smart-ass humor from his Moonlighting tenure and solved the persistent problem of how to get McClane and Hans Gruber, Rickman’s nefarious, suit-elitist villain, face-to-face, after the actor dryly imitated an American accent during a scene break. De Souza wrote frantically, barely keeping ahead of a ruthless filming schedule.
Improvisation Played a Key Roll in Developing Die Hard’s Action Sequences
McTiernan and de Bont viewed the action stereotypes of the day as dull and stagnant, so the duo met on a daily basis to deliberate over upcoming scenes and improvise what aspects would best make Die Hard stand out as a kinetic, fresh action venture. Such ideas involved maintaining McClane’s vulnerability and using handheld cameras to enhance tension (a brand new technique!). The stunt coordinator utilized items already in the building for fight scene props and staged real explosions across the board — so, yes, they fired actual rocket launchers, blew up a SWAT truck, and shattered every window on one floor simultaneously. Frustrated neighbors had their sleep interrupted enough that the city permitted only two hours of helicopter use for the crucial “roof explosion” sequence. De Bont staged twenty-four cameras throughout the city to capture the helicopters swinging past and the effects team contributed miniatures for that particular explosion. Producer Silver couldn’t fathom a miniature helicopter as effective. The team was elated to prove him wrong.
Willis and Rickman also chose to perform their own students for maximum authenticity. Although Willis had the larger amount, Rickman’s involved that famed forty-foot drop onto a blue screen tarp below. The shocked expression on the actor’s face was real fear because the crew let him go early, but keeping that face in focus was the tricky part. Given how fast a body falls a human focus puller simply couldn’t manually adjust in real-time, especially on slow-motion analog film, so de Bont asked a small electronics company running tests for the military to adapt one of their automated devices into a camera rig.
All the Struggle Finally Paid Off
Everyone involved knew from just a rough cut that their efforts paid off into something truly unique. Theater audiences still necessitated a bit of convincing, as they reportedly laughed and booed Willis’s appearance in the trailer. Fox cut his face entirely from the posters only to add it back once Die Hard gained traction. Enthusiastic word of mouth brought its worldwide revenue total to $140M, and the industry was shall we say, shook. The remarkably human character of McClane, equal parts delightful and frustrating, pivoted action heroes away from the uber-masculine stereotype that once dominated American culture. A franchise of five additional films followed suit and the careers of the three leading men changed trajectory at lightning speed: Willis rose to one of the highest grossing-actors of his day, Rickman an icon of villainy after his debut film role, and Reginald VelJohnson led the popular sitcom Family Matters for nine seasons.
In a lovely bit of circular irony, instead of “Rambo in an office building,” for decades afterward action pitches boiled down to “Die Hard in a location” in hopes of copying the formula for guaranteed success. Nothing about Die Hard was guaranteed except the tenacity of those creating it behind the scenes. The term “movie magic” may strike as cliché, but even 30 years later with countless imitators few action films remain as tight, electric, and cinematically satisfying — and none spark as many hearty debates about its status as a Christmas movie (it counts as one, thank you).