Aging sucks. Sure, that might be a tad discriminatory, but we’re pretty sure even your grandparents would agree. Stuff starts sagging, memory fades, limbs become untrustworthy, chronic moaning sets in; it’s not a good look for anyone. So why are we innocent children of the 20th century constantly being forced to watch the retirement home sequel to all our Eighties faves nowadays? 1988’s Die Hard was undeniably awesome, an epoch defining film that spawned at least one more unforgettably good action movie and prompted hours of recess time spent using fingers as guns and screaming catchphrases (“Yippee ki-yay, motherf****er!”) as you PWNED your school chums, pretending to be Bruce Willis and ridding the under-siege tower of your terrorist friends.
Die Hard 4.0? It was a farfetched, patronizing reminder that Bruce Willis’ character will soon be able to ride the bus for free. Timothy Olyphant was a less satisfying white collar crook than even Philip Seymour Hoffman in MI:3 and the less said about the teen sidekick (played by Justin Long) the better. And no one but no one struts their stuff on a moving fighter jet; not even John McClane.
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