The Die Hard Conundrum: Why Action Movies Try Too Hard

Why does every action movie want to be Die Hard and then fail?

The problem isn't in the spectacle. The problem is that we simply don't care.

You don't become the next action movie giant by copying the same old formula of failure. You need to understand why the great movies are, well... great. And there's no better example than the definitive Christmas Movie (I will argue with you all day on that).

Everyone loves John McClane. He's arrogant, stubborn, and kind of an asshole. We should root against him. But we don't. Because within five minutes, we see his fear, his vulnerability, his desperate love for his family.  

We care about this New York cop well before the first punch, bullet, or even before the first bad guy shows. He's flawed. He's afraid of flying. His marriage is falling apart. Action heroes aren't supposed to have fear. Die Hard opens by demolishing that myth. The first fifteen minutes are a catalog of fears and failures.

He makes fists with his toes on the carpet because he needs comfort. We care because we saw him try to apologize to his wife and fail spectacularly.

By the time Hans Gruber's men storm Nakatomi Plaza, we've already watched McClane lose the only fight that matters to him. The terrorists are just the physical manifestation of a man trying to prove he's worth keeping. Now we can invest in his action and success.

Don’t worry about sounding professional. Sound like you. There are over 1.5 billion websites out there, but your story is what’s going to separate this one from the rest. If you read the words back and don’t hear your own voice in your head, that’s a good sign you still have more work to do.

Be clear, be confident and don’t overthink it. The beauty of your story is that it’s going to continue to evolve and your site can evolve with it. Your goal should be to make it feel right for right now. Later will take care of itself. It always does.

Most action movies get this backwards.

They open with a twelve-minute chase sequence, assuming spectacle creates investment. It doesn't. Spectacle without character is expensive noise.

I love the spectacle. Once. But if you want me to watch it time and time again, I must care about the hero. That means you have to show me their soul, and the earlier, the better.

The Setup Everyone Skips

Die Hard's opening delays the action. It's revolutionary because it understands a fundamental truth: I need a reason to care about John McClane.

The movie believes in this so completely that they repeat the technique with Sgt. Al Powell. We watch him buy Twinkies for his pregnant wife and chat with a store clerk. Later, we learn he accidentally shot a kid years ago and hasn't drawn his weapon since. When Powell finally does shoot Karl at the film's climax, saving McClane's life, it's not just action. It's character. He's overcome his trauma. The gunshot is proof of his resurrection.

Even the supporting characters get this treatment. That's how committed Die Hard is to character over spectacle.

Now look hard at how we meet John:

The plane: McClane white-knuckles the armrest during landing. A businessman offers unsolicited advice about jet lag: "Make fists with your toes." McClane actually tries it, which tells you everything. He's desperate.

The limo: Argyle clocks him immediately. "You don't like flying, you don't like L.A., what are you doing here?" He’s trying to save his marriage. By the way, we can already see he failed before a single terrorist shows up. Their friendship feels earned in sixty seconds of conversation.

The lobby: McClane walks through modern lobby, juxtaposed to his nature. Its modern. He’s a relic in a worn sports coat and scuffed shoes. The working-class man in a white-collar cathedral. This isn't his world. He doesn't belong here.

Holly's office: Two strong-willed people who love each other but can't make it work. She took back her maiden name. She's succeeding without him. He's failing because of it.

Then Hans Gruber arrives with automatic weapons, and suddenly that conversation becomes the stakes for the next two hours. McClane isn't fighting to save hostages. He's fighting to prove he's the man Holly married, not the one she left. And he won’t back down, no matter what.

I return every December for the slow build to the action. For the character work that makes the spectacle mean something.

When You Ignore the Quiet Part

Not every movie understands this. Compare xXx (2002). Vin Diesel's Xander Cage opens with extreme sports footage, a massive bridge stunt, explosions, attitude. Fifteen minutes of pure spectacle. Awesome.

We only learn one thing about him: he's extreme. That, and he’s ahead of YouTube.

I enjoy this movie. It’s a guilty pleasure for the action and unrealistic fun. But I don’t love it.

When Diesel finds himself in danger, the tension evaporates. He tells the audience and the other characters time and again that he doesn't care. If he doesn't care, why should I?

Look, Diesel commits fully, the stunts are genuinely impressive, and there's something satisfying about watching someone snowboard away from an avalanche. It knows exactly what it is and doesn't pretend otherwise.

But "extreme for the sake of extreme" only carries you so far. By the third act, when Cage is supposedly choosing between his old life and saving the world, we barely register the choice because we never understood what his old life meant to him in the first place.

Diesel's strength has never been emotional depth. He sells the hell out of being Xander Cage. The script just never gave him a soul or vulnerability.

Without that anchor, the spectacle remains spectacle. Impressive. Loud. Hollow.

As a combat veteran who operated helicopters in wartime conditions, I can tell you: operators don't fight because they're extreme. They fight because something matters more than safety. Xander Cage is only in it for the thrill.

xXx is a good action movie. But it’s no Die Hard.

How This Actually Works on the Page

My novel, Stealing Stealth, doesn't open with CIA officer John Olson in a firefight. It opens with him in a surveillance van, watching monitors and checking his watch for the third time. Desperate. Anxious. His career depends on catching a thief and avoiding his superior’s wrath.

We understand what drives him: his father's disappointment, his need to prove himself, his obsessive certainty he's right when everyone says he's wrong.

So when the action explodes three chapters later, we have a reason to believe in him. We care. Not because bullets are flying, but because we know what Olson is fighting for: validation, redemption, proof he's the hero we know is there.

When he experiences setbacks, they become our setbacks. And the victories taste so much sweeter.

The Principle

Before explosions, before chases, before climactic shootouts, show me what your character values are. Show me that they're afraid. Show me who they are.

Do they make hard decisions?  Is there someone that matters more than their personal safety. Show me the failure that haunts them or the redemption they're desperate to earn.

Make them human. After that, now they can be heroic.

John McClane works because we see him vulnerable, displaced, and desperate before we see him fight terrorists. The action isn’t his character. It reveals his character.

Your action scenes can have perfect shot composition, flawless choreography, and spectacular effects. But without that quiet moment establishing what's actually at stake, they're just technical exercises for a protagonist that could be in any film of the week on Netflix.

Here's your diagnostic: In your story's first action sequence, could you replace your protagonist with any other character without changing the meaning of the scene? If yes, you've written spectacle, not story. Go back. Write the failure first. Show me the fear. Give me the quiet moment. Now you can kick ass.

And yes, Die Hard is absolutely a Christmas movie. I will die on this hill.

What's your favorite example of character work elevating an action film? Or the worst case of spectacle without soul? Let me know in the comments—I study both the successes and the failures.