Welcome back to Blogmas 2025, folks – that annual tradition where I commit to posting holiday-themed content every single day until Christmas Day, because apparently I enjoy making my December unnecessarily complicated. This year, in a moment of either brilliance or laziness (probably both), I’ve enlisted AI to generate my daily writing prompts. Today’s prompt wants me to wade into one of the internet’s most enduring holiday debates: Is Die Hard a Christmas movie? Make your case (serious or tongue-in-cheek).

Now, longtime readers might be thinking, “Aaron, didn’t you already settle this back in 2021?” And yes, I did. But here’s the thing about the Die Hard Christmas movie debate – it’s like fruitcake. It comes back every year whether you want it or not, and no matter how many times you’ve had it before, someone’s going to insist on serving it up again.

So let’s do this. Again. But this time, I’m going deeper. Because in the four years since I last wrote about this, I’ve had time to really think about what makes something a Christmas movie. And I’ve come to realize that my 2021 argument, while correct, didn’t go far enough.

The Standard We’re Working With

Back in 2021, I laid out what I thought was a pretty straightforward case. I asked: What makes a movie a Christmas movie? Is it because it takes place at Christmas? The decorations? The music? Or is it because Christmas is so crucial to the plot that the movie literally wouldn’t exist without it?

I still stand by that framework, but now I want to add another layer: A true Christmas movie doesn’t just need Christmas for its plot – it needs Christmas for its soul.

The Plot Argument (Or: Why Hans Gruber Needs Santa)

Let me revisit and expand on my original argument, because it bears repeating with some new insights. Die Hard doesn’t just happen to take place at Christmas – the entire movie collapses without it.

John McClane is on that plane because it’s Christmas Eve. Not because it’s Tuesday. Not because he had some vacation days to burn. Christmas. The one time of year when even the most stubborn New York cop will swallow his pride and fly across the country to see his estranged wife and kids.

Think about John’s situation for a minute. Six months earlier, Holly took that job with Nakatomi Corporation and moved to LA with the kids. John, in all his infinite wisdom, figured she’d fail and come crawling back. He was wrong. So wrong that by December, Holly’s not even using his last name anymore – she’s going by Holly Gennero at the office. That’s not a great sign for the marriage, folks.

But Christmas has this power, doesn’t it? It makes us do things we wouldn’t normally do. It makes us reach out when we’ve been silent. It makes us try when we’ve given up. It’s the deadline we give ourselves for fixing what’s broken. “If we can just make it through Christmas,” we tell ourselves, “maybe we can make it work.”

So John gets on that plane. And here’s a detail I didn’t focus on enough in 2021: He takes a limo from the airport. Why? Because Mr. Takagi, Holly’s generous boss, arranged it. Why would Takagi do that? Because it’s Christmas, and that’s what good bosses do at Christmas – they go the extra mile for their employees’ families. You think Takagi’s sending limos for spouses in March? Please.

The Party Problem

Now, about that Christmas party. I’ve been to my share of office Christmas parties over the years, and let me tell you, they occupy this weird space in the corporate calendar. They’re mandatory but “fun.” They’re professional but personal. They’re the one time of year when the company admits that its employees have lives outside the office.

Hans Gruber knows this. His entire plan hinges on there being just enough people in the building to serve as hostages, but not so many that they can’t be controlled. When else would you get that perfect scenario? The Fourth of July barbecue is at someone’s house. The Halloween party is optional and half the office doesn’t show. But the Christmas party? That’s when you get exactly the right number of people in exactly the right place.

Without Christmas, Hans has to either deal with a fully staffed building (impossible) or an empty one (no hostages for his elaborate fake-terrorist scheme). Christmas gives him that Goldilocks zone of victimhood – not too many, not too few, just right.

The Reconciliation Reality

But here’s what really makes Die Hard a Christmas movie, and it’s something I only touched on briefly in my original post: the emotional arc of John and Holly’s relationship perfectly mirrors what Christmas does to all of us.

At the beginning of the movie, Holly introduces herself as “Holly Gennero.” She’s not using John’s name. She’s moved on, at least professionally. She’s successful, independent, and doing just fine without him, thank you very much. John shows up with his tail between his legs, making an effort but clearly uncomfortable, out of his element, literally and figuratively barefoot.

By the end? She’s “Holly McClane” again.

What changed? Did they have a long conversation about their feelings? Did they go to couples therapy between Hans shooting Mr. Takagi and falling off the building? No. They just went through something together that reminded them why they chose each other in the first place. They remembered what mattered.

Isn’t that exactly what Christmas is supposed to do? Strip away all the nonsense and remind us what’s actually important?

The Just Friends Test

In 2021, I introduced what I now call the “Just Friends Test,” named after that Ryan Reynolds rom-com that nobody remembers except when we’re having this exact debate. Just Friends takes place at Christmas. There’s snow, decorations, music – the works. But you could set that movie at any time of year and nothing would change. Reynolds’ character doesn’t go home because it’s Christmas; his plane just happens to make an emergency landing near his hometown.

Die Hard fails this test spectacularly, and that’s a good thing. Move Die Hard to any other time of year and the movie doesn’t just change – it disappears entirely. No Christmas, no reconciliation attempt. No reconciliation attempt, no John at Nakatomi Plaza. No John at Nakatomi Plaza, no monkey in Hans’ wrench. No monkey in the wrench, Hans gets away with $640 million in bearer bonds and spends the rest of his life on a beach, earning 20%.

The Deeper Truth Nobody Wants to Admit

Here’s something I’ve realized since 2021: The reason the “Is Die Hard a Christmas movie?” debate never dies is because it forces us to confront what Christmas movies really are versus what we pretend they are.

We pretend Christmas movies are about snow and Santa and magic and everyone learning valuable lessons about the importance of family. We pretend they’re wholesome and safe and appropriate for all ages. We pretend they’re comfortable.

But the best Christmas stories have always been about dysfunction and desperation. It’s a Wonderful Life? That’s about a man literally contemplating suicide on Christmas Eve. A Christmas Carol? A bitter old man being terrorized by ghosts until he changes his ways. Home Alone? Child abandonment and assault. Even Rudolph is about systematic workplace bullying that only stops when the victim proves useful.

Die Hard just takes that subtext and makes it text. Instead of metaphorical obstacles keeping the family apart, it’s actual terrorists. Instead of emotional walls, it’s actual walls (and elevator shafts, and air ducts). Instead of fighting through their feelings, John’s just… fighting.

The Yippee-Ki-Yay Factor

You know what else makes Die Hard a perfect Christmas movie? It acknowledges that sometimes, during the holidays, what you really want to say isn’t “Merry Christmas” or “Peace on Earth” or “God bless us, everyone.”

Sometimes what you want to say is “Yippee-ki-yay, motherf***er.”

Because sometimes your in-laws are insufferable. Sometimes the office party is excruciating. Sometimes the family dynamics are so complicated that international terrorism would actually be a welcome distraction. Die Hard gives us permission to feel that way. It says, “Yeah, Christmas is hard, and sometimes you’re barefoot in broken glass just trying to survive until December 26th.”

The Most Wonderful Crime of the Year

I also want to revisit something from my 2021 post that I think deserves more attention: Hans Gruber’s plan is inherently, fundamentally, essentially a Christmas plan.

Think about any other heist movie. The criminals either want to rob the place when it’s empty (less risk) or when it’s full (more chaos to hide in). Hans wants it exactly in between – populated enough to have hostages, empty enough to control. That specific condition only exists at an office Christmas party.

Moreover, Hans is counting on the reduced security, the distracted law enforcement (who’d rather be home with their families), and the general goodwill of the season to help his plan along. He’s basically the Grinch with a better accent and more ammunition.

The Cultural Proof

Here’s the ultimate evidence that Die Hard is a Christmas movie: We’ve accepted it as one.

You can now buy Die Hard Christmas ornaments. Not “action movie ornaments that happen to feature Die Hard.” Specifically Christmas ornaments. I’ve seen Die Hard ugly Christmas sweaters. There are “Now I have a machine gun, Ho Ho Ho” greeting cards. The movie airs during Christmas marathons on TV.

Culture has spoken. The verdict is in. We can debate all we want, but when capitalism starts selling your movie as Christmas merchandise, the discussion is over. You’re a Christmas movie now. Congratulations, John McClane, you’re in the same category as Frosty and the Grinch.

The Argument I’m Tired of Having

You know what? I’m going to say something that might be controversial: The people who argue that Die Hard isn’t a Christmas movie are the same people who think Christmas movies have to be “nice.”

They’re the people who think every Christmas story needs to end with snow falling gently while families hug and learn important lessons. They’re the people who think Christmas can’t involve explosions or hostage situations or barefoot cops in wife-beaters crawling through air ducts.

But Christmas isn’t always nice. Sometimes it’s messy and complicated and involves family members you’d rather throw off a building than share eggnog with. Sometimes the best you can hope for is survival. Sometimes “Merry Christmas” is just making it to December 26th with your marriage intact.

Die Hard gets that. It understands that Christmas is complicated, that family is hard, that reconciliation is messy, and that sometimes the best present you can give someone is shooting the terrorist who’s holding them hostage.

The Verdict Stands

So yes, Die Hard is a Christmas movie. I said it in 2021, and I’m saying it again in 2025, and I’ll probably say it again in 2029 when we’re all still having this debate because apparently this is what we do now instead of actually watching the movie.

It’s a Christmas movie because Christmas is essential to its plot. It’s a Christmas movie because it understands what Christmas is really about – family, reconciliation, and surviving whatever gets thrown at you. It’s a Christmas movie because we’ve collectively decided it is, and at the end of the day, that’s how culture works.

And if you disagree? Well, that’s fine. You’re wrong, but it’s fine. This is America, and you have the right to be wrong about things. Just don’t come to my house on Christmas Eve expecting me to put on Elf for the hundredth time. We’re watching John McClane save Christmas the only way he knows how – violently and while making questionable decisions about footwear.

Bonus Christmas connection: Hans Gruber took over Nakatomi Plaza on Christmas Eve. Franz Gruber wrote the music for Silent Night on Christmas Eve. Coincidence? I think not.

What’s your take? Are you ready to accept Die Hard into the Christmas movie canon, or are you still clinging to the notion that Christmas movies can’t have body counts? Drop a comment below and let me know. And if you reference that “Just Friends Test,” I’ll know you’ve been reading since 2021, and I appreciate you more than Hans Gruber appreciates a good suit.