If you’re the kind of person who enjoys parsing the meaning and significance of words and catchphrases, and if you’re the kind of person who likes to ponder the relationship across time and space between the individual and community, and if you’re the kind of person who enjoys getting academic about matters profane, then you may find Eric Lichtenfeld’s tribute to the Die Hard franchise‘s most famous one-liner just as stirring and moving as I did:
Most one-liners articulate the hero’s self-regard (or in Harry Callahan’s case, regard for his .44 Magnum), and why shouldn’t they? The action genre is primarily an exercise in hero-worship. But Die Hard‘s wisecrack is remarkable for how it refers not to one hero but to a tradition of heroism. It is a line born of pride, not of ego.
When terrorist-slash-exceptional thief Hans Gruber (Alan Rickman) taunts hero John McClane (Bruce Willis), “Who are you? Just another American who saw too many movies as a child?” and asks this “Mr. Cowboy” if he really thinks he stands a chance, McClane’s answer—”Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker”—marks the moment that McClane, an everyman, assumes the mantle of America’s archetypal heroes: Roy Rogers, John Wayne, Gunsmoke‘s Marshall Dillon, and others who have been so vital to American boyhood. Unlike the many action-movie one-liners that are rooted in the hero’s narcissism, McClane’s stems from our collective wish-fulfillment. He is not referring to himself, not suggesting an “I” or a “me” but an us. And considering the European Gruber’s appreciation of fashion, finance, and the classics, McClane’s comeback acquires an additional subtext: Our pop culture can beat up your high culture.
In John McClane’s stance, there lies a bravado that bridges two American traditions. “Yippee-ki-yay” summons America’s mythic, gunfighter past, while “motherfucker” belongs to the modern action movie. Seen in this light, the line also recalls the macho cinema of the 1970s, when Clint Eastwood, Charles Bronson, and Don Siegel helped create the action genre while continuing to trade in Westerns.
A quarter of the line (or half, depending on how you count) is profane, and yet “Yippee-ki-yay, motherfucker” is actually a delicate wisecrack. Underscoring the line’s bridging of generations is the symmetry of its construction. On either side of the comma, past and present each get four syllables. This balance is manifested in the evenness of Willis’ first—and best—delivery of the line. Subtly, he eases off “fucker,” the word that, by virtue of its syntactical position, and its very nature, we might expect to land hardest on our ears. That Willis does not employ the same deftness in the sequels is a pity. The phrase is most effective not as a buildup to some hammer punch, but as one seamless unit of defiance.
Incidentally, I still find it hard to believe that it has been 19 years since the first film came out — 19 years since I was a 17-year-old college student going to the movie with my friend Doug and hoping the ticket vendor wouldn’t ask to see our IDs. This series has been around for more than half my lifetime, now. Wow.
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