On Ego, Roles, and Why Die Hard Still Wins the Argument
Recently, Macaulay Culkin appeared on the Mythical Kitchen podcast and weighed in on the annual debate: Is Die Hard a Christmas movie? His answer was no—and his reasoning was familiar.
According to Culkin, Die Hard could take place on any holiday. He offered St. Patrick’s Day as an example. He then went further, half-jokingly crowning himself the “godfather of Christmas,” suggesting his opinion carries weight because he starred in Home Alone over thirty years ago.
It’s a charming moment. It’s also wrong.
Not just about Die Hard—but about how authority, identity, and ego quietly blur together when we confuse the roles we’ve played with what we actually understand.
The St. Patrick’s Day Argument Falls Apart Immediately
Let’s start with the practical issue.
Die Hard cannot take place on St. Patrick’s Day.
Not narratively. Not culturally. Not logistically.
- Corporate office towers do not shut down for St. Patrick’s Day
- Companies do not fly guests in for a St. Patrick’s Day party
- No one hosts a once-a-year, end-of-year corporate celebration tied to St. Patrick’s Day
- There is no reason for an entire building to be nearly empty except for a single, high-level event
Christmas isn’t interchangeable here—it’s structural.
The Nakatomi Plaza party works because Christmas is a culturally recognized pause. A moment when businesses close, people travel, defenses soften, and security protocols relax. The entire setup depends on that collective agreement.
This isn’t symbolism. It’s plot mechanics.
Remove Christmas, and Die Hard doesn’t bend—it breaks.
When Roles Become Identity
The more interesting part of Culkin’s comment isn’t the movie logic. It’s the leap from having played a role to having authority.
This is a very human mistake.
Playing a child in a Christmas movie does not make someone an expert on Christmas any more than playing a lawyer makes someone a legal authority. Roles create familiarity, not insight.
And yet, the ego loves to borrow credibility from past identities.
“I was there.”
“I was part of it.”
“I represent this thing.”
Over time, that association can quietly harden into authority—especially when reinforced by nostalgia, fame, or public affection.
But Christmas isn’t owned by actors.
And meaning isn’t governed by résumés.
Nostalgia Isn’t Credentials
Home Alone is undeniably a Christmas classic. But loving a thing—or being loved because of a thing—doesn’t grant jurisdiction over what the thing means.
Christmas doesn’t belong to:
- actors
- franchises
- genres
- or childhood memories frozen in time
It’s a living cultural space, constantly reinterpreted through story, context, and resonance.
And sometimes, a barefoot cop crawling through broken glass on Christmas Eve captures that spirit better than a booby-trapped suburban fantasy ever could.
If There Is a Godfather of Christmas, It Isn’t Who You Think
If we’re going to jokingly crown a “godfather of Christmas,” there’s a far more fitting candidate.
Jimmy Stewart.
Not because he played in Christmas movies—but because he embodied what Christmas stories are actually about:
- moral reckoning
- humility
- redemption
- the quiet courage to face one’s failures and choose connection anyway
Stewart’s characters were never shiny or perfect. They were burdened, conflicted, and human.
Which is precisely why it’s easy to imagine him watching Die Hard and smiling—not at the explosions, but at the arc.
A man confronting his pride.
A marriage repaired.
A broken cop finding redemption.
Strangers becoming allies.
Connection restored through crisis.
That’s not anti-Christmas.
That is Christmas.
The Real Issue: We Confuse Tone with Meaning
The resistance to Die Hard being a Christmas movie isn’t about logic—it’s about comfort.
We associate Christmas with softness, safety, and nostalgia. Die Hard disrupts that by acknowledging something truer: that love, reconciliation, and renewal often emerge through tension, failure, and chaos.
Christmas doesn’t erase conflict.
It shines a light on it.
And sometimes, that light comes from a flickering fluorescent bulb on the 30th floor of Nakatomi Plaza.
Final Thought
Being part of a beloved Christmas movie doesn’t make anyone the gatekeeper of Christmas. It just makes them part of its long, evolving conversation.
And that conversation has room for carols and gunshots.
For sentiment and struggle.
For Kevin McCallister and John McClane.
If anything, the fact that we’re still arguing about it every December is proof that Die Hard belongs exactly where it is.
Open Reflection Questions
- Where else do we mistake familiarity for authority?
- How often do we let past roles define present understanding?
- What other stories have we dismissed because they don’t match our expectations of “how meaning should look”?
