This week marks the 30th anniversary of the release of Die Hard, and while I can’t answer the question of what my all-time favorite movie is, which is like asking what my all-time favorite food is — as if comparing a perfectly cooked steak to a hot fudge sundae even makes sense — I’m not hesitant to say that Die Hard is by far my all-time favorite action movie. Explaining why, though, especially to my teenage kids, is a bit tougher. What makes Die Hard such a timeless masterpiece?

The short answer? America. Specifically, American exceptionalism and the stereotypes of the ’80s.

You see, kids, a few decades ago, we had this thing called the Cold War. Nobody really knew what it meant except that there were a bunch of missiles pointed at us by people who sounded like Rocky and Bullwinkle villains and wore funny hats. Every day, we were reminded by films, music, television, and the news that those in charge were just a few seconds away from melting our faces and turning the planet into charcoal.

See this? This is the kind of crap that was seared into our consciousness. (From the movie The Day After)

Then, suddenly, it was over. For those of us who were kids ourselves, we didn’t exactly understand why. We were pretty sure it was partially due to punk kids in Germany with sledgehammers, but it was mostly because we were just awesome. We were America! We told a foreign leader to tear down a wall, and, BOOM, the wall fell down. We had been served a heaping plate of American exceptionalism with a side dish of xenophobia, and we just ate that shit right up. Over and over again. Your generation may have coined ‘Murica, but you certainly didn’t invent the idea. Bombastic, flag-waving nationalism was the fare of the day…and the week…and the month. Until we were so full of Budweiser and apple pie that we were bursting at the seams of our Guess jeans.

Enter John McClane.

This is no Superman majestically staring off into the distance with the Stars and Stripes in the background. This is a broken hero. McClane is a tough guy who is afraid of flying. A family man trying to reconcile with his wife while eyeballing and flirting with pretty women. He’s envious of his wife’s success and afraid of her independence, and he sees it as an attack on his manhood. He’s quite simply a flawed man in a bad situation trying to do the right thing, and for that, he earns the title “hero.”

But that alone was not enough to make John McClane the action hero of the ’80s. (Sorry, Arnold and Sly.) Remember, this was post Cold War ’80s. We didn’t just need a hero; we needed an “American Hero,” and that meant back filling the movie with enough stereotypes and cliches to make Jeff Dunham blush. Including:

The Foreigners

Hans Gruber

Alan Rickman may be one of the greatest bad guy actors of all time, and John McTiernan deserves our undying gratitude for bringing him to us. He also happens to be very British (i.e., refined and clever). His Hans Gruber was the perfect foil to 20th century cowboy John McClane’s roughness and ingenuity.

Karl

Every ’80s movie needed a strong, silent German villain to kill innocent people without mercy, even if the actor is actually Russian. And a ballet dancer. Alexander Godunov’s Karl and the numerous henchmen he was in charge of were a gentle reminder that it wasn’t too long ago that the evil communists ruled half of Germany. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine Karl and his brother in Stasi uniforms, banging on doors in the middle of the night. Compare that image to guardian-of-the-people New York City Police Detective John McClane.

Nakatomi Corporation / Takagi

A short-lived but very prominent bogeyman of the ’80s was the takeover of America by Japanese businessmen (see Gung Ho and Rising Sun). Throwing our everyday working cop hero into the decadent festivities of a massively successful Japanese company and having his wife not only work for said company but also directly report to the president himself set them up as, if not villains, at least antagonists standing in the way of McClane’s goal of winning back his wife.

The Authority

Johnson and Johnson

The ill-fated FBI agents whose dogged insistence in following the playbook and single-minded barbaric indifference to collateral damage not only led to their own demise but also assisted the bad guys. Johnson and Johnson are the perfect contrast to Cowboy McClane who makes his own rules.

Deputy Police Chief Dwayne T. Robinson

A bumbling Barney Fife on a power trip who refuses to listen to underlings but kowtows to those in authority over him. While McClane can recognize the worth of someone like Sgt. Powell and make him an ally, the Dwayne T. Robinsons of the world are only interested in climbing the ladder and who they have to step on to get up it.

The Elite

The Media

Whether it’s heartless, ambulance chasing news junkies who will do anything for a story like Thornburg or brainless, hair-sprayed douchebags like Harvey, the disdain for the media and hard-working journalists is about as subtle as Holly’s right cross.

The West Coast

Everyone at the party is stereotypical ’80s Los Angeles (i.e., coke snorting, limo riding, shoulder pad wearing effete snobs). The only exceptions are the people like Argyle who serve those in power. Everyone else, once the shit starts going down, becomes useless, screaming sheep.

In short, we were Americans. We were a melting pot, yet we defined ourselves by how we were different, and better, than every other country we came from. We were a nation that strove to improve ourselves while mocking those who had succeeded. We were a people who cried out not to tread on us as we stockpiled guns and food all while venerating those in power and shrugging off their abuses of said power as necessary to protect us from “others.”

Yet we also get punched in the face, and we get back up. We cut our feet, find our shoes are too small, and we keep going. We protect the ones we love, we fight for those who can’t or won’t fight for themselves, and we try to do the right thing no matter who is telling us to stand down. This is also American, and this is why Die Hard spoke to us as a generation, and this is why it still remains while Rambo and Commando have been relegated to the dollar DVD section at Walmart. We are Roy Rogers. We are John McClane. We are Americans.

Yippee ki-yay, motherfuckers.