Want The Die Hard Experience? Forget the Twinkie

Twinkie Die Hard Experience

Without Sgt Al Powell, Die Hard would not have been the Christmas Film it is.

OK, let me back up here and be clear about a few things. Die Hard IS a Christmas Film, more so than Frozen (set in July, by the way) and yes, it’s not a tear jerker like let’s say, ‘It’s A Wonderful Life’ or ‘Elf’ but it has the violence of Home Alone (turned to 11) and the plot intricacies of ‘A Christmas Carol’. Now tell me if Dickens was American he wouldn’t have written Die Hard…

The point is, it’s a memorable, quotable film. Great films are about details. Details give characters depth, they make you take notice, they make you remember things that you would easily forget if you just went to the shops for milk and instead came back with a chain cutter, hello Aldi. Sgt Al Powell was one half of the detail that makes Die Hard stand out.

The other was of course, a Twinkie.

Let’s recap, it’s what you see him buy in his first scene even though the checkout man says “I thought you guys ate donuts” and it’s what Powell and McClaine bond over when John has taken a momentary break from killing international terrorists and being bad ass in a vest.

Details make films, and they are, for a moment going to make a review.

See, for as much as a fan of the film that I am, I have never, ever had a Twinkie. On one hand it’s because I live in Europe and well, we’re quite stringent about what comes into our food chain which also includes tourists, on the other, I just generally worry about foods I’ve never understood.

Die Hard Twinkie

I was right to be worried.

I now understand the obesity epidemic in the states. The sponge is bad, so bad, and I feel like 12 year old Gino has been re-introduced to Baywatch and that my understanding of ‘artificial’ has a greater meaning than ‘Pamela’. My stomach dreads the after effects and that’s just on the first bite.

It apparently has a cream filling, which it does but it has the consistency of shaving soap, the sweetness of pure aspartame and has been so crudely injected that I can see where the idea of The Human Centipede came from – if the writer was on a diet of questionable American snacks. Just one look after a bite makes me question a lot of things. Life decisions, the rainforest, my CD collection and if I have enough laxative to clear my system after what is turning out to be the closest thing I’ve had to  “never meet your heroes” scenario.

The more bites I take, the more I regret ever having been a bit of a twat to friends and well strangers. Nigella, I’m truly sorry, your pasta bastardisation could never be as bad as this, you could try, but it just wouldn’t.

Regretfully I look at the box of ingredients and it reads like a mashup of something out of an E.L.James/Mary Shelley novel and there are more E-Numbers than a night out at Fabric and the Hacienda combined. There are warnings for children, and that ‘things’ are *derived from a genetically modified source. Not that surprising when you think you could be off your tits from a children’s cake made to constipate you and give you a strong sense of paranoia.

I honestly can’t force myself to finish it, I would rather take beats or have a ‘Donald experience in a Russian hotel room’ than taking another bite, this really isn’t for me. In years to come, I fear for my Proustian moment, he at least had a madeleine, I was stuck with a Twinkie. A… Twinkie.

Details make films more accessible, and by that logic, if I wanted the Die Hard Experience, I should run around my house shouting Yipikiyay Motherfuc*er in a vest and maybe piss off some Germans on Twitter, all of which would make for a better, more realistic experience than ever eating another Twinkie in my life.

Gino de blasio

About Gino de blasio

Gino was raised on a diet of Italian food, 1990s stereotypes and thinks Pop Tarts are still one of his five-a-day. Big hair, big heart, but no time for bad coffee.

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