Some Missed Opportunities to Die Hard: Part 2

As I said yesterday, the producers of the Die Hard franchise were kind to share a few of their discarded story ideas with me.  Here's another great one that got away.

“Die Hard and Rise Up, Literally”  

When a scientific experiment in one of the colleges at Oxford goes wrong, the dead of England rise from their graves.  John McClane and his new wife Penny are worshipping in Westminster Abbey when zombies push up through the floor.  Kings Edward I, III, IV, and Edward the Confessor argue amongst themselves as to who was the best king, and break into a sword fight with Kings Henry III, V, and VII.  George the Second and James the First take on William Gladstone and William Pitt, arguing that the monarchy usually did a better job of governing England than the politicians ever did.  Elizabeth the First pleads with John to incinerate her fellow undead monarchs with a flame thrower, arguing that the current order of Elizabeth II and those in the Houses of Commons and Lords will never be safe if the zombie royals leave the Abbey.  

Unfortunately, Security confiscated John's flame thrower at Heathrow Airport.

Meanwhile Penny, a literature professor, heads off to Poets Corner, where she argues with such notables as Geoffrey Chaucer, Charles Dickens, and Rudyard Kipling on the nature of man (such as, can a zombie feel, reason, and interact with others like the living).  But Charles Darwin sticks his nose in, arguing that zombies are older (hence wiser), and cannot be killed as easily as the living.  Thus, they represent the pinnacle of natural selection.  They shout such arguments at each other, while Muzio Clementi plays a selection of his favorite sonatas, and then George Frideric Handel takes over, leading a choir of tourists and the undead in a production of “The Messiah.”

John tears himself away from Elizabeth I when, over the racket caused by the choir (zombies can't carry a tune to save their existence), he hears a strange, wheezing sound. A blue box appears, and from it steps a cheerful man with dark hair cut in Beatles-style 1960s.  "Brigadier, I've already explained how the Time Lords brought us to Gallifrey, along with my other four incarnations," he tells the dignified, gray-haired man who follows him out.  "It's called a Time Paradox."  

John McClane grabs the man.  "How'd you get here, in that?" he asks.

The man shakes his head with sad eyes and a tired smile.  "My good man, I've just been...."  He kneels to feel the broken stone floor.  "Oh no!  Oh my!  Can you feel that?"  He looks around, sees all the zombies arguing, fighting, and singing.  He points to the pillars and ceiling, which are shaking.  "The sound level is too loud.  Westminster Abbey is about to collapse!"  He grabs John and Penny, and the four disappear inside the strange blue box.  Then, with a flashing light, and a wheezing sound no one else notices, the box disappears.



Given the current popularity of zombies, as well as the British TV show "Doctor Who," you might think that this movie is a no-brainer.  But somehow the Queen heard about it during the preproduction stage, and called to tell the Die Hard producers that she was not amused.  Apparently, when it comes to Westminster Abbey, she can be quite peculiar.

Dragon Dave

Related Dragon Cache entries
Where Church and State are One: Part 1

Where Church and State are One: Part 3

Growing up as a Protestant in America, I saw churches as mere buildings, places where believers (the true church) gathered to worship.  After spending several years in Anglican-style churches, I can now appreciate how some believers make their “gathering-places” into sacred spaces by filling them with artwork that both instructs and inspires.  But visiting a church that is the “official church of the state” is still a new experience for me.

Westminster Abbey as a fish might see it.

Nor did I appreciate, at first, how unique Westminster Abbey is.  Unlike other churches and cathedrals, it is classified as a royal peculiar and therefore under the direct oversight of the Sovereign rather than a church leader such as a bishop.  How this affects its daily operation, and whether priests there are more constrained in what they can preach, I do not know.  But one thing is certain.  Without a doubt, it is the most secular church I have ever visited.


As I mentioned earlier, statues of national leaders tower above worshipers in at least one area, and statesmen, military leaders, and people of science are buried there.  The latter category even includes Charles Darwin, whose teachings many believers regard as anathema.  Nor is official remembrance limited to those who contributed to the state in a pragmatic, quantifiable manner: literary giants such as Charles Dickens, John Milton, and Jane Austen are memorialized in the Abbey’s Poet’s Corner.


Most Church of England cathedrals and churches either charge admission, or have signs and docents stressing their desperate financial need.  Whether Westminster Abbey is cash-poor, or a rich source of income for the crown, I cannot say.  I was surprised to discover that key scenes from movies that inspired me to visit her, such as “Johnny English” and “The King’s Speech,” were filmed elsewhere.  But having seen what a popular destination this is, I can understand why the Queen would not wish to turn away tourists who traveled across borders, time zones, or oceans to visit this uniquely secular-and-sacred place.


Having glimpsed some of her delights, I yearn to explore Westminster Abbey further.  While it might prove difficult to enjoy any area of it in solitude or undisturbed reflection, I can imagine spending hours happily delving into the wealth of history on offer.  But at the equivalent of twenty-five dollars for admission (more for a guided tour), with so many other must-visit sites and lower-cost museums in London, and with my time in this bustling city so terribly, terribly short, I fear that such a pleasure will have to wait for another visit.

My Unworthy Tribute to Westminster Abbey


Guarded by priests, and
Ruled by a queen;
Adorned in splendor, yet
“No photography, please!”


Peculiar and religious,
Expensive yet free;
Everyone should visit,
Westminster Abbey.

Where Church and State are One: Part 2

So I did my best to give in to this spirit of invitation, and tried to allow the following readings and musical numbers to carry me along.  I joined the handful who knelt during the prayers, grasping the back of the occupied chair before me, and holding the front of my own chair so it did not skid into the legs of the worshiper seated behind me.  I watched as the first reader, a priest, was led up to the lectern by one of his younger colleagues who had so effectively directed the laity earlier.  This young man carried a baton or scepter, which he used now to wordlessly direct his older comrade toward the lectern, then waited behind to direct the older priest back when his reading was completed.  The second reader, directed up after more songs and prayers, was not a priest, but the Honorary Consul for Kiribati, a nation made up of atolls and an island straddling the equator in the Pacific Ocean.  While the priest had read from Proverbs, the diplomat read from Romans, where the apostle Paul speaks of enduring despite the thorn in the flesh which constantly threatens to curtain his ministry.  Of the two, the latter had a softer, more pleasing voice that could easily lull one into sleep (or compliance?) if one were not careful.  And for one existing on but an hour of sleep at this point, I found myself grateful that his scripture reading did not extend into a sermon.


All too soon the service drew to a conclusion, and the last responsive reading came from Philippians, a favorite passage of mine in which Paul exhorts us to rejoice always, to cast off all worry and allow God to handle our cares.  If we do this, Paul promises us that God will fill us with a peace that we can never fully understand, but is greater than any state of calmness that we on our own (or with the aid of a pharmaceutical firm) could ever manufacture.  It is a wonderful promise, and my tired mind welcomed it as the perfect way to end a service amid such earthly grandeur and distraction.


During the service, we sat on the Queen’s side, and faced toward a side door, the walkway to which was lined with imposing statues.  As the crowd followed the priests’ instructions, and was herded toward this exit, I was able to study these marble statues more closely.  From reading the inscriptions carved into the pillars upon which these larger-than-life figures stood, I realized that these were edifices to politicians, not to priests.  Lay people who had led England through turbulent times, not to saints beloved for their charitable works, the miracles they performed, nor revered for their holiness.  The most recognizable among them was Winston Churchill, who shepherded the people of this island nation through the terrors of The Blitz and World War II, a historic personage renowned in all corners of the world for his vision and strength of will.  But still a secular hero, not a man of the cloth who has dedicated himself to a life of austerity, holiness, and leading others toward God.  This state church, necessarily a fusion of the present world with the eternal kingdom, is wholly different from that which I am used to.  It serves as a fitting reminder that the purpose of my visit to England is to understand how the people here live in comparison to that of my own, and thus stamped a fitting coda upon my first visit to the many sites London has to offer.


Where Church and State are One will conclude with the next post

Where State and Church Are One: Part 1

It seems unconscionable that one should begin exploring a world-famous destination like London in a state of exhaustion.  Yet, due to the nine-hour time-change, and the dearth of sleep on our first intercontinental flight (with chairs that could not recline!), my wife and I arrived in Heathrow Airport, navigated Customs and the London Underground (also known as The Tube), and arrived at our hotel in mid-afternoon.  After dropping our luggage, we fell onto our bed for an hour of shut-eye.  Thus somewhat refreshed, and with a will to explore, we embarked upon our first “day” in London.


Our first site of interest was Westminster Abbey.  While it has become known as the wedding-site of choice for British royals, it also serves as the place where British kings and queens are crowned.  In the finale of one of my favorite movies, the spy-spoof Johnny English, the title character attempts to prevent the Archbishop of Canterbury from bestowing kingship upon a French businessman intent upon turning the whole of England into one vast prison.  Johnny does this in a rather (shall we say?) unorthodox manner which causes the Archbishop no end of embarrassment, and in the process, he ends up being crowned instead.  But I had journeyed here neither to embarrass the clergy nor to become the next sovereign of the United Kingdom.  I simply wished to worship there, and take in a sense of the place. 


We joined the throng, and were herded in by the priests, who directed the laity onward past statues, wall plaques, impressive architecture, and a myriad of other distractions, with shouts of “Hurry up!  Keep moving!  This way please!”  Those who carried their cameras and cell phones, so eager to retain a lasting memory of this centuries-old site received more specific instructions.  “Put those away!  No photographs!”  And, in one case, “We’ve had this conversation before sir, haven’t we?  You’ll need to delete those photos.  Now.”  The priests repeatedly reminded us we had gotten in without paying admission because we were attending a religious service, and stressed that the service would last an entire hour.  But they performed their traffic-management roles efficiently: eventually all the laity was settled in comfortable chairs arranged in narrowly-spaced rows, and the service was able to begin. 


While it is difficult to still one’s mind and compose one’s soul for worship under such circumstances, the introductory musical number, sung by the visiting Abbey Gale College Chamber Choir from Chester, fell like a gentle flurry of snowfalls upon my weary brow.  Their voices floated toward the ceiling five stories above before cascading down upon us.  I imagined myself standing in the country lane of a rural English village, bundled up in a thick, woolly jacket, while snow drifted down around me, each flake small and dry, individual and unique, whirling and gliding upon unseen air currents.  This sonic resonance swept me along, suggesting that if I would just let down my walls of reserve, then perhaps I could really relax, and then my soul might be able to truly worship. 


Where Church and State are One will continue with the next post