CHUCK'S ROUNDHOUSE: Walker, Texas Ranger: One Riot, One Ranger (1993)

Chuck Norris ending up on a TV show was probably inevitable. As the eighties changed into the nineties, the action genre was undergoing some big changes. "Die Hard" became a repeatable formula that popularized a more easily injured hero. The violence was growing more excessive, often to the point of self-parody. "Terminator 2" was the climax of the Schwarzeneggerian era of action, a massive success that pointed towards the future with its CGI effects and polished tone. The video market was increasingly becoming the home for that older breed of kick-punching action. Van Damme, Seagal, and even Sly ended up there by the end of the decade, the ultimate sign a star was washed-up. I suspect Norris was tapped in enough to cinematic trends to see that was the direction his career was headed too. Why not cash in on whatever name recognition his dwindling star power had by moving to another medium and maybe get a few seasons out of it? Or maybe I'm full of shit. Chuck had a TV show before, kind of. What we do know for certain is that "Walker, Texas Ranger" began life as a production of Cannon's short-lived television decision and Chuck Norris surely became involved early on. Especially since the series was clearly inspired by "Lone Wolf McQuade," with the producers of that film eventually suing over the similarities. 

Whatever its origins, "Walker, Texas Ranger" could probably be described as the biggest success of Norris' career, at least in terms of getting eyeballs on his rugged features. The show ran on CBS for nine seasons and regularly saw high ratings, despite often facing mockery from critics and audiences. It certainly kept a star, that probably would've otherwise faded quickly into lower budgeted action schlock, somewhat relevant for another decade. The initial season was composed of only four pilot episodes, owing to Cannon's financial woes at the time. The first episode was the feature length "One Riot, One Ranger," which was soon afterwards released on VHS as a standalone movie of sorts. This is how I can justify including what would otherwise just be a TV show in my journey through the cinema of Mr. Norris. After all, you can't truly talk about his whole career without at least mentioning "Walker."
 

Cordell Walker is a Sergeant in the Texas Rangers, based out of the Dallas/Fort Worth area. His mastery of karate kicks, propensity for taking down crooks personally, and tendency to skirt rules if they get in the way of justice often sees him coming face-to-face with the criminal element and receiving stern lectures from his superior. His cowboy cop ways sees him assigned a partner, in the form of the more technologically inclined James Trivette. He also gets help on cases from attorney Alexandra Cahill and a retired ranger named C.D., whose bar and grill functions as a base of operation of sorts. “One Riot, One Ranger” sees a group of bandits robbing a bank, their leader posing as a blind man to catch security off-guard. One of Walker's old friends is killed in the resulting shoot-outs. Now teamed with Trivette, Walker attempts to hunt down this team of crooks, their sunglasses wearing and nut chomping leader, and the explosive specialist they recruit. Meanwhile, a family of circus entertainers are terrorized by some yahoos, seeking shelter at the home of Walker's Native American uncle, Ray Firewalker.

For whatever merits the idea may have, the pilot of “Walker, Texas Ranger” does a good job of squeezing the Chuck Norris style into the scope and standards of prime time television. The parallels to “Lone Wolf McQuade” are set up early, as the very first scene has Walker crossing the Mexican border to beat up some thieves in a bar. It's a moment that recalls multiple bar room brawls for Chuck before, him decimating the bad guys with spin-punches and roundhouse kicks while croaking cheesy one-liners. There's a surprising amount of shoot-outs in the back half. Also recalling “McQuade” is Walker's fondness for his pick-up truck, which naturally leads to a car chase. There are some explosions too, though of a much more modest level than the pyrotechnics from Norris' Cannon days. While the scope is much smaller, the plot and politics of this would also fit in with Chuck's eighties work. He runs rough-shod over the law to track down some scary brown people. A would-be bomber mentions a connection to Libya, which is treated as sinister. When he's captured, Cordell and his partner have no problem physically intimidating the guy. While the villains are lawless, anti-government types with black tattoos and blacker sunglasses. Clearly, threats such as these necessitate a roundhouse kicking cop who makes the right to remain silent into a sarcastic joke.

 

The “Walker” pilot can't afford the massive fireballs nor allow the bloody squibs of “Lone Wolf McQuade” but this episode shockingly outpaces its inspiration in one regard. As in “McQuade” and a hundred other buddy cop narratives, the loose cannon cop and his by-the-book partner do not get along at first. Unlike most examples, Walker first meets Trevitt as the latter steps out of a swimming pool in nothing but a speedo. The moment is filmed from a low angle, as if to emphasize certain dimensions, and Trevitt wears only this throughout the rest of the scene. During which Walker glares at him skeptically but intently. The moment ends with Cordell sarcastically declaring “I love him,” which can only read as an admission of attraction in the context of what we're actually seeing. A few scenes later, Trevitt chases down and tackles a perp. After which Walker pulls up in his truck and asks – I swear to god, this is real – “Why are you pumping so hard?” Is that really the most heterosexual way he could have asked that question? The two eventually bond over cowboy partnerships of the past, while Trevitt seductively slurps on his juice bottle. The pilot ends with the men leaping into the air together, Trevitt in garish clown make-up. What a pair of queens! I really didn't expect the pilot movie for his long-running cop show to be the queerest thing Norris ever put his brawny, hairy pecs in. 

I doubt Mr. Norris would appreciate the suggestion that any of his characters were acting in a less than strictly heterosexual manner. Walker has belligerent sexual tension with the district attorney lady, who became a series regular, alongside a fairly gratuitous scene of a bank teller asking if he's single or not. That's because, much like “Sidekicks” and the general tone of Norris' work as he took over more control of the writing and production, “Walker, Texas Ranger” is partially an ode to its star's ego. The pilot depicts its title character as always a morally upright and ultimately reasonable man. If he beats the shit out of some guys or shoots somebody, or even momentarily gives into his anger while viciously fighting the episode's main villain, it is always justified. Cordell Walker is not only a bad-ass and a good guy but he's a pillar of the community. The B-plot about Walker providing a place to stay for the traumatized circus performers never connects with the main story about the bank robbers. It seems to be in the film mostly to give Chuck Norris a dramatic monologue about his own childhood trauma, an Emmy moment for the action star if I've ever seen one. Further into the pilot is a C-plot about Walker getting talked into performing at a rodeo for the benefit of some orphaned kids or something. He's such a stand-up guy!

The combination of the questionable ethical perspective of a wild west sheriff getting things done, corny old fashion moralizing, casual homoeroticism and kicking proves rather amusingly surreal. “One Riot, One Ranger” adds another seemingly unrelated ingredient to this stew: Hokey Native American mysticism. At various times in his career, mostly in “Firewalker” and “The Hitman,” Chuck has referenced his supposed Native American lineage. It is part of the self-built mythology of the man. That thread comes to fruition in “Walker,” where the title character is a white boy with an indigenous uncle. He weaves in and out of the episode to sprinkle some exotic flavor here and there. Most notably in a scene where Walker visits his dad's grave and performs some sort of ritual with a cape and feather. It has little to do with the rest of the story but mostly exists to further flesh out the kind of hero this guy is. He is, simultaneously, a defender of law and order and established authority but also closer to the Earth and the Old Ways than your average white man. It's a natural extension of Chuck's mastery of Eastern martial arts, trading Bushido and ninjatsu for chanting and communing with the Earth spirits. (Further episodes of “Walker” would also reveal the hero was a Vietnam veteran, adding yet another layer of mythic American do-goodery to his origin and also making him basically the right-wing Billy Jack.) 

All of the above is wrapped up in a fairly standard mid-nineties television presentation. Surprisingly, “One Riot, One Ranger” was directed by Virgil M. Vogel, a journeyman filmmaker who was close to wrapping up a sixty year career in Hollywood. Vogel got his start as an editor at Universal in the forties, cutting motion pictures like “The Invisible Woman” and “Abbott and Costello Meet the Invisible Man.” His most prestigious work is probably editing “Touch of Evil.” To me, however, Vogel most intrigues as the director of “The Mole People” and “The Land Unknown.” Rather than stick with cheesy sci-fi/monster movies, he would make the leap to television shortly afterwards and that's what he did for most of the rest of his life. In many ways, “One Riot, One Ranger” looks and feels exactly like every other cop show that aired in 1993. At the same time, some cock-eyed camera angles are employed from time to time, adding to the slightly surreal feel the entire presentation has. 

That zone of utterly average, weirdly personal, and the unintentionally hilarious is where this ninety minute pilot resides. See also: The hilariously awkward “as you know” dialogue, such as when Uncle Ray pauses to tell Walker his own backstory early on. Or the extremely odd decision to hide not one but two bombs inside ash trays that are, as far as I can tell, shaped like giant flies. I can't imagine all of this silly bullshit being stretched out for nine whole seasons. However, the premiere of “Walker, Texas Ranger” is suitably ridiculous enough for me to want to watch more of it. Mission accomplished, I suppose. [7/10]

[THE CHUCK OF NORRIS: 4 outta 5]
[X] Facial Hair
[] Jumps or Kicks Through a Window or Wall
[X] Performs Spin Kick or Spin Punch to Enemy's Face
[X] Shows Off His Hairy Chest
[X] Sports Some Cowboy Getup