Chuck Norris: He Kicked Ass. What More Do You Want?

Photos: Everett Collection; Photo Illustration: Dillen Phelps

As I approached middle age back in the 1990s, I found my personal life in a dark wood. I began dating a young woman of Italian extraction who loved and doted on her Very Old Grandmother, a very nice (I suppose?) woman who loved little more than staying at home in her United Nations Plaza apartment and watching reruns of Walker: Texas Ranger. Now the Very Old Grandmother spoke not a single word of English — and I believe this was something like a deliberate, semi-spiteful choice — but this did not interfere with her enjoyment of Walker:Texas Ranger, because the draw of Walker: Texas Ranger was its indefatigable lead actor, Chuck Norris. Watching her coo in admiration at Norris’ no-nonsense (some would say no-expression) acting and kicking style, I couldn’t help but notice after any given episode, she would regard me with something like pitying half-contempt. After spending time with a real man like Chuck, what was I bringing to the table? Not much. 

It’s a helluva thing, feeling inferior to Chuck Norris. And apparently a pretty uncommon thing among my tribe, that of the film critic. Both the television and film work of Norris was roundly and snidely denounced during the man’s box-office heyday, which was profitable indeed. You may have heard the story of music producer Sam Phillips musing about the profit potential of finding a white singer with a Black feel back in the ‘50s, and hitting pay dirt with Elvis Presley. It doesn’t exactly do justice to label Norris as the Elvis of martial arts movies. But it’s also not an entirely crazy call. 

Let’s give him this: in terms of martial arts as such, he put in the work. He held black belts in five forms of fighting. Oklahoma born, he spent time in South Korea during a stint in the Air Force, and it was there that he began his studies of martial arts. Once back in the States, he hit Hollywood to train performers and got his first on-screen role in The Wrecking Crew, one of those lamentable Dean Martin “Matt Helm” spy spoofs. Norris impressed Bruce Lee to such an extent that Lee cast the American as his nemesis in 1972’s The Way of the Dragon, Lee’s sole complete directorial effort and the last Lee picture released in his lifetime. The battle takes place amid rear-projected Roman ruins, and at one point is observed by a very cute curious kitten. (Directing — it’s all about choices.) 

Photos: Everett Collection, Shutterstock; Photo Illustration: Dillen Phelps

Norris’ first starring role was in the highly forgettable 1977 picture Breaker! Breaker!, one of several trucking-centered films that capitalized on the AM success of the CB radio song “Convoy,” by C.W. McCall. If you’re below the age of 65 that last sentence may read like it’s in Esperanto, but don’t sweat it. This was not a very consequential picture, except inasmuch as it was made for no money and earned rather a lot of money. “Aha!” several producers thought, “let’s see if we can do this a few more times with this Norris fellow.”

Now while Norris wasn’t a terribly good actor as such — in terms of conveying emotion, he made Charles Bronson look like Joaquin Phoenix — he did have moves, and these were what kept his early movies afloat. 1978’s Good Guys Wear Black had a Mad Libs supporting cast — Anne Archer! Dana Andrews! Thurston Howell from Gilligan’s Island! — and was directed by the more or less abysmal Ted Post, who was also behind Magnum Force, the humongous letdown sequel to Dirty Harry. Norris was apparently proud of this choice, as it tied his career to that of Clint, in his mind at least. 

The movie does hit on a theme that was to animate quite a few future Norris pictures; that is, missing-in-action Vietnam War soldiers. American Vietnam War soldiers, just so we’re clear.  “My country wasn’t built on sacrificing people to expedite principles,” Norris apparently said of this story. I don’t even know what that means. 1983’s Lone Wolf McQuade set a template for the future series Walker, but Norris arguably didn’t find his ideal cinematic water level until he teamed up with the Israeli mega-producers Menahem Golan and Yoram Globus of Cannon Pictures. Together they initiated the Missing In Action series, which features Norris going to ‘Nam and rescuing his buddies from still-operational POW camps. The first Missing film came in between Stallone’s First Blood and Rambo: First Blood Part II and both franchises functioned as cinematic fantasy camps of sorts, snatching Vietnam victory from the real-life jaws of defeat. By this time Norris was less focused on showing off martial arts virtuosity and more into firing machine guns. In between Missing films, Golan and Globus tested Norris’ mettle by teaming him with the likes of Lee Marvin (in 1986’s Delta Force; Lee looks less than engaged, frankly) and trying him out in action-comedy (Firewalker, with Lou Gossett, Jr., also 1986). 

His pictures grossed over 500 million bucks, and even after initiating the CBS series Walker (also a Cannon production), Norris churned them out. But he was over fifty by this time, and it’s harder to high-kick at that age. By 1995 they had him co-starring with a dog in, well, Top Dog. But he still commanded bona-fide respect from martial-arts stars, working with legend Sammo Hung on the short-lived CBS series Martial Law. Eventually, as happens to almost all action stars who live long enough, he got to make fun of his persona in 2004’s comedy Dodgeball: The True Underdog Story. He was a genuine show business trouper who made a lot of people, including non-English-speaking Italian grandmothers, very happy. 

Veteran critic Glenn Kenny reviews‎ new releases at RogerEbert.com, the New York Times, and, as befits someone of his advanced age, the AARP magazine. He blogs, very occasionally, at Some Came Running and tweets, mostly in jest, at @glenn__kenny. He is the author of the The World Is Yours: The Story of Scarface, published by Hanover Square Press, and now available for at a bookstore near you.