The film does make some half-hearted and perfunctory political statements about the role of the Texas Ranger in a modern civilised society. If nothing else it provides unintentional hilarity for the spectator. Of course it doesn’t ring true at all, but the film deserves credit for trying to develop the subplot. All he needs is a six pack in the fridge, his loyal wolf on the porch, and plenty of tin cans and scarecrows to use for target practice. Lola represents the incursion of domesticity into McQuade’s sparse and rustic existence. Quite literally in one utterly bizarre scene where the loved up couple copulate in the mud in slow motion while opera music plays on the soundtrack. Norris the token love interest provided by Lola (Barbara Carrera) muddies the waters even more. Norris is clearly ill at ease with the moments were he must play the doting father, and his discomfort visibly increases when he must express emotion at an attempt on his daughters life and her eventual kidnapping. In a bizarre twist the screenplay actually takes time out to try and penetrate the masculine defences McQuade has built up. Along the way we are introduced to a gallery of quirky characters and peculiar incidents that take on an increasingly surreal tone as the film progresses. The film is entirely constructed around the inevitable showdown between these two titans, and to his credit Carver steadily builds towards this finale with economy and excitement. Wilkes surrounds himself with a small army equipped with the latest military hardware, and parades around in a succession of tasteless jumpers. Carradine, with more than a touch of the sardonic, plays drug kingpin Rawley Wilkes. After facing the not inconsiderable opposition of Bruce Lee in The Way of the Dragon (1972) it seems only right that that a decade later Norris gets the opportunity to face another action heavyweight in the shape of David Carradine. With every facet of McQuade’s character established in under eight minutes of screen time, director Steve Carver can get on with the job of stringing together an absurd, but oddly enjoyable narrative. In one fell swoop the opening action set piece establishes McQuade’s exceptional marksmanship, incredible martial arts skills, his status as a rebellious loner, and the incompetence of his fellow rangers. One would have thought the casting of Norris was enough, but the film is determined to avoid the cinematic shorthand his iconic presence signifies. This action sequence is entirely constructed around the need to establish the tough guy credentials of J. If this isn’t enough we also get a musical fanfare when Norris reveals the badge on his chest that signifies he is a Texas Ranger. We have a group of modern day Mexican bandits horse rustling, we have plentiful shots of the wide open expanse of the dusty Texan landscape, and repeated close ups of Norris’ eyes and grim expression. In the early moments the film seems at pains to emphasise its status as a contemporary western. We are firmly in the territory of the modern day spaghetti western pastiche. The Chuck Norris action vehicle Lone Wolf McQuade immediately signifies its intent with an opening credit sequence that highlights the sub-Morricone music of Francesco De Masi.
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