Even though the virtues of
the first film in the Walking Tall
series are quite humble, the franchise provides an object lesson in diminishing
returns—and a crass example of Hollywood shamelessly milking a property for
every penny. Critical lashings and meager box-office returns for
the second and third films did not deter the films’ producers from generating a TV movie, titled A Real American Hero, about the
same real-life historical figure from the Walking
Tall flicks. Later, a different company picked up the reins by creating a short-lived Walking Tall TV series in 1981. And then, decades after it seemed like the Walking Tall brand was exhausted, a remake of the original film was released
in 2004, and the remake begat a number of straight-to-video sequels. Why all
the bother? Well, if you believe half the tall tales told about the late Buford
Pusser, the subject of all of these stories, he was about as close to a
real-life action hero as there ever was. A former wrestler who became the
sheriff of Tennessee’s McNairy County, Pusser took on organized crime and won,
purging McNairy of moonshiners, prostitutes, racketeers, and so on. Yet justice
came at a terrible price. Pusser’s wife was murdered, and he himself died under
mysterious circumstances while still serving as sheriff.
The first movie,
simply titled Walking Tall, was based on a nonfiction book about Pusser. At
the beginning of the story, Pusser (Joe Don Baker) gives up wrestling for a
quiet life in McNairy County, only to discover that the area is overrun with
crooks. Idealistic and stubborn, Pusser gets into hassles with the area’s
criminal element, so he’s beaten and left for dead. After his recovery, he’s
unable to exact justice via the legal system, so Pusser runs for sheriff and
becomes a one-man vengeance squad. The title relates to Pusser’s signature weapon,
a four-foot wooden club that he uses to beat evildoers (as in, “Walk tall and
carry a big stick”). One of the most interesting elements of the movie is
Pusser’s gradual education about things like search-and-seizure laws and
suspects’ rights; he evolves from recklessly kicking ass to slyly trapping bad
guys through their own misdeeds. Meanwhile, he tries to build a stable home
life with his wife, Pauline (Elizabeth Hartman), and their two kids—but, of
course, the grim ubiquity of danger makes that impossible.
As directed by
competent journeyman Phil Karlson, Walking Tall
moves along at a good clip even though it’s 125 minutes. In fact, it’s arguably
the ultimate epic of brawling-redneck movies. Plus, by the time the movie
slides into its final act—during which Pusser metes out bloody justice while
his face is masked in bandages following a near-fatal assault—Walking Tall becomes just a little bit
deranged. (How deranged? The plaintive theme song is performed by, of all
people, Johnny Mathis. Seriously, Johnny
Mathis.) Baker is in his natural element here, exuding badass ’tude and
cornpone charm, so it doesn’t really matter that the rest of the cast is
largely forgettable; only crusty character actor Noah Berry, Jr., as Pusser’s
papa, makes an impression.
Sadly, the real-life Pusser died a year after the
first film was released, casting a morbid pall over Walking Tall Part II,
in which the statuesque Bo Svenson takes over the lead role. Lacking Baker’s
charisma, Svenson struggles through emotional moments and relies on his
intimidating physique to sell action scenes. Further, he seems too gentle to
believably play a man who’d rather crack skulls than read suspects their
rights. It isn’t giving much away to say that the original Walking Tall ends with Pusser killing the men who murdered his
wife, and that Walking Tall: Part II
dramatizes his attempts to arrest the gangsters who ordered the hit. The sequel
adds swampy flavor, with supporting characters bearing names like “Pinky
Dobson” and “Stud Pardee,” and the caliber of the supporting players is a
slight improvement on the first film. Reliable actors including Luke Askew and
Richard Jaeckel add energy, though leading lady Angel Tompkins is largely
decorative as a temptress hired to ensnare Pusser. And while periodic car
chases and shootouts keep things lively, there’s too much aimless
yakety-yak—not exactly Svenson’s strong suit as a performer. Worse, the way the
movie addresses the real Pusser’s death is highly unsatisfying.
The last of the
’70s Pusser flicks, the oddly titled Final Chapter: Walking Tall, is as
interminable as it is unnecessary. Fabricating a thin story to depict what
happened to Pusser between the climax of the previous film and his death—while,
of course, presenting a wholly unsubstantiated conspiracy theory in order to name
Pusser’s killers—Final Chapter: Walking
Tall mostly features Pusser (Svenson again) fretting about his troubles. A long
scene of Pusser weeping over his wife’s grave represents the nadir of Svenson’s
acting in the series; he tries mightily but can’t conjure anything genuine.
Weirdly, the makers of Final Chapter:
Walking Tall often forget they’re cranking out an exploitation flick,
instead trying to generate wholesome family drama. Pusser saves a kid from an
abusive father, romances a girl-next-door secretary, and generally tries to set
a positive example for his kids—yawn. Literally an hour of screen time elapses
before serious action occurs.
Anyway, one last item for trivia buffs—two
performes who appear in all three ’70s Walking
Tall movies are teen idol Leif Garrett, as Pusser’s son, and character
actor Bruce Glover, as Pusser’s deputy. Best known for playing a gay hit man in
the 007 romp Diamonds are Forever
(1971), Glover also sired oddball actor/director Crispin Glover.
Walking Tall: GROOVY
Walking Tall Part II: FUNKY
Final Chapter: Walking Tall: LAME
