Chuck Norris singlehandedly repels Invasion U.S.A. on September 27, 1985


ZAP! POW! BOOM! The year is 1985, and America’s pulse is throbbing to the beat of Reagan’s red, white, and blue bravado, a nation flexing its muscles under the strobe lights of Cold War paranoia. On September 27, 1985, Invasion U.S.A. explodes into theaters, starring the squinting, denim-clad, karate-kicking colossus himself, Chuck Norris. This is no mere movie; it’s a fever dream of jingoistic machismo, a 107-minute carnival of explosions, Uzis, and unapologetic American swagger, served up raw and bloody like a T-bone steak at a VFW barbecue. 

The titular invaders of the U.S.A.? Why, those damn pinko commies, of course! Soviets! Cubans! Assorted well-armed Fellow Travelers! They blow up suburban homes, shoot up shopping malls, and—most unforgivably—disrupt Christmas, that holiest of American holidays. 

Who is the diabolical genius behind this invasion? A Soviet madman named Mikhail Rostov, played by frequent and always-convincing cinematic villain Richard Lynch. A man who literally shoots people in the crotch just for the hell of it!

Who can stop this Red Menace? Enter Matt Hunter, a retired CIA operative living in the Everglades, a swamp-dwelling loner who’s half Rambo, half cowboy, and all Chuck Norris. When Rostov’s goons torch his swamp shack and kill his buddy John Eagle (a name so American it could be stitched on a NASCAR jacket), Hunter fires up his pickup truck, straps on a pair of Uzis, and declares war on the invaders. It’s not just a movie; it’s a one-man foreign policy.

Chuck Norris?! He's OMNIPOTENT! He appears out of nowhere! One moment, the terrorists are gleefully blowing up Christmas trees, the next—BAM!—CHUCK NORRIS is there, a silent, bearded angel of death, raining down hellfire with his tiny submachine guns. He drives his pickup truck through the walls of a shopping mall, wiping out communists somewhere between Cinnabon and Sbarro with glorious, explosive abandon! He is the American superpower, unleashed in a denim vest!

The bleeding heart liberal movie critics of America were triggered faster than an Uzi in Chuck's hands. Jingoistic! Insensitive! Toxic masculinity! Sheer right wing fantasy!

Too bad! The American audience wanted God, guns, trucks, and rugged individualism, and by God, they got them in spades with Invasion U.S.A. It was a box office hit, and the cash registers kept on ringing when it hit video stores on VHS. You wouldn't be surprised that the exceptional direction of the movie was orchestrated by the helmsman of the equally-brilliant Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter, Joseph Zito. With Invasion U.S.A., Zito delivered a monster truck rally inside an exploding fireworks factory that Joe McCarthy would be proud of, and a true artifact of 1980s cinema. 

Invasion U.S.A.! Say it loud! Say it proud! And for God's sake, put on your denim vest!

Location: Miami, FL, USA

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