The Octagon

Cast View all

	Chuck Norris	Scott James
	Karen Carlson	Justine
	Lee Van Cleef	McCarn
	Art Hindle	A. J.
	Carol Bagdasarian	Aura
	Tadashi Yamashita	Seikura
	Kim Lankford	Nancy
	Larry D. Mann	Tibor
	Kurt Grayson	Doggo
	Richard Norton	Kyo - Seikura's Enforcer
	Yuki Shimoda	Katsumo - Seikura's Aide
	Redmond Gleeson	Duffy
	Alan Chappuis	Pierre
	Brian Libby	Deadwyler
	Ken Gibbel	Meat
	Cheyenne Rivera	Greek
	Ted Duncan	Truckdriver
	Alan Marcus	Truckdriver
	Gerald Okamura	Ninja Instructor
	Jo McDonnell	Amy Lee
	Jack Carter	Sharkey
	Ernie Hudson	Quinine
	Robert B. Loring	Johann
	Fenton Jones	Square Dance Caller
	Crane Jackson	House Detective

Crew View all

Director	Eric Karson
Writer	Leigh Chapman, Paul Aaron
Producer	Alan Belkin, Joel Freeman, Michael Leone
Musician	Dick Halligan
Photography	Michel Hugo

Trailer

Edition details

Personal

Notes

My quick rating - 5.2/10. The Octagon is one of those movies that feels like a time capsule I wasn't supposed to open unsupervised. But I did anyway, probably way past my bedtime on that Showtime box. With the recent passing of Chuck Norris, going back to revisit one of his early leading roles hits a little differently. This was peak “testing the waters” Norris, before he fully cemented himself as a one-man army, but already radiating that quiet, roundhouse-ready presence.

The setup is straight 80s action cheese. Scott James (Norris), a stoic martial arts expert, is tricked by a wealthy woman into providing protection. From ninjas. Yes, ninjas. Things escalate quickly when his old enemy McCarn (Lee Van Cleef, effortlessly cool as always) enters the picture, leading Scott into a full-blown grudge match with an entire ninja clan. The 80s loved their ninjas.

That opening shootout? Way bloodier than memory serves. It almost tricks you into thinking you’re in for a brutal ride. Nope. After that, it’s back to the classic “guy gets shot and politely folds over” school of action physics. Still, all practical effects, which give it that raw charm modern CGI often struggles to replicate.

And then there’s the inner voice. Oh boy. Norris spends a good chunk of the film coaching himself. From inside his own head. And it’s not the reassuring kind. It’s more like a slightly haunted, echoing voice that sounds like it’s warning him about a curse rather than helping him fight ninjas. It’s unintentionally hilarious and just a little creepy, like your conscience has seen some things.

The real comedy gold, though, is Norris’s delivery. His one-liners land with the emotional range of someone reading a grocery list, which somehow makes them even funnier. It’s that dead-serious, “I absolutely mean this” tone that turns basic dialogue into comedy. You’re not laughing at the joke, you’re laughing at how committed he is to it. "Dammit, don't accuse me." Norris - "I haven't had time."

Visually, you’ve got feathered haircuts everywhere (seriously, it’s like a shampoo commercial broke out mid-production), and a steady supply of ninjas who, toward the finale, politely wait their turn to get knocked out. The fight choreography is solid for its time, clean and watchable, but definitely feels slower compared to today’s hyper-edited chaos. Still, there’s something refreshing about actually seeing what’s happening in a fight.

It was also fun spotting a young Ernie Hudson popping up early in his career. And the classic “two brothers trained together, one chosen, now sworn enemies” trope gets a full workout here, because no martial arts movie is complete without it.

The Octagon isn’t Norris’s best, but it’s an important stepping stone. This was him inching toward the action icon status that would soon be shared with guys like Sylvester Stallone and Arnold Schwarzenegger, though Norris carved his own lane with martial arts and later TV dominance in Walker, Texas Ranger.

It’s rough around the edges, unintentionally funny in the right ways, and littered with enough ninjas to keep things entertaining. A nostalgic, slightly bizarre, but very watchable tribute.

RIP Mr. Norris.

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