The Legend of the Lone Ranger | Chicago Reader

The Legend of the Lone Ranger

William Fraker's film comes on very grand and mythical about what is, after all, a kiddie show. His gravity is admirable, but it's misplaced here: getting serious about this pabulum implies a condescension to the western genre as a whole, which, of course, produced many mature and complex works of art. The structure has been borrowed from Superman I, with an hour or so devoted to the Lone Ranger's “origins,” and 30 minutes of a slipshod suspense plot tacked on at the end, but what you really have is a lot of brandishing of the L.R.'s iconographic paraphernalia—black masks, silver bullets, and so on—without much real drama to solicit your involvement. It all takes place on a very distant plane, and the atrocious dubbing, narration, and photography (by Laszlo Kovacs) keep it at a far remove. With Klinton Spilsbury, Michael Horse, and Jason Robards.

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