By Fred Blosser
Edgar
Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan first appeared in the October 1912 issue of the pulp
fiction magazine “All-Story.”
This inaugural novel, “Tarzan of the Apes,”
introduced the character as a British peer, Lord Greystoke, who was reared by
great apes in Africa as an orphaned infant, and then assimilated into European
society in adulthood as a sophisticated adventurer and conservationist.
Burroughs was ingenious in working out the details of the premise (for example,
how Tarzan taught himself to read and write), which bordered on science-fiction
even by the standards of 1912.
The
story was immediately popular, and a hardcover edition followed in 1914.
It’s important to term the character “Edgar Rice Burroughs’
Tarzan,” as he was typically labelled in media credits, because the author
shrewdly trademarked the name. That way, he could control all uses of his
creation, reap the profits, and legally stop any attempts by others to hijack
it. As Burroughs realized, the birth of the motion picture industry and
the growth of newspaper syndication in the early 1900s offered access to
unlimited audiences. Many middle-class people in small towns might never
buy a magazine or a book, but they were sure to be movie-goers and newspaper
readers. Securing Tarzan as his Intellectual Property allowed Burroughs
to exploit those opportunities and ensure they didn’t fall into the hands of
others. He incorporated himself as Edgar Rice Burroughs, Inc., and wrote
twenty-two more Tarzan novels over the next thirty-five years, along with many
other science-fiction and adventure series. Burroughs—and then after his
death in 1950, his heirs—licensed Tarzan to numerous other media platforms,
including movies, radio, a newspaper comic strip, comic books, toys, and
television. If podcasts, Twitter, YouTube, virtual reality, video games,
and streaming video had existed back then, we can be certain he would have
utilised them too. Today, when we think of creators who wisely kept a
tight commercial grip on their creations, Walt Disney and George Lucas are likely
to come to mind, but Burroughs led the way.
Over
the years, movies’ portrayals of Tarzan have varied from the wily, masculine,
powerful, articulate, principled character of Burroughs’ original vision to a
muscular but asexual simpleton with the verbal skills of a two-year-old.
The latter version was popularised for one generation by MGM’s Johnny
Weissmuller movies in the 1940s, and reinforced for the next by years of reruns
on television. The Weissmuller films began promisingly with the violent,
sexy “Tarzan the Ape Man”
in 1932 and “Tarzan and His Mate”
in 1934, but over time at MGM (and then at RKO, where the series moved in
1943), they became increasingly simplistic. Under the fierce censorship
of Hollywood’s Production Code, MGM tightened down on the semi-nudity and
mayhem of the first two films, aiming instead for a juvenile demographic.
The studio reasoned that kids were an easier audience who would laugh at the
antics of Tarzan’s chimpanzee and not wonder why Weissmuller’s Tarzan never had
intimate relations with Jane.
The
last seven decades have seen a variety of Tarzans. Some producers adhered
to the Weissmuller model, beginning with five features from RKO starring Lex
Barker, who inherited the role after Weissmuller retired his loincloth.
Others redesigned the concept to meet changing trends in society. In the
James Bond era of the 1960s, a character closer to the Burroughs prototype
appeared in two features starring Jock Mahoney and three with Mike Henry.
This peer of the jungle realm was a suave, jet-setting trouble shooter.
The image of an articulate ape man carried over to a 1966-68 NBC-TV series with
Ron Ely in the role. Where Mahoney’s and Henry’s character travelled to
India, Thailand, Mexico, and South America to solve jungle crises, Ely’s
remained in Africa, in one episode coming to the aid of three nuns from America
played by Diana Ross, Mary Wilson, and Cindy Birdsong, better known as the
Supremes. Even with those attempts to appeal to a more contemporary
audience, popular interest waned. In part, this was because the
Weissmuller image was the one that stuck in the popular memory, lampooned by
television comics. What can you do with a hero once your audience laughs
at him? Even more to the point, enormous cultural changes around racial
issues occurred with the advancements of the Civil Rights era. Many
critics now saw Tarzan as a worrisome symbol of white entitlement, despite the
prominent casting of Black actors and a more nuanced portrayal of African
tribal societies in the Ron Ely series.
Nevertheless,
with a brand name that older viewers still recognised at least, the character
continued to appear sporadically. If you gathered around the VCR with
your family as a kid in the Reagan years, the Tarzan you may remember best was
Christopher Lambert’s portrayal in 1984’s “Greystoke: The Legend
of Tarzan, Lord of the Apes.” “Greystoke” had the good fortune to appear
as VCRs became standard fixtures in American television rooms; on home video,
the movie enjoyed a long life as a VHS rental. Adapted by Robert Towne
from “Tarzan of the Apes”
and directed by Hugh Hudson, the film was promoted as a return to Burroughs’ concept
of a feral but innately intelligent man who attempts to blend back into polite
society. Some Burroughs fans, primed to embrace a virile Tarzan close to
the commanding pulp-fiction character, were disappointed. In trying to
rectify the prevailing Weissmuller image from decades past, Towne and Hudson
may have overbalanced in the opposite direction. Burroughs’ Tarzan
dominated whatever environment he chose to be in; Lambert’s was a sad figure,
overwhelmed and lost,once he left the jungle. Nevertheless, lavishly
produced, the movie was popular with critics and general audiences. There
were Academy Award nominations for Towne’s screenplay and for Rick Baker’s
costuming effects for Tarzan’s adopted ape family. Another live action
movie (“Tarzan and the Lost
City,” 1998), two short-lived, syndicated TV series, and Disney’s animated “Tarzan” (1999) were released through the
1990s.
The
latest iteration as a live-action feature, “The Legend of Tarzan”
(2016), drew tepid reviews and disappointing box-office. Although the
producers cast Samuel L. Jackson in a prominent role alongside Alexander
Skarsgard’s Tarzan above the title, the strategy probably did little to attract
younger, hipper, and more diverse ticket-buyers as it was intended to. Jackson’s
American envoy remained little more than a sidekick to Tarzan in an 1885 period
setting. If you hoped to see Jackson’s character shove Tarzan aside to
get medieval on somebody’s ass, you were disappointed. In contrast,
Marvel Studios’ “Black Panther,” with a modern Black jungle hero, a largely
Black supporting cast and production team, and James Bond-style action
situations, emerged two years later with a whopping $1.3 billion in ticket
sales and a place on many critics’ Top Ten lists. The 2022 sequel, “Black
Panther: Wakanda Forever,” performed nearly as well with an $838.1 million
return. On a $50 million budget, another
2022 Hollywood production with a prestigious Black cast and exotic action in
the Burroughs style, “The Woman King,” nearly doubled its investment with $94.3
million in revenue.
In
late 2022, Sony Pictures acquired the latest screen rights to Tarzan and
promised a “total reinvention” of the character. What the studio has in mind, and whether it
will actually follow through, appears to be up in the air right now. Would anybody be surprised to see Tarzan
“reinvented” as a role for a Black actor the next time out, if there is a next
time? Popular culture is already there. Vintage movies (“A League of Their Own”) and TV series (“SWAT”) once
cast primarily with white actors are remade now, routinely, with Black stars or
all-Black casts. On the hit Netflix
series “Bridgerton,” actors
of color portray British aristocrats in Jane Austen’s Regency-era England, in
reality one of the whitest of white societies ever.
As
we wait to see what the next Tarzan, if any, will look like, The Film Detective
has released “The Tarzan Vault
Collection,” a three-disc Blu-ray set that includes the first Tarzan movie, “Tarzan of the Apes” (1918); “Adventures of Tarzan” (1921), a re-edited
feature version of a 10-chapter serial; and “The New Adventures of
Tarzan” (1935), a 12-chapter serial presented in its entirety. The first
two pictures starred Elmo Lincoln, a stocky actor who had appeared in several
of D.W. Griffith’s milestone silent films, including the ambitious “Intolerance” (1916) as a Biblical strongman, “the Mighty Man of Valor.” Although it’s
said Burroughs wasn’t particularly fond of Lincoln’s casting after another
actor was chosen but had to bow out, the films were relatively faithful to the
source novels. Outdoor filming locations in Louisiana for “Tarzan of the Apes” stand in acceptably for
equatorial Africa, at least to the satisfaction of moviegoers in 1918 who had
no idea what Africa really looked like, and certainly better than the studio
backlots used in the Weissmuller films. Actors in shaggy anthropoid
costumes portrayed Tarzan’s ape friends. Although primitive in comparison
with the modern CGI in “The Legend of
Tarzan,” the makeup effects aren’t bad for that early era of cinema.
“Adventures of
Tarzan,” based on Burroughs’ “The Return of Tarzan” (1913), finds Tarzan in
pursuit of a villain named Rokoff, who has kidnapped Jane in a plot to find the
treasure vaults of the lost city of Opar (an idea later reiterated in “The Legend of Tarzan”). In “The Return of Tarzan” and subsequent novels,
Tarzan blithely removes gold and jewels from Burroughs’ imaginary Opar to help
support his African estate, reasoning that otherwise the treasure would just
lie there. In the books, the underground vaults are vast, cavernous, and
sinister. In the movie, where the 1921 budget was too low to keep up with
Burroughs’ staggering imagination, they look more like somebody’s root
cellar. Good try anyway. As an hour-long feature truncated from a
much longer serial version, “Adventures of Tarzan”
is a succession of chases, rescues, and fights from the final chapters of the
serial. A title card at the beginning brings the viewer up to speed on
the action already in progress, much as the “Star Wars” movies do
now.
It
may be confusing to watch an old serial after most of its continuity has been
removed, but the third movie in the Film Detective set, “The New Adventures of
Tarzan,” represents the other side of the coin as a serial presented in its
original, multi-chapter format. The serials were designed to be taken one
chapter at a time each week. That remains the best way to experience
one. Otherwise, watched in a binge, repetition becomes a problem.
It’s difficult to work up much concern when Tarzan falls into a
crocodile-infested river in Chapter Seven, if, an hour earlier, he’d already
escaped the same danger in Chapter Three. Still, taken piecemeal or in
one long sitting, fans will be happy for the chance to see this original
version of “The New Adventures of
Tarzan,” which is better known in its truncated feature version, “Tarzan and the Green Goddess,” a one-time
television staple. Co-produced by Burroughs, it introduced Herman Brix, a
1928 Olympics finalist, as the title hero. Trimly muscular, Brix was
offered as an alternative to Johnny Weissmuller’s monosyllabic Tarzan; his
version, endorsed by Burroughs, spoke in whole, commanding sentences and looked
equally comfortable in a loincloth or a dinner jacket. The serial was set
and filmed on location in Guatemala, where Tarzan and his friends race against
the bad guys to find a Mayan statue with a valuable secret. Fans often
rank Brix with Jock Mahoney and Mike Henry as their favourite Tarzan. He
later changed his screen name to Bruce Bennett for a long career in Westerns
and crime dramas. Humphrey Bogart fans will remember him as Cody, the
drifter who tries to steal Fred C. Dobbs’ gold mine claim in “The Treasure of Sierra Madre.”
The
back story of the serial is more intriguing than the plot about the Mayan
statue. Burroughs fell in love with the wife of his co-producer, Ashton
Dearholt, eventually marrying her after she divorced Dearholt and Burroughs
divorced his first wife. In turn, Dearholt had carried on an extramarital
affair with Ula Holt, the lead actress in the serial, and they married after
Dearholt’s divorce. It’s the kind of Hollywood story that TMZ.com would
love today.