The infant heir to a great estate is born in the jungles of equatorial Africa and raised by apes in the wild as one of their own. When a Belgian explorer discovers him many years later he teaches him who he is and takes him home to the family seat in Scotland, but his past haunts him and deep down he feels he belongs back in the jungle ...
Tarzan has been done a million times (I like the old NBC sixties TV show with Ron Ely best), but if this movie has one saving grace it's that it's the only one that really tries to do justice to Edgar Rice Burroughs' original novel. In the first half with Tarzan growing up in the jungle, it succeeds, with great physical acting, lovely locations and fabulous gorilla effects makeup by Rick Baker. In the second half when he is remoulded as John Clayton amongst the Scottish nobility, it becomes very stuffy and a bit risible, as he drinks from a soup-bowl and growls at the guests. The main problem for me is the Ralph Richardson character, who is sappy, bizarre and ill-defined (he's either just mildly senile or a total loony-toon, who knows); his reciprocated affection for John is completely unbelievable and so the big dramatic arc of the plot lacks credibility. The cast of this film are all over the place; Holm is brilliant as ever, Fox is atrocious as ever, MacDowell is inexplicably dubbed (by Glenn Close) and Lambert does the best he can with the script. The best performances are by the actors in the ape costumes. There is plenty to enjoy in the picture, particularly John Alcott's sumptuous photography and some nicely observed moments, such as when John visits the Natural History Museum in London and the sight of all the animals sliced up, pickled and stuffed makes him ill. This is a good film I guess, but although I usually love genre-bending movies this is a cross-breed that doesn't work - half jungle adventure and half costume drama - it's quite original, but in the end it's too overblown and far too serious for its own good. It also has a really stupid title. The original script, written by Robert Towne under a pseudonym, never mentions the word Tarzan. Shot mostly in Cameroon and Hatfield House in Hertfordshire, and dedicated to Richardson, who died shortly after production and had a forty-year career in films.
Tarzan has been done a million times (I like the old NBC sixties TV show with Ron Ely best), but if this movie has one saving grace it's that it's the only one that really tries to do justice to Edgar Rice Burroughs' original novel. In the first half with Tarzan growing up in the jungle, it succeeds, with great physical acting, lovely locations and fabulous gorilla effects makeup by Rick Baker. In the second half when he is remoulded as John Clayton amongst the Scottish nobility, it becomes very stuffy and a bit risible, as he drinks from a soup-bowl and growls at the guests. The main problem for me is the Ralph Richardson character, who is sappy, bizarre and ill-defined (he's either just mildly senile or a total loony-toon, who knows); his reciprocated affection for John is completely unbelievable and so the big dramatic arc of the plot lacks credibility. The cast of this film are all over the place; Holm is brilliant as ever, Fox is atrocious as ever, MacDowell is inexplicably dubbed (by Glenn Close) and Lambert does the best he can with the script. The best performances are by the actors in the ape costumes. There is plenty to enjoy in the picture, particularly John Alcott's sumptuous photography and some nicely observed moments, such as when John visits the Natural History Museum in London and the sight of all the animals sliced up, pickled and stuffed makes him ill. This is a good film I guess, but although I usually love genre-bending movies this is a cross-breed that doesn't work - half jungle adventure and half costume drama - it's quite original, but in the end it's too overblown and far too serious for its own good. It also has a really stupid title. The original script, written by Robert Towne under a pseudonym, never mentions the word Tarzan. Shot mostly in Cameroon and Hatfield House in Hertfordshire, and dedicated to Richardson, who died shortly after production and had a forty-year career in films.