Film Review: The Legend of Tarzan

It’s the 19th century, and the man formally known as Tarzan is now a respected earl living in London. Asked by the Prime Minister to visit the Congo as part of a PR move to promote the Belgian King’s humanitarian work there, Tarzan uncovers a plot to kidnap him, and enslave the Congolese people. This re-imagining of Tarzan is subtly nuanced in politics, emotion and physicality. We see a leaner, more graceful Tarzan than the previous boxy iterations, Skarsgard playing him with efficient muscle and graceful movement. Gone are the inexplicable loincloth and even the image of Tarzan issuing that iconic yell. Instead, the roar is only heard in the distance as a yell of despair and anger; transforming an outdated, camp image into something foreboding.
However, a touch more campy fun wouldn’t have gone amiss. With its political backstory, sinister villain (Christoph Waltz, smarming it up a storm as usual) and constant battles, this Tarzan is too dark for children – but too silly for adults. His new ally – Samuel L. Jackson – is supposed to bring comic relief, but he’s not given much to work with, and ends up playing a cartoon version of himself.
The visual effects occasionally prove disappointing, as the sweeping African plains look more fake than majestic, and the set pieces of Tarzan interacting with lions and running through trees reveal some badly blended CGI.
The strength of the film is in the relationship between Tarzan and Jane (Margot Robbie), and the maturity they bring to their roles. Robbie’s Jane is headstrong, smart and explicitly refuses to scream “like a damsel.” She’s an exuberantly joyful foil to Skarsgard’s quiet soulfulness, and their scenes together feel organic, tactile and unapologetically sexy – a highlight in a movie otherwise unsure of itself.