The Legend of Tarzan‘s Hashtag Problem
David Yates might have attempted to erase Tarzan’s unpalatable aspects for the modern moviegoer—but why'd he even try?

You can take the pulp novel out of history, but you can’t take history out of the pulp novel. God knows David Yates tried with The Legend of Tarzan, Warner Bros.’ recent attempt at character rehabilitation through franchising. The film couples WB’s hopes for cementing a new blockbuster tentpole with Yates’ attempts to scrub Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan yarns of their naked racism, Tarzan of the Apes in particular (being the text that Yates’ film draws on most for its material). If we’re awarding prizes just for showing up, Yates gets a trophy for recognizing Tarzan’s unpalatability for the modern moviegoer. Ironically, he also earns a finger-wagging for even trying.
Maybe don’t give the man too much flak. It’s impossible to divorce Tarzan from the racist undertones (and, hell, overtones) that litter Burroughs’ text. These details are ingrained in the character’s DNA. Tarzan of the Apes doesn’t disguise its substance, the moral of its story pretty much being that white people are better at everything than everyone else, notably black people, who are painted by Burroughs as less human than the Mangani apes who raised him. It’s white supremacist wish fulfillment, where the white male protagonist is physically and intellectually superior to friend and foe alike. You’d think Yates would dump that element first. Instead, he only crosses out Burroughs’ contempt for non-whites. The supremacy stays intact.
That’s good courtesy, of course, but in excising the overt racism of the Tarzan books, Yates accidentally emphasizes the racial dominance at the character’s core. Whether he’s saving Jane Porter (Margot Robbie) from the dastardly clutches of Léon Rom (Christoph Waltz) or making his adventuring partner, George Washington Williams (Samuel L. Jckson), look like a buffoon at every opportunity, Tarzan (Alexander Skarsgård) runs the show. He is an unstoppable force of Caucasian brawn and cunning, a hunky mirror which reflects the average person’s clownish impotence. Yates tries to fasten positive messages to The Legend of Tarzan’s framework—racism is bad, slavery is bad, all men are equal—but Tarzan’s effortless competence makes an unintended opposing statement: Only the white guy is capable enough to save the day.
Thanks to The Legend of Tarzan’s solid holiday weekend opening, WB’s executives have likely calmed their heart palpitations over its commercial prospects. But if the studio’s dreams of big overseas grosses come true or not, the film’s very existence is puzzling. Who thought this was a good idea? More importantly, good God, why? We live in the #problematic era, where social criticism tends to take priority over analysis of technique. Framed in that context, making a movie based on source material as undoubtedly problematic as Tarzan of the Apes sounds like a remarkably bad idea. It’s a miracle Yates and his producers weren’t tormented by dreams of furious think-pieces, crashing across the web like indignant tidal waves, during the film’s development.
Forgive them: They knew not what they were doing. WB and Yates meant well. Warts and all, The Legend of Tarzan is an honest go at surgically extracting Burroughs’ racism from his own work. The trouble is that they couldn’t do it. In all likelihood, nobody could, which again forces us to consider the wisdom of trying in the first place. (In point of fact, the hubris of trying is its own offense; resuscitating a racist brand to make a buck is very nearly the definition of exploitation.)
In so doing, the film underscores how discrimination can slip so easily beneath our radars, which is arguably a service unto itself. Maybe we need to be reminded of that in 2016. Maybe that makes Tarzan the hero we need after all. You can no more undo the racism of the past at the tip of a pen than you stop its flourishing in the present with a hashtag. The film unwittingly boosts the very ideals Yates means to decry, cutting an oblivious figure that clangs against other 2016 releases, big or small, which feature race as a theme or use it as a backdrop.
Even in the span of just a few years, comic book movies have evolved more on race than the Tarzan series has in a century. Last May, Marvel released Captain America: Civil War, a.k.a., Black Panther Prequel Movie, ostensibly the third chapter in the life and times of all-American hero Steve Rogers (Chris Evans), but also the big screen debut of mainstream comics’ first black superhero.
If it is by coincidence that T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman), prince (and, by the end of Civil War, king) of the fictional African nation Wakanda, shares his MCU inauguration in the same year as a Tarzan reboot, then it’s a wry coincidence: The characters feel like spiritual kin of sorts, both being intelligent men with peerless martial talents who wear cultural mantles of authority. In England, Tarzan lives among the aristocracy as John Clayton III, Lord Greystoke, while T’Challa is the inheritor of an entire nation and a member of its ancient royal bloodline. But Tarzan’s roots endorse racism where Black Panther’s roots protest it. (T’Challa fought the Ku Klux Klan in a short story arc that ran from January through November in 1976, for crying out loud.)
For all the traits they share in common, though, these characters couldn’t be more different on ideological bases. Whether on the page or on the screen, Tarzan is defined by assumptions of white preeminence. He is better than his rivals and his allies because the text believes in his inherent betterness as a white man the same way that Donald Trump believes in his own: He says he is better, and so it must be true. Neither Marvel’s comic books nor Captain America: Civil War make any such assumptions about Black Panther, though, because they don’t have to. Superheroics probably come naturally when your ancestors are superheroes themselves, but in either medium T’Challa proves his betterness through deeds rather than through fundamentalism.