affair. To appease the Hays Office, O’Sullivan’s wardrobe was given a complete overhaul, her sexy two-piece combo replaced with a con- servative one-piece dress ending at mid-thigh. When Tarzan and Jane go swimming, an un- derwater camera is once again there to cap- ture their frolic, only this time Jane remains fully clothed. Still, this is the last MGM Tarzan film to feature any whiff of eroticism: at one point, Tarzan kneels over the prostrate form of Jane, and the scene switches to a subjec- tive shot from Tarzan’s point of view as the ape-man’s shadow darkens his mate’s enrap- tured face. Weird highlights include a jour- ney through a fantastic fusion of cavern and swamp where carnivorous lizards swim in bubbling pools of mud, and the brief sight- ing of a waddling antediluvian bird (actually Johnny Eck, the “Half-Boy” from FREAKS, stuffed inside a bird suit). But far too much stock footage is utilized (the Gaboni and crocodile fights are lifted from MATE; the el- ephant stampede largely comes from APE MAN) and the editing is often confusing. For instance, in the middle of dinner at the Tarzans’, Eric and Rita suddenly appear sloppy drunk, howling at Fry for “having an idea” before reverting back to complete so- briety in the very next shot (evidence, per- haps, of an excised drinking scene?); after capturing Tarzan, Fry seems to magically leap miles ahead to join the safari; and just what happens to the villain in the end? One moment he’s standing in the mouth of a cave, in the next he’s screaming and flailing around in quicksand. The denouement is really too much to bear, as Jane’s cousins announce they really didn’t need her to go to London after all, that a simple signature will do—and for that they get hugs and kisses in- stead of a good sock in the face! Regardless of these
weaknesses, the cast is an appealing bunch, and Weissmuller gives his best Tarzan performance. A genuine sadness wells up in Weissmuller’s eyes as
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O’Sullivan tries to explain why she must leave him and the jungle. The Tarzan “townhouse” (not at all in the original Goldstein version) is another bright spot, even though it marks the series’ un- fortunate transition from adult fantasy to whole- some family entertainment. In another gesture to the moppet crowd, Cheeta plays with ladies’ undergarments and chortles at the swinging high jinx of competing human clown Herbert Mundin. For better or worse, this marks the de- but of the abrasive Cheeta chuckle, popular with audiences of the day and soon to be a series mainstay. Since Hollywood already had a history of
cranking out “Son” sequels (THE SON OF THE SHIEK, THE SON OF KONG), and Edgar Rice Burroughs even published a novel titled THE SON OF TARZAN, it was inevitable that MGM would get around to blessing their jungle king with a prince. But there was the problem of T & J’s risqué lifestyle; the studio couldn’t very well base a family film on the unsavory premise of an unmarried couple conceiving a child. Their so- lution: TARZAN FINDS A SON! Oddly, the film starts off like a modern-
ized adaptation of Burroughs’ original novel: en route to Capetown, an airplane bearing Mr. and Mrs. Richard Lancing and their baby son (related, we’re told, to “Lord Greystoke”) is smitten by air currents over the Mutia escarp- ment and crash lands. The surviving infant is rescued from scavenging hyenas and curious
Cheeta reacts.
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