When The Legend of Tarzan swung into theaters in 2016, it arrived with all the trappings of a modern blockbuster revival: lush visuals, a brooding Alexander Skarsgård, a steely Margot Robbie, and Christoph Waltz bringing his usual brand of quiet menace. The premise was ambitious—a post-origin story that returns Tarzan to the Congo, this time as a civilized man confronted by his past. And while the film was watchable, particularly in its action set-pieces and jungle acrobatics, it ultimately failed to leave a lasting impression.
Part of the problem lies in its structural ambition. Rather than retelling the classic story, it assumes we already care deeply about Tarzan’s journey. But for many in the audience, especially newcomers, the emotional investment just isn’t there. Tarzan is presented as a fully-formed, already-accomplished man. He has returned to London, adapted to high society, married Jane, and earned the love and obedience of the jungle. He is legend incarnate—but therein lies the issue.
Few of us can relate to growing up among gorillas. Fewer still can relate to swinging through the treetops or commanding lions and elephants with a whisper. Tarzan, as portrayed here, is a distant figure. He’s too complete, too untouchable. His struggles are behind him, his myth already cemented. The audience isn’t invited to grow with him—only to watch him. And that, fundamentally, makes him emotionally inaccessible.
This is where the story missed a real opportunity: it should have decentered Tarzan.
The Alternate Outline
Imagine instead a version where the lead character is not Tarzan himself, but George Washington Williams—the fast-talking, morally ambiguous companion played by Samuel L. Jackson. In this version, George isn’t just comic relief or an audience stand-in. He is the protagonist, and his arc drives the emotional core of the film.
The story would begin in familiar territory: George visits John Clayton (Tarzan) in London, claiming to need his help investigating rumors of slavery in the Congo. Moved by the cause, and by Jane’s support, Tarzan reluctantly agrees to return. But the truth is darker: George has a hidden agenda. He’s heard whispers of a vast diamond trove hidden deep in tribal land—diamonds guarded fiercely by locals who still revere (or fear) the legend of Tarzan.
George sees an opportunity: manipulate the legend, get Tarzan to open doors, and walk away rich. It’s not personal—just business. But as they journey deeper into the jungle, nothing goes as planned. Tarzan senses something is off. Jane grows suspicious. And eventually, the lie unravels.
Meanwhile, Christoph Waltz’s Leon Rom is still in play—a brutal colonial enforcer with his own designs on the diamonds. But this time, he serves a different role: he becomes George’s shadow self. Where George is a man flirting with moral compromise, Rom is the full descent—the greed, cruelty, and exploitation taken to its logical end. He’s what George could become if he keeps walking that path.
When Rom captures George and begins his violent march toward the sacred mines, George finally sees the horror of what he set in motion. He escapes, broken and remorseful, and returns not to take, but to atone. He finds Tarzan, confesses everything, and helps lead a rebellion against Rom. Not with brute strength—that’s Tarzan’s role—but through cleverness, courage, and personal sacrifice.
In the final moments, George gets his chance for redemption. He fights alongside Tarzan, helps free the tribes, and watches as Rom is destroyed by the very greed he embodied. And maybe—just maybe—George walks away with a single diamond in his pocket. A quiet reward. A wink. A reminder that even the redeemed carry pieces of their past.
This reimagined structure does more than shuffle screen time. It reframes the entire emotional experience. George is relatable: flawed, driven, human. His lies, mistakes, and eventual transformation are things we can connect with. Tarzan, in this version, becomes a powerful presence—mythic, larger-than-life, a force of nature—but not the lens through which we experience the story.
And that shift makes all the difference. It turns a distant legend into an inclusive journey. A jungle epic not about brute strength, but about the fight for redemption. About the danger of exploiting myth—and the power of earning forgiveness. It’s still Tarzan’s world. But this time, we get to walk through it as humans.
Thanks!
Ira
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