Tarzan and the Lost City
With nothing to do for the seventy-five minute running time of this pathetic excuse for a movie, I spent most of it contemplating the debate between evolutionist and creationist theories. If nothing else, "Tarzan" lends credence to the former. If Jane March isn't evidence that at least some humans are descended from chimps, who is?
There's proof too that movies as bad as this one are bad for society. Because of the brutal boredom and cruelty, normally decent human beings like myself are also forced to contemplate questions of "sudden" social significance like: why couldn't Jane March have larger breasts so all that pointless running around in the jungle might have had more immediate entertainment value?
For those the least bit interested or slightly brain-damaged, the story pits a bad Indiana Jones-type character, Nigel Ravens (Steven Waddington) against the civilized Tarzan (Casper Van Dien), who returns to the jungle to help out the black natives prevent Nigel from finding the lost city of Opar.
This whole Edgar Rice Burroughs thing is just a bit outdated (blacks have been in Africa for millennia and one white guy shows up and suddenly he's king of the jungle?). In its updated form it becomes utterly pointless since the natives have a guy who's basically a wizard and seems fairly capable of handling the problem himself. In fact, Tarzan does very little, other than stop to hold the periodic GQ pose in between riding elephants and chasing after Jane.
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