Tarzan’s resurrection trips over its baggage

Tarzan has been dusted off, his abs polished and his vocabulary spruced up in David Yates’ handsome but altogether pointless The Legend of Tarzan, a chestthumping resurrection of the Ape Man that fails to find any reason for the iconic character’s continued evolution.

There have been more than 50 films based on the Edgar Rice Burroughs novels. But over time Tarzan has ceded his mass-market turf to a new set of brawny, questionably attired do-gooders, who swing not from vines but from webs and grappling hooks.

His relevance has also drifted. He was originally conceived as a pulpy fable for a society feeling nostalgic for nature as it watched Model Ts roll off assembly lines.

So if properly outfitted for today’s back-to-the-land trends, Tarzan probably should be a thinner, bearded man who can brew a hoppy IPA and lives off the grid in Brooklyn coffee shops.

Can such a vestige of imperialera imaginations — dreamt up by a man who never set foot in Africa — be updated to today? The Legend of Tarzan suggests not, and the movie’s main source of suspense is watching it try to twist and contort a century-old property into something meaningful.

The simplistic historical backdrop of late 19th-century Congo here is more cartoonish than even Tarzan himself. But the atmosphere is richly exotic, full of majestic vistas and vivid close-ups.

But the film, searching for a purpose and some drama, doesn’t deserve the grandeur

Effort has been made to make Jane more than a damsel in distress, which she literally denies being at one point. The scenestealing Robbie breaks through the role’s stereotypes even while still being mired in them.

The film strains to juggle Tarzan’s baggage instead of embracing the tale’s innate silliness and spirit of adventure.