Johnny Weissmuller was tired. You can see it in his eyes if you look closely enough at the 1948 RKO release Tarzan and the Mermaids. By this point, the five-time Olympic gold medalist had been swinging on vines for sixteen years. He was forty-three, his chest wasn't quite as barrel-shaped as it used to be, and the physical toll of playing the Ape Man was clearly catching up. This movie wasn't just another entry in a long-running franchise; it was the final time Weissmuller would ever emit that iconic, chest-thumping yell on the big screen.
Honestly, the title is a bit of a bait-and-switch. There aren't any actual mermaids. No scales, no fins, no underwater kingdoms. Instead, we get a coastal tribe of "Sea People" who are expert divers. They live in a stunningly beautiful cliffside village and are being exploited by a crooked trader named Varga and a fake god called Balu. It's a weird, atmospheric, and surprisingly high-production-value swan song for the greatest Tarzan to ever do it.
Why Tarzan and the Mermaids Looks Better Than It Has Any Right To
Most Tarzan movies from the RKO era feel small. They were shot on soundstages in Culver City with some grainy stock footage of African wildlife spliced in to trick the audience. Tarzan and the Mermaids is the exception. Producer Sol Lesser decided to go big for Weissmuller's exit, moving the entire production to Mexico. They shot at the Churubusco Studios in Mexico City and on location in the breathtaking waters of Acapulco.
The difference is night and day.
Instead of a painted backdrop, you have the actual Pacific Ocean crashing against the rocks. The legendary cinematographer Gabriel Figueroa, who worked with greats like John Ford and Luis Buñuel, was behind the camera. That’s why the movie has this haunting, almost noir-ish quality in certain scenes. The black-and-white photography captures the spray of the sea and the shadows of the caves with a crispness that makes the previous films look like amateur hour. It’s arguably the most beautiful film in the entire twelve-movie Weissmuller run.
The Stunt That Nearly Killed a Man
You can’t talk about this movie without talking about the diving. Since the plot revolves around a tribe of "mermaids" (who are actually just very talented human swimmers), the film features some of the most impressive aquatic stunts of the 1940s. The climax involves a massive leap from the cliffs of Acapulco—the famous La Quebrada cliffs.
But there’s a dark story behind those shots.
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Angel García, a local diver hired as a double, performed the terrifying 80-foot plunge for the camera. During one of the takes, something went wrong. He hit the water at a bad angle or timed the tide incorrectly. Accounts vary on the exact medical specifics, but the impact was devastating. It’s widely reported in film histories that the stunt resulted in a fatality or a career-ending injury, depending on which production notes you believe. When you watch Tarzan make that jump in the film's finale, you aren't looking at Weissmuller, and you aren't looking at a cheap special effect. You're looking at a moment of real, terrifying physical risk that cost someone everything.
Brenda Joyce and the "Jane" Problem
By 1948, the Tarzan family dynamic was a mess. Maureen O'Sullivan, the definitive Jane, had long since bailed on the series because she was tired of being the "damsel in animal skins." Brenda Joyce took over the role starting with Tarzan and the Amazons (1945). She’s fine. She’s capable. But in Tarzan and the Mermaids, the chemistry just isn't the same.
Jane feels like an afterthought.
The movie focuses more on the guest star, Linda Christian, who plays Mara. Christian was a massive star in her own right—and later became the very first "Bond Girl" in a 1954 television adaptation of Casino Royale. She brings a certain glamour to the film that feels a bit out of place in the jungle, but she’s the one driving the emotional stakes. She's trying to escape a forced marriage to the "god" Balu, and Tarzan basically acts as her one-man coast guard.
Interestingly, this is one of the few films where Boy (played by Johnny Sheffield) is completely absent. He was written out because he had grown too old and was starting his own "Bomba the Jungle Boy" series. Without Boy, the movie feels less like a "family in the jungle" sitcom and more like a straightforward adventure flick.
The Weirdness of the "Singing" Tarzan
Here’s something most people forget: this movie is almost a musical. Well, sort of.
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The score was composed by Dimitri Tiomkin. If that name sounds familiar, it should—he’s the guy who did High Noon and It’s a Wonderful Life. He brought a heavy, operatic influence to the film. There are several sequences where the Sea People break into song, and even Mara has a "singing" scene (though she was dubbed by a professional vocalist).
It’s bizarre.
One minute Tarzan is wrestling an octopus—which, by the way, is a hilariously rubbery prop that Weissmuller had to essentially wrap around himself to make it look dangerous—and the next minute, there’s a full-throated choral arrangement echoing through the Mexican cliffs. It gives the movie a surreal, dreamlike quality. It’s not the gritty "Me Tarzan, You Jane" vibe of the 1930s. It’s something much more experimental and, frankly, kind of weird for a B-movie franchise.
The End of the Vine: Why Weissmuller Quit
After Tarzan and the Mermaids wrapped, Weissmuller looked at his contract and his bathroom mirror and realized the party was over. He was getting "soft" around the middle. The studio was starting to ask him to wear more clothes to hide his physique. For a man whose entire brand was built on being the ultimate specimen of human fitness, that was a slap in the face.
He didn't retire, though. He just changed uniforms.
He moved over to Columbia Pictures to start the Jungle Jim series. Instead of a loincloth, he wore khakis. Instead of swinging on vines, he walked through the brush. He played Jungle Jim for another sixteen films, basically riding the momentum of his Tarzan fame until he finally stepped away from the screen in the mid-50s. But Tarzan and the Mermaids remains the definitive "Goodbye." When he swims away into the sunset at the end of this film, he’s swimming away from the character that defined his life.
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How to Watch It Today
If you're looking to track this down, don't expect it to be on the major streamers like Netflix or Disney+. Because of the complicated rights issues between the Edgar Rice Burroughs estate, RKO, and Warner Bros (who now owns most of the library), the RKO Tarzan films are often in a bit of a legal limbo.
However, you can usually find it in "The Tarzan Collection" DVD sets.
It’s worth the hunt. Not because it’s a masterpiece of cinema—it isn't—but because it represents a specific moment in Hollywood history. It’s the bridge between the Golden Age of the 1930s and the more cynical, low-budget adventure films of the 1950s. Plus, the Mexican locations are genuinely stunning to look at even 80 years later.
Actionable Insights for Classic Film Fans
If you're planning a deep dive into the Weissmuller era, don't just watch them in order. You'll get burned out by the third one. Instead, use this strategy to appreciate the evolution of the character:
- Watch the Bookends: Start with Tarzan the Ape Man (1932) to see Weissmuller at his peak athletic ability, then jump straight to Tarzan and the Mermaids (1948) to see how the character and the production style evolved.
- Look for Figueroa’s Influence: When watching Mermaids, pay attention to the lighting in the cave scenes. It’s miles ahead of any other jungle movie from that time period.
- Check the Stunt Doubles: See if you can spot the transitions between Weissmuller and the cliff divers. The editing is actually quite clever for 1948, using quick cuts to hide the fact that Johnny wasn't actually jumping off 80-foot cliffs.
- Research the Location: Look up the history of Churubusco Studios. This film was one of the first major American productions to use the facility, which helped turn Mexico into a massive hub for Hollywood location shooting in the decades that followed.
The film is a relic, sure. It’s got some outdated tropes and a rubber octopus that wouldn't scare a toddler. But as a final curtain call for the most iconic Tarzan in history, it’s a fascinating, beautiful, and slightly tragic piece of film history.