The story of the famous and influential 1960s rock band The Doors and its lead singer and composer, Jim Morrison, from his days as a UCLA film student in Los Angeles, to his untimely death in Paris, France at age 27 in 1971.
“There are things known and things unknown and in-between are The Doors…” — Jim Morrison.
Oliver Stone seems to have lost his edge. While his peers — living legends like Martin Scorsese, Quentin Tarantino, and Ridley Scott — are as inspired and innovative as they were three decades ago, Stone hit a creative rut with 2004’s epic misfire “Alexander,” from which he has not (yet) recovered. Since that “Colin-Farrell-in-drag” disaster, his most noteworthy cinematic accomplishments have been the sappy, on-the-nose melodrama “World Trade Center”; the insipid sequel to his classic “Wall Street,” somewhat ironically subtitled “Money Never Sleeps” (ironic, because Money seems to have been the sole driving factor behind this Shia LeDouche atrocity); the convoluted thriller “Savages,” a messy, forgettable attempt to revisit his psychedelic days; and “Snowden,” a frankly tedious account of its titular whistle-blower (a miscast Joseph Gordon-Levitt).
What happened to the man behind the incendiary war drama “Platoon,” the exhilaratingly intense dissection of greed in “Wall Street,” the heartbreaking ode to Vietnam soldiers “Born on the Fourth of July,” and arguably, one of the most psychedelic experiences committed to celluloid, the demented “Natural Born Killers”? I realize I’ve used the word “psychedelic” twice — that’s because it’s impossible to talk about Stone’s career without mentioning his frequent utilization of hallucinatory images, frenzied editing, and an otherworldly, almost divine tone, as if the helmer were a celestial Deity, unleashing His unfiltered view of humanity upon us. The controversial, Grand Guignol “Natural Born Killers” is the prime example of Stone at his most rabid, a loopy jumble of the depraved, phantasmagoric, sadistic and darkly humorous — organized chaos, wrapped in a thick existential blanket. Elements of this style are strongly prevalent in the underrated, minimalist desert thriller “U-Turn” — and even in the coked-up football drama “Any Given Sunday” — but it all began in 1991, with Stone’s ode to the masters of psychedelia “The Doors,” and their Lizard King, Jim Morrison.
Despite his affection for the icon, Stone manages to convey that not through a biased, glossy depiction, but by adopting the musician/poet’s surreal, constantly-under-the-influence viewpoint. The political climate is a hazy, muted background. The filmmaker gets under Morrison’s skin and doesn’t so much reveal to us what drove him as fully submerge us into his scarred-but-beautiful brain. “The Doors” is uncompromisingly in-your-face in terms of style, its trippy visuals (mostly desert vistas and extended concerts), coupled with the continuously-running psychedelic score (it’s astounding, the sheer number of The Doors songs cunningly mixed together in this film), making for an immersive, potentially mind-altering experience — especially for fans of the band. In that sense, it may be the most faithful rock biopic in cinematic history.
Structurally, the film doesn’t necessarily redefine convention, yet keep in mind — this came out way before the likes of “Ray” or “Walk the Line” showed us musicians’ paths from reaching stardom to meeting their maker. Sure, there were plenty of rock biopics before “The Doors” but none that quite approached its subject matter in such a way. Stone the Deity takes his time gradually guiding us through Morrison’s life, who was guided by his own deity complex, a belief that society consists of slaves and that he and his band acted as literal doors to another perception of reality. Stone suggests that Morrison’s experiences were shaped by him witnessing a brutal car crash as a child, one that killed a Native American chief, who’s haunted the musician — but also served as his connection to the freedom and splendor of the desert — until the end of his short life. That, along with some other purported creative liberties Stone took, led to a controversy, two band members — guitarist Robby Krieger (played in the film by Frank Whaley) and keyboard player Ray Manzarek (Kyle MacLachlan) — calling it historically inaccurate. John Densmore (Kevin Dillon), on the other hand, acted as a consultant on the film, and consequently enjoyed it.
Whether factually accurate or not (a shade constantly thrown on Stone), it’s difficult to deny the film’s influence. Despite underperforming at the box-office, it reintroduced an entire new generation to the Lizard King. The Doors’ album sales spiked after the film’s release. Most importantly, however, it ignited Val Kilmer’s career. From the very first frame, Kilmer commands our attention with an electrifying performance that transcends “acting” — he IS Morrison, eyes constantly blackened by his expanded, acid-tinged pupils, all swagger masquerading insecurity; just like the film, he’s a raw mix of the poetic and the crass. Whether he’s “getting lost in the desert,” or considering suicide with his girlfriend Pamela (a tragic Meg Ryan) while balancing on the edge of a balcony, OR resorting to blood-drinking witchcraft with “his other boo” Patricia (Kathleen Quinlan), the actor absolutely dominates the screen. He’s ambivalent about his parents, defensive about his heavily-criticized poetry, loyal to his band but unfaithful to his girlfriend. Rewatching “The Doors” made me long for another epic Val Kilmer performance — someone, please, hire him a new agent already!
Not all of “The Doors” aged well. It’s surely bloated and self-indulgent, and it doesn’t give a shit what you think of it; in other words, it’s a typical Oliver Stone film of yore. It casts a lingering spell that few films manage to conjure, that of a resonant sadness, of life’s brevity, of the futility of stardom and dreams. It provides us with an accurate glimpse of what it must’ve been like to BE there, to LIVE it. It may not be a “pleasant” experience in any conventional sense, but it’s a visceral, unforgettable one. I’ll go ahead and say it: they don’t make ‘em like this anymore. Oliver Stone surely doesn’t.
Available on 4K Ultra HD™ Combo Pack and Digital 4K Ultra HD July 23rd
