Post by tzinana on Jul 28, 2005 6:12:55 GMT
KILMER EXCELS AS MORRISON
By Joan E. Vadeboncoeur
The Post-Standard (Syracuse, NY)
March 2, 1991
Val Kilmer delivers a brilliant performance as rocker
Jim Morrison. Oliver Stone directs a dazzling movie
that emblazons the era of counter culture. The music
inflames the passions.
"The Doors" is cinema at its riveting best as it
unfurls the short, unhappy life of the rock band of
the title -- a group that had everything and blew it.
Its fate was sealed when its charismatic singer, Jim
Morrison, died at age 27.
Meticulously, writer-director Stone details the
formation, the struggles to gain a hearing, the rising
popularity which crests even as the band's downfall is
sealed by Morrison's substance abuse.
There are the raucous fans who turn out to dance
naked, smoke pot and, most of all, watch Morrison
strut his stuff and dive from the stage into the
audience.
There are the brushes with the law as Morrison defies
police who come to arrest him, just as earlier he
refused to cave in to Ed Sullivan's demand to censor
the word "higher" in a song.
Off stage, Stone carves out a life that increasingly
rends the relationship with Morrison and fellow band
members Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger and John Densmore.
Life on the edge leads to the most harrowing scene in
which Morrison dangles girlfriend Pamela Courson off a
ledge of the same Hollywood hotel where John Belushi
met his death.
Finally, when excess shows the group cannot continue
to function, one member angrily reminds Morrison, "We
took drugs to expand our minds, not escape." It is a
message that comes too late.
To what purpose is the film? It fails as shock
treatment. Many true tales have been revealed about
rock musicians who abused alcohol and overdosed on
drugs. No longer do moviegoers find them sensational.
No longer are they titillated by women dancing nude or
shocked by the use of profanity.
That left Stone to dig deep to find what might have
made Morrison exceptional. But either Stone couldn't
make a case for the loss of a potentially great poet,
which some felt Morrison was, or he preferred to
accent nostalgia. Still, he deserves credit for
pulling no punches about Morrison's self-destruction.
Stone tries to add a mystique that winds up seeming
hokey. The film opens with the boy Morrison seeing an
old Indian die. The real rocker believed the spirit of
that man moved into his body. So Stone periodically
shows the old man over the singer's shoulder. It is a
technique that fails; the symbolism is insufficiently
supported.
A documentary would not have been as exciting, but it
would have been at least as informative. The filmmaker
is trudging through the minefields of docudrama, the
most dangerous type of filmmaking. It cannot be
gospel, particularly scenes between Morrison and
Courson which cannot be documented. In fact, Stone
admits that he made Courson "nicer."
An uncanny resemblance to Morrison gives Kilmer a
leaping start -- one he didn't need since the actor is
mesmerizing from the moment he comes on screen.
Soon, the other band members are relegated to
exchanging looks over Morrison's antics. In spite of
that second-rate status, Kyle MacLachlan as Manzarek,
Kevin Dillon as Densmore and native Syracusan Frank
Whaley as Krieger emerge with performances that not
only put the proper perspective on The Doors, but
delineate each as an arresting individual.
It is wise simply to sit back and enjoy "The Doors" as
a stunning example of expert filmmaking. As such, the
motion picture makes a splendid nostalgia binge,
especially with its wall-to-wall music.
By Joan E. Vadeboncoeur
The Post-Standard (Syracuse, NY)
March 2, 1991
Val Kilmer delivers a brilliant performance as rocker
Jim Morrison. Oliver Stone directs a dazzling movie
that emblazons the era of counter culture. The music
inflames the passions.
"The Doors" is cinema at its riveting best as it
unfurls the short, unhappy life of the rock band of
the title -- a group that had everything and blew it.
Its fate was sealed when its charismatic singer, Jim
Morrison, died at age 27.
Meticulously, writer-director Stone details the
formation, the struggles to gain a hearing, the rising
popularity which crests even as the band's downfall is
sealed by Morrison's substance abuse.
There are the raucous fans who turn out to dance
naked, smoke pot and, most of all, watch Morrison
strut his stuff and dive from the stage into the
audience.
There are the brushes with the law as Morrison defies
police who come to arrest him, just as earlier he
refused to cave in to Ed Sullivan's demand to censor
the word "higher" in a song.
Off stage, Stone carves out a life that increasingly
rends the relationship with Morrison and fellow band
members Ray Manzarek, Robby Krieger and John Densmore.
Life on the edge leads to the most harrowing scene in
which Morrison dangles girlfriend Pamela Courson off a
ledge of the same Hollywood hotel where John Belushi
met his death.
Finally, when excess shows the group cannot continue
to function, one member angrily reminds Morrison, "We
took drugs to expand our minds, not escape." It is a
message that comes too late.
To what purpose is the film? It fails as shock
treatment. Many true tales have been revealed about
rock musicians who abused alcohol and overdosed on
drugs. No longer do moviegoers find them sensational.
No longer are they titillated by women dancing nude or
shocked by the use of profanity.
That left Stone to dig deep to find what might have
made Morrison exceptional. But either Stone couldn't
make a case for the loss of a potentially great poet,
which some felt Morrison was, or he preferred to
accent nostalgia. Still, he deserves credit for
pulling no punches about Morrison's self-destruction.
Stone tries to add a mystique that winds up seeming
hokey. The film opens with the boy Morrison seeing an
old Indian die. The real rocker believed the spirit of
that man moved into his body. So Stone periodically
shows the old man over the singer's shoulder. It is a
technique that fails; the symbolism is insufficiently
supported.
A documentary would not have been as exciting, but it
would have been at least as informative. The filmmaker
is trudging through the minefields of docudrama, the
most dangerous type of filmmaking. It cannot be
gospel, particularly scenes between Morrison and
Courson which cannot be documented. In fact, Stone
admits that he made Courson "nicer."
An uncanny resemblance to Morrison gives Kilmer a
leaping start -- one he didn't need since the actor is
mesmerizing from the moment he comes on screen.
Soon, the other band members are relegated to
exchanging looks over Morrison's antics. In spite of
that second-rate status, Kyle MacLachlan as Manzarek,
Kevin Dillon as Densmore and native Syracusan Frank
Whaley as Krieger emerge with performances that not
only put the proper perspective on The Doors, but
delineate each as an arresting individual.
It is wise simply to sit back and enjoy "The Doors" as
a stunning example of expert filmmaking. As such, the
motion picture makes a splendid nostalgia binge,
especially with its wall-to-wall music.
