Born 8th December 1943 in Melbourne, Florida, James Douglas Morrison never stayed in one place for too long. The son of a lieutenant meant frequently travelling around United States military bases throughout his childhood, secluding him to his younger siblings and books. Emotionally scarred at four years old by a car accident involving Native Americans led to an obsession with existentialism and philosophers such as Nietzsche. Death inspired many of Morrison’s poems, short films and songs, the latter being his main focus with the band The Doors. Formed in 1965 out of the remnants of Rick & The Ravens, it was Morrison’s inclusion as frontman that gave the band an identity (he suggested the name based on Aldous Huxley’s book The Doors of Perception). Their first major hit Light My Fire topped the charts for three weeks, selling over a million records, and set the band off to become rockstars. However, the increase of fame exacerbated Morrison’s self destructive tendencies, resulting in drug abuse and erratic behaviour. After completing their sixth studio album L.A Woman, Morrison joined partner Pamela Courson in Paris where he would pass away due to a suspected overdose July 3rd 1971. One of the best selling artists of all time, his legacy is synonymous with the growing correlation of creatives dying aged twenty seven (dubbed The 27 club), as well as films such as Apocalypse Now and the biopic I’m reviewing today: The Doors.
Directed by Oliver Stone, The Doors biopic was released in 1991 with Val Kilmer portraying Jim Morrison. Nowadays, Kilmer has been tarred as someone who is difficult to work with but his meticulous method acting did wonders for his performance here. Not only does Kilmer look like Morrison, covering the beard growth and weight gain in later life naturally, but the voice is indistinguishable. Even those who knew Morrison in real life such as the band members and biographer Jerry Hopkins had to do a double take. Preparing for almost a year by wearing Morrison’s clothes and visiting his local bars on the Sunset strip, Kilmer nails the mannerisms and interactions with the other band members – Kyle MacLachlan plays keyboardist Ray Manzarek, Frank Whaley depicts guitarist Robby Krieger and Kevin Dillon portrays drummer John Densmore. The scenes containing them together are the strongest of the film, sharing the joyful dynamic when performing whilst also conveying the underlying tensions surrounding Jim’s sanity and surreal behaviour. The movie does fall into the trap of showing full performances to pad out an already lengthy feature, but creates an atmosphere that really encompasses you in the late 60s, early 70s environment.
However, this setting steers more into stereotypical fantasy than factual accuracy. The hordes of naked women and bonfires at the concerts were an exaggeration of a couple minor events, but at least remain believable. The relationship between Morrison and Courson (played by Meg Ryan) was less so. Starting off at Venice Beach at the beginning of the film, Morrison stalks Courson to a party and crashes it by climbing up a tree to meet her, then later breaks into her room whilst she’s asleep to continue their conversation. As our main character grows more famous and becomes more unpredictable, sleeping around with critics and photographers (also stretched out of proportion), Courson observes meekly by. It’s only as the relationship deteriorates further that Courson is given time to stand up for herself, throwing a burnt turkey at Morrison on Thanksgiving for example, when the lead singer pushes her into a wooden closet and sets it ablaze due to infidelity. Not only did these event not occur and represent a poor metaphor for the song ‘Light My Fire’, but it turns Morrison into an unlikable sociopath and Courson into an abused, trapped partner. These unpopular decisions by Stone soured many who knew Jim against the film, and the misogynistic tone also tracks behind the camera with auditioning actresses such as Melissa Gilbert tasked to perform a humiliating sex scene.
Alongside a painful caricature of Andy Warhol played by Crispin Glover, these disturbing moments make up an uncomfortably bloated second act. Leaning into psychedelics can conjure fantastic viewing whilst using creative licence, such as the iconic trip in the desert, but diminishes quickly if relied upon. When the start and end write themselves, it’s the middle that separates the good films from the great, and unfortunately The Doors film falls into washed-up Morrison territory. Yet, there are aspects here that die-hard fans of the band will enjoy and it’s worth watching if you’re looking to break on through to The Doors’ discography.